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eccentricallygothic · 4 months ago

Text

|| Wrong Turn ||

Pairing: Mountain Man Silver Fox Nomad!Steve Rogers | You.

Trope: Neat and clean ‘civilized’ Princess-like young trophy wife X Filthy beast of a wild and scary man who only got her because he has the power.

Description: In a desperate attempt to save your life from the wrath of the mountain people that your friends and you stumbled upon and accidentally killed on a hike gone wrong, you had to offer yourself up to their Leader to use as a ‘resource’. But little did your ‘husband’ know, you had been actively getting rid of his seed to avoid actually getting pregnant. Naturally, when he does find out, he is very unhappy… And also very determined to make sure you don't make it out of your punishment without a child, or two.

Warning(s): Dubcon, barbaric!Steve, breeding kink (gone wild), unprotected p-in-v, reverse cowgirl, doggy style, missionary, he has a wife bod kink (but it is inclusive), misogyny, smut with perhaps too much plot, fear kink, size kink, exhibitionism, possessiveness, jealousy, age gap, hair pulling, spanking, biting, allusions to painal and Steve being a teasing sicko about it but he doesn't actually penetrate, overstimulation, dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, boob play, squirting, Lloyd makes an appearance with his own young bride, dacryphilia (it's me), self degradation, Stevie is a perverted old meanie, infantilization, mind break.

Disclaimer: Very loosely based off of the movie that I do not own. You don't need to know it to read this piece but do note that it takes place in a fictional setting. Minors do not interact.

Inspo-ish: This post.

Note: For someone who was on their period, I should not have been this horny. But I need this marriage, now. Ps, though this rotted in my drafts for a long time… in honor of Chris growing out his beard again, ig.

MASTERLIST

. . .

You have no idea how long it has been since that fateful twilight when everything changed in your life, leaving you to a lifestyle you could never have even imagined for yourself.

“Eat up, woman” but as your barbarian of a husband commands you in his rough and animalistically deep voice, you cannot help but break out of your reverie and shudder at the sight of the barely cooked meat piled high on the platter in front of the two of you. “So you can bear me healthy children” although you're the one who was made to prepare his beastly dinner -that never fails to leave you aghast when it's gorged down- as you're his wife, you cannot help but gag under your breath and feel disgust for the loaves that sit before you in the company of a tall stone carved jug that brims full of the foul smelling mead that your husband is ardently fond of.

You muster up your best coy smile. Keeping up the appearance of a happily mated pair is important. Or people stare. And then the old man becomes unpleasant. “I had quite a lot while I was cooking, dear” your lies sting your tongue out of the fear you feel of getting caught, but the mere hope of not doing so is better than eating this. “Y- You go ahead” you slowly turn in his muscle hardened lap, that you are always to sit on, to give him a small smile but your expression almost transforms into one of horror because of how wildly your heart jumps at the sight of his stern, predator-like face. You are quick to recover though, as it is a usual occurrence.

“You need it. You work so hard—” there is just something about his rough looks that never fails to send a chill down your spine. You have never seen anything, let alone an actual human man like him before.

A beard as thick as the very forest his people populate and as dark as the nights can get here in the absence of lanterns due to the heavy trees, age that streaks some of his gold locks with its silver has not marred the sternness of his jaw that remains firmly set under the heavy mane of his facial hair. His shoulders seem akin to the mountains that surround his village and his piercing dark eyes the mysterious waterfall that flows some way down south from the entrance of the settlement. The frightening mass of his shoulders is so toned that if the barely noticeable wrinkles that sometimes appear under the dark of his eyebrows and next to the crow-feather like lashes that frame his eyes, he can easily be mistaken for a man in his primeful late twenties and no older. His unrelenting strength and wolfish stamina would only further serve to bear testament to the misconception.

Your strict husband bluntly catches your shaky hand that you extend in his direction to feed him some of the meat, the force that he uses coupled with the coarseness of his skin making you jump. You bite back a yelp and whimper when you look up at his dark blue eyes from where you were watching his bearded mouth to carefully place the food in.

“I don't care” Steve does not care much for being polite -unless it is you who disregards it in your behavior-, especially when it comes to you denying or diverting his ‘care’ for you. “You eat more” you bite back the scowl that threatens to break onto your face from how he turns your hand around in your direction instead. “Wives always need to eat more. They do so much at home for husband and children” he probably feels proud of these ‘values’ that have been transmitted to him by his elders. But all they make you want to do is to crack him across the jaw for being a misogynistic and backward shithead. Especially with you.

Your ‘husband’ believes that everyone has a role to play; a contribution to make to their people and home. That is how this archaic village of theirs has survived in these mountains hidden away from the rest of the world for so long.

The greasy piece of a disturbing excuse of a rare steak touches your lips and you've been here long enough to know better than to argue or worse yet, fight. So you smile and lean into his arm that cases your form against his through the embrace he holds you in from behind, his fingers playing with one of the many flowered braids your attending ladies had put in your hair a bit before his arrival at ‘home’.

“O- Of course” you reluctantly open your open and grip your flowy dressing gown for a semblance of support for your sanity, taking the smallest bite you can -which is still a lot as the man pushes nearly the whole piece into your mouth the moment you open up- as you keep your eyes trained on his to avoid looking down. Your mind always becomes more aware of the taste when you look. “Thank you, dear” you focus on swallowing it without gagging and feel your smile split in places because of how uncomfortable you are.

He probably notices it because he slightly raises one eyebrow and snorts before hugging your smaller form -that is tiny compared to his- closer and puts the rest of the piece in his own mouth. If there is one thing you have learnt in your time with him, it's that you can never fool him. Not really. No matter how well you may think you have lied or pretended, he always sees through it.

Sometimes you suspect he even enjoys it.

Steve finally begins to eat himself, silently offering you another piece that you politely reject by shaking your head and then quickly pressing an apologetic kiss to his scruffy cheek to lighten the blow. Apparently, a wife can never be polite enough to her husband. And though the change in his expression begins with an unhappy frown, your show of ‘affection’ seems to suffice him and he relaxes in satisfaction, now looking down the long table and at his clansmen and maidens that sit enjoying their dinner, their chatter and laughter a dull roar in the large eating hall of the Leader's dwelling. You pick up the heavy jug of mead with both your hands and obediently hold it to his lips to sip from. Steve looks away from what one of his main men are saying and gulps down a mouthful, rubbing your back as a gesture for thanks before moving his hand quickly down to squeeze your ass to heighten the effect of his expression of gratitude.

His form shakes in mirth when you yelp and blush. He knows how embarrassing you find being openly ‘affectionate’ in front of people and that is one of the reasons why he enjoys it so much besides showing off that a thing of such beauty and youth like you is all his. You rest the jug between your boobs that he has fucked and squeezed into increasing in size and use your other hand to gently finger and stroke his golden locks that he keeps pushed away from his face outside the bedroom. Though he says nothing, you feel his usually vigilant and always firm stature slowly soften and you cannot help but smile, though what he says next quickly deflates it.

“Do you feel any change in you, wife?” You know what it means and now it's you who becomes tense. He only uses that name for you when he speaks to you as a husband inquiring about your marital matters. “Has my seed attached to your womb yet? Does it grow there?” You gulp and feign shyness, moving closer to his hair and nuzzling yourself in him. “Hm?” He closes his hugging arm around you and reaches for your stomach, fingers groping your covered skin as gently as he can -which isn't much- to feel it. “Answer me” he demands when you refuse to speak.

“I… I don't know, husband” you always promise yourself that you'll demand more rights for yourself; ask him to treat you like the other husbands treat their wives, only to fail the minute he enters your vicinity.

“What does that mean?” His tone turns blunt and you whimper at the tightness that snaps back in place between his shoulders.

You get it.

That was the deal, after all.

Healthy children in exchange for your life that was required by their judicial laws for bearing false witness to your friend accidentally killing one of their people in mistaken defense. Steve had promised you before accepting you as a citizen that if you failed to fulfill your task you'd walk the darkness in the dungeons. He had shown you how it would be before declaring you a member of their tribe and the sight you had seen was something that had given you nightmares for days.

But that did not mean you actually wanted to have your old captor's children.

You doubted it would ever be something you'd look forward to.

“I- I mean” regret shoots up your spine in the form of fear and you lose your speech to it momentarily. But then two of your main attending ladies -by that you mean Steve's top agents when it comes to you- enter the horizon of your sight and you hurriedly blubber out the first thing that comes to your mind. “I've n- never been pregnant before, s-o I d- don't know how to…” Your husband turns to look at you, his handsome features twisting into a rogue scowl but before he can scold you, one of the two ladies, Kaira, speaks in their language to Steve.

Not everyone here can speak English and those who do speak it do so a rather odd version of it. Naturally, you don't speak their language and so they give you the full experience of an outsider when they need to discuss the business they want to keep private from you. The thought makes you want to laugh, like you'd be able to do something with whatever informations they withhold.

But it doesn't really bother you, because you don't care.

You've also learnt that ignorance is bliss here.

Especially for someone like you.

Better to be the doe eyed trophy wife of an angel who can't tell her head from her ass.

“Is that so?” Your heart jumps when Steve chooses to speak English. That means that this definitely concerns you. You place the mead down and wrap one arm around his broad shoulders before nervously combing his thick beard with your other hand. Since you have no interest in or desire to learn their language, the only word you manage to pick up on when you focus really hard is ‘baby’ and that is solely because of the annoying amount of times it comes up for you.

“Is not this strange?” He speaks once the women step back after finally ending the nerve wracking conversation that seems to go on forever. “Do you hear what they say about you, little one?” Fuck, you're definitely in trouble.

He is reminding you of your place.

You put on your best charming smile but you're painfully aware that your nervousness gives it away. You can feel it. “W- What do they say, dear?” They were such bitches. They knew how to speak English, that's why they were your attendants, but yet they chose not to. And now they were glaring at you like you weren't above them— oh no, not these thoughts again. You will never become like them! No, no!

Steve pushes his plate away now. Your head spins from the realization. It's only half finished. Your husband never wastes his food. It is a near sin for them to do so. “They tell me the most odd things” oh just fucking tell me! You mentally scream but outwardly tilt your head to the side in confusion, your chest vibrating with the rising beats of your heart. “And now that I think about it myself…” His fingers wrap around the mead before he raises it to his lips. “I see the—”

“What did they say, Steve?” Your mouth works faster than your better sense and he pauses mid sip, dark blue eyes flickering up from the stone jug to look at you. Your face flushes a noticeable hot and your ears get sweaty from the awareness.

Fuck.

“They say you've been getting rid of my seed” he feels played and thus angry at the both of you. Perhaps more so towards himself than you; his silly little child-wife. How could he let a thing as tender and small as you fool him so? “... Do you?” It is obvious you are guilty. Besides, he is confident that his people would never lie to him unlike one young and beautiful girl that he had found kneeling in front of him in his court while bawling her eyes out one fateful night, fear stricken as his people surrounded him like a doe trapped.

And of course, your expressions and reactions don't help your case, as always. “W- What? No…” Your mind becomes erratic.

“No?” He himself knows not what kind of a chance he offers you with that. But typical to your nature, you make it easy for him by refusing it.

“N- No! Of course not! W- Why would I ever do such a thing to m- my husb- hubby and my b- babies?!” Steve has to clench down his scoff.

“You wouldn't, would you?” Your naivete never fails to amuse him.

“No! I- I don't know why they accuse me so—” you mend your speech from the archaic form that tries to leech to it everyday. “I don't know why they would accuse me of that but they must be mistaken! This is a misunderstanding!”

He hums. “I see…” His scarred fingers begin to toy with your braids again. “So you remain devoted to me and faithful to our family, don't you?”

“Of course!” You nuzzle closer to him, your heart thundering into his chest. “I don't know why they still treat me like an outsider” you purr as you nervously stroke his hair, playing a card of your own and making an absolute fool of yourself by doing so. “I try my best… like I promised.”

“Yes, your promise” his distant eyes -they get like that when you disappoint him and you hate the sight because it never fares well for you- travel down to your empty stomach. His gaze makes it wrench. Your fear skyrockets at the same rate as your anger. If only there was a way for you to get back at those bitches without having to give birth!

“I- It takes time sometimes, dear…” You hug his shoulders with one arm. “But it will happen. I know it…” Your other hand reaches for his fingers that rest on your abdomen now.

“Oh?” Steve raises one dark eyebrow at you. His hair is the most fascinating combination of blonde and dark brown. “Is that what your modern day sciences say?” His people were not always like this, he had told you. They did not originate from here. Rather, some families had abandoned ‘civilization’ when it was going to hell -in his words- by killing each other for meaningless constructs such as caste, creed and color differences and migrated up here to establish a system of their own; one free from such nonsense.

Apparently.

You take a deep breath. “Stevie—” you only call him that when you find yourself dangerously close to the dungeons.

“If that is what you believe in, wife,” he never cuts you off. Usually, that is. His age that streaks his blonde strands with its silver ones has granted him enough patience. Normally, he waits for the other person -who is most often you- to mess up themselves. But whatever the ladies have told him seems to agitate him into rebelling against his own nature today. “I'll do it your way. After all, happy wife happy life, is that not what you tell me often?” Okay, you might have said that during a particularly cocky moment in bed once.

But the intention behind that had not been nearly whatever he is moving towards now.

“Y- You don't have to, l- love…” You nervously giggle. “You're perfect the way you are” you run your nails that he insists you keep trimmed for hygienic -as if- and practical purposes through his silver-blonde hair.

“Oh no…” Now he pushes his food farther away. “I will indulge you, little one” he moves your other leg over his laps so now you face the people down the table with both of your legs on either sides of his, ass to his… fuck. “Time conspires against us, and so we must make haste.”

Your eyes widen and your heart leaps up in your throat. “M- My love?!”

Steve moves your flowy gown out of his way, keeping a firm hold on one of your thighs even though he doesn't really have to. Your fear of him would never let you attempt an escape. “Yes, my stars” the name is so full of sarcasm it nearly pierces you open. “Let us leave time to its devices, and us ours” your husband is usually a very possessive and private man when it comes to you, but his ire seems to get the better of him today. You hear the buckle of his own clothes come undone. The table goes silent and heads turn in your direction once they realize what's going on. Oh no… Your stomach drops. Not in front of everyone. Not when Steve makes you so vulnerable in that condition. Not in front of these lowlifes!

“Husb—” blood bubbles hot under your cheeks as you feel him align himself against you.

Holy shit.

You feel one of his coarse hands wrap around your throat and he pulls you closer to his mouth so he can whisper in your ear. “You will contribute, my stubborn little wife,” you whimper from the menace his words hold, your well trained cunt obediently squelching open against his thick hard tip as he lowers you on his cock with the hold he has on your thigh. “Whether you like it, or not” sometimes, deep down, you fear that the dungeons are not an option anymore.

He keeps you in the horizons of his sight too much for them to be.

It appears as though the sentence has changed.

It is now Steve, or Steve.

You cry out from the strain his log-like girth puts on the narrow band of your entrance. God. You will never get used to his size regardless of how many times and ways he tames your pussy in. Yes, it does not refuse him or rip around him now as it used to in the beginning -and it did that for a long time- but the size to which his cock makes it expand is like a mini-birth. Feels like it, looks like it. Only, it feels way too good. And that's why you don't mind it—

No. You don't know what that was or meant. But you don't take responsibility for that thought!

“Oh!” The balmy velvet of your cavern grazes down the bulging veins and hard skin of the brute's cock until your petals squish against his heavy and very eager balls. Your head spins when you feel his tip tickle your cervix. It never takes his dick long to find it.

His hands are pushing you back up almost instantly so he can slide you back down. You look anywhere but at the tens of faces in front of you, instead choosing to look at the wall on the opposite side of the table. You never thought these people were capable of being this quiet until now when your pussy makes an embarrassingly loud squelching noise as Steve tugs you back to his leaking tip and then allows gravity to suck you back down. You desperately bite your lips and try to focus on ignoring the way your insides are beginning to thrum with the excitement and stimulation; to show these brutes that you're better than them and aren't some animal of nature. But to no avail. His slimy precum mixes too well with yours, the rough skin of his hands digs into your thighs too well and the manner in which your petals rub against his cock when he lifts you yet again -now forming a momentum- before letting you slide in again is too much for you mask with nonchalance.

Indifference has never been among your strong suits.

“Tell me, my pretty” Steve begins again, his dark eyes now finding the young and hormonal pack of unsuspecting boys who clearly do not know better. “Have you ever had a cock like mine?” He says it in their own language so the foolish miscreants see, understand and learn the fact that you’re only his. You belong to him and he will go to war for you, not that a pack of rug rats will ever be a cause of worry for him. “Has anyone ever fucked you as good as I do?” He switches back to the language you understand, roughly fumbling for your jaw before he grabs it and bounces his hips into yours at the same time.

Your traitorous legs have begun to do what they always do; fuck yourself against him -if he hasn’t bound you, which he hasn’t- in whatever position he has you. You only realize that your breathing has become heavier when you open your mouth to answer. “Only you, my husband! Only you!” Your brain is running too fast for reason or reflection to catch up so you leave wondering why you answer him with the only words he has been able to teach you in his language to later. Your words are muffled as his fingers that grip the lower half of your face nearly slip in your mouth from the disordered urgency of the both of your actions.

“That's right” your mouth falls open and you begin to softly pant in that animalistic way that you detest when he makes you watch yourself in a mirror while fucking you sometimes. In your defense, it is always unintentional on your part; you barely even notice it while taking his fucking. And yet, it is inevitable due to the force he does it with. “Look at you; dutifully fucking yourself up and down your husband's cock like a bitch in heat” a twinge forms in your knuckles from how your fingers hold the edges of the table to aid the gliding of your fuck hole that now slams up and down his cock in a rhythm you're all too familiar with, the smacks of your bare ass slapping against his naked abdomen making appalling noises that you're too worked up to dread over right now. “And you're a bitch in heat for me, aren't you?” His fingers move down from your jaw to your throat. “Wanting to be bred over and over again until you're so full of my children that your little belly is round and heavy to the brim, hm?” In these moments, you tell him anything and everything that he wants to hear.

Steve knows it all too well.

And he loves it.

“Yes!” Your voice disappears midway from how he squeezes your windpipe. His hips meet yours midway now, the wetness of your cunt and the force of his thrusts causing for his balls to try and push past the tight boundary of your sexual cavern. “Yes! Yes! I am! Please!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when his free hand finds your petals to play with. “Ohhh!”

“You want to be bred, don't you?” He rubs your drenched pussy lips while his hard cock pistons in and out of your sopping cunt. “Want to contribute…?” He chokes you once more and this time his fingers pinch one of your pussy lips punishingly at the same time and you cry out. “Provide your husband with a house full of heirs?” The oxygen in your mind depletes and your eyes flutter as a result, cheeks turning red and nerves becoming prominent on your glistening temples. Your horny yet defensive pussy finally relaxes around him a bit so it doesn't hurt his dick and he savours the moment by holding you by the curve between your legs and fucking into your form that gets limp by the moment to push you towards your first orgasm.

It always gets better after that.

For him, at least.

You don't choke him out so much then.

“Y- Yes!” When Steve finally lets go of your throat to let you breathe, you blubber out an an answer obediently once the light returns to your eyes. Your walls stiffen around him once more. But by then he has already worked himself closer to your womb. “Yes! Yes!” It is all your mind can muster.

“Good” he makes a point of taking both of your boobs in his hands and thoroughly massaging them to show off his ownership over you. “Now ask me to breed you” the fence of heat that has formed around your loins becomes tighter when his hands that previously fondled your clothed breasts slip under your gown -for Steve is too possessive to actually expose you to the eyes of others- and he softly rubs your tense sides a couple times before his fingers form pinches around your hard nubs.

“Please breed me!” Your voice is so loud and strained that its quality is nearly blood curdling. “Please breed me and s- stuff me full your children!” Your hands fly to grip his from over the dress as you throw your head back and slip from the edge of your anticipation, parrotting all the words he has taught you over the course of your marriage. “Oh GOD! Please!” Your back arches from the coming undone of the hot belt of expectation and scorching gratification spills from it, seeping down your legs in the form of a nearly unbearable electric feeling that transforms into a subzero energy when it reaches your toes that curl, causing them to feel as though they are freezing. “I need your b- babies so bad, hubby!”

Steve's own ears blush from the heat that courses through them in the form of adrenaline as he snorts, some of his blonde strands coming loose from the push and tug that he plays with your cunt. “Tell them” his balls ache from the strength it takes him not to fill you up right then. “Tell everyone that you want me to fill you up with my babies” since your sensitive body tries to curl and move away from the overstimulation, the older man wraps both of his hands around your thighs to keep you going. “Say it!” And he makes you say the words that he desires in the language of your spectators that look embarrassed for the first time since you got here.

Save for your husband's best men who look equal parts aroused and proud.

You want to cringe and be disgusted but your sensitive pussy is being pounded too hard for you to attempt a conjuring up of any dignity.

“Need hubby babies bad!” You cry out again from memory when Steve's thick seed begins to fill you up at last. “Oh, my God!” The feeling of his hot cum filling you up and painting every inch of your sensitive walls penetrates your already hazy mind and the warmth that steams out of the pearly liquid steams its way up to your womb, making you shudder at the feeling. Your opening tightens around him in protest of the overstimulation and it instead causes for a barrage of bitter-sweet electric sparks to explode through your abdomen in the form of a half post-climax orgasm. Your body grows tired.

But your insatiable is far from done.

“Flattering, but no” Steve pushes you against the table before standing up when he is done fucking his orgasm as deep as he can reach into you. “The father of your children will suffice” your eyebrows furrow at his words but the older man does not give you a chance to ponder over them because now he is hooking his hands under your thighs that your rapid and messy fucking has covered in both of your juices.

“W- What?!” Your vision is hazy and your mind dazed as you incoherently tap about. “What's— oh!” You wince from how much easier it is for him to move inside your worked open and much lubricated but torturously overstimulated walls now. “Oh! Oh…” Your hands blindly feel behind you to try and get him to stop. “Oh, no! No, please!” You cry out weakly, your upper body hanging low in the opposite direction from the exhaustion.

“No?” The older man darkly chuckles, paying no mind to your flailing. “You think you can say that to me?” One of his hands desert their post on your thighs to roughly grab at your hair. He hasn't forgotten what started all this. “You think you have the same rights as everyone else around here, wife?”

But you're scowling from the burning pain in your walls, mind hazy and unwise. “Stop! Stop!” Your puffy folds ache from how his stiff skin rubs against them as he moves in and out of you at a normal pace… for now. “It hurts, stop!”

“That is the part and parcel of having children” your body curves outwards as he pulls you further back and closer to himself by your hair. “And is that not why you're here?” His cocky tone along with the hungry and wondering eyes of the wildlings make you angry. “What you were spared for in the first place?” A twinkle in the eye of a man pisses you off and…

“It hurts, you old bastard!” Your young blood gets the better of you and your mouth runs before sense can catch up. “Stop, stop, stop it!” Since your hair holds you closer to him you manage to land a few smacks to his rock hard arms before you try to snake your fingers under his to pry off the hand that he coils around your thigh in a weak attempt to move away.

Steve only chuckles, clearly unfazed by your fighting as he bounces your smaller form up in the air with each thrust. “Did your mother not teach you anything, wife?” He lets go of your hair only to restrain both your arms on the small of your back. “Good girls never tell their husbands no” your body flops forward again and you've no choice but to face the long table full of people. “They lay down pretty with their legs spread and let their husbands fill them with their children and then they express their gratitude for being granted a family.” Though your mind is confused and rather disoriented from the influx of sensation, you can make out new additions to the crowd of your humiliation from the corners of your vision.

“Ugh!” You grunt from the rapid jabs he gives to your sore pussy, his firm hold nearly searing into your wrists. “I don't wanna have your stupid blonde babies!” Steve breathlessly lets out a real laugh at that. “Let go!”

“There” he can swear he will never tired of you breaking the little character of the obedient wife that you so naively think you have mastered only to break it when he has you all riled up like this. “Right there, easy now” his other hand leaves your lap and he pushes your head down and against the table in the most condescending manner imaginable. Steve has got you to expose yourself for the brat you are, no need for play anymore. “Now I make a bunny out of you” his dark eyes now meet with those of the boys sitting at the other end of the table and his use of their language is a silent message. The Leader knows how his wife is desired. And he doesn't appreciate it in the least. The young males all panic and look away, gulping to themselves and praying for their lives.

You try to struggle again, your lip curling in disdain and protest as you feel him fuck his cum right up your cervix. The bitter pleasure you get from it makes your head spin and your fingers and toes flex defensively. “Ooof!” Your cheek rubs against the table and you puff out your face to express how tense you feel down there.

“Brat” Steve shakes in silent mirth as he reaches for your ass with the hand that he was holding your face down with. “Don't you move a muscle.” You're too busy rocking over the table and being held down to try.

“Hubby, please!” You whine when one of his veins twitch deep up your walls and your knees shiver from the sensation. “Please!” Maybe if his cock wasn't so comically huge, it would have been easier to move past the rough friction of your raw, orgasm worn skins. But it is and so you are ready to abandon the dam that begins to form in your abdomen again if it means to avoid this pain. “Owwwiee!”

“Aw” Steve cooes as he now moves to a pace that falters your vision and causes for the great table to shake with each thrust that he gives you. “So small and sore, aren't we?” The spank he lands on your unsuspecting ass right after is the stark opposite of his tone. “Maybe we shouldn't act out so much when we are so weak and pathetic, huh, wife?”

“Oooof!” One of the shyer ladies get up before she carries her young son who stood next to the group of the young ones away and the realization of the fact that your spectators are all real people who see you everyday and will continue to do after this drips down your limbs like ice cold water. Your hips cannot help but clench from the embarrassment that you dully feel in some part of your mind way far at the back. “Hubby, please!” The spanks increase with each snap of his hips and though the turmoil between your legs takes up most of your sensory powers, your cheeks now begin to noticeably sting from the pain that builds from how the swings of his hand against your poor ass increase with each thrust.

“Please?” Steve muses like he isn't balls deep into you and fucking the literal daylights out of you like a crazed heathen. “Oh, but I thought I was a mean old bastard” of course, your pleas always only mean that you want more, according to the brute you are married to. They cannot mean anything else, apparently. “And you didn't want my stupid blonde babies” you grunt from the frustration and land a helpless fist on the table. You are in an uncomfortable tug of war between the mutilation of your sensory glands and the tall barrage of tight hot anticipation that cannot help but form in the base of your stomach again because of how hard and rough he fucks you.

Your husband's main man, Lloyd, laughs in a comically daft voice to tease you and be the insufferable asshole that he is. “You've got yourself a feisty little pup there, Steve” he is the only one who can refer to the blonde haired man by his name. Or maybe, he doesn't care to use the honorific and his usefulness backs him up. You wouldn't be surprised if the latter really is the case. “Don't you agree, my sweet?” He side hugs his own young bride who ironically is one of the sweetest and perhaps the only nice person in this entire village and Lloyd grins down at the girl whom you now notice is blushing furiously.

Before you can let the humiliation swallow you whole, Steve spreads your burning cheeks and chuckles at the sight he finds glistening and blinking up at him, the madenned hammering of his cock unceasing. “Look at this adorable little button of yours, darling” you are not personally familiar with any of the faces that witness you trying to pathetically crawl away when your devil of a husband begins to tickle your pucker so you realize it was actually not quite hitting you as bad as it does now when you become hyperaware of Rainie's gaze. If it weren't for how your eyes roll because of Steve's hot seed shooting deep up your cavern again and nearly searing into your very flesh this time around from the brutality of it all, you reckon you would have tried to hide. But now all you do is let out choked blubbers as your wide eyes sting from tears due to the sensory overload. “I think it's time we deflowered it, what do you think?”

Oh, no.

His cock is not something that you can handle in your ass without splitting all over the place!

“No answer? No?” It feels as though you are the one who is cumming and not Steve because of how good he is at wearing the mask of nonchalance. “Hm,” he roughly pulls you backwards by your hair before hooking an arm around your waist to keep you from trying to get away from how he toys with your trembling pucker. “Maybe we should let sweet Rainie decide for you, hm—?”

“OH, GOD!” You cannot help but scream over him.

He is too much.

Steve ignores your exclamation, thrusts delayed -more jab like- but so strong that his tip spears into your cervix with each thrust, thus causing for your head to spin from how he chooses to fuck out his orgasm. “She's your friend, isn't she?” Steve's beard gently stings the sweaty and teary skin of your jaw from how his mouth presses into your ear. “Aren't you, Rainie dear?”

Yep, you are never looking her in the eye ever again.

“Answer him, sunshine” Lloyd eggs his wife on and you notice through your cloudy vision that he is making her palm his own bulge. You nearly cringe back into Steve's chest from the obscenity of it all.

The girl, a new bride herself, is shy and small next to her own flesh boulder of a husband as she meekly peeks up at you through her lashes. “Y- Yes, sir. We are friends” her voice is barely audible and both your husbands chuckle.

If it weren't from how a dull orgasm rips itself apart somewhere deep between your loins, you would have felt angry.

It is like the assholes know that you're friends, and they're having their fun with it.

No wonder they are best mates.

“Good, good” you can feel Steve's cum splattering your thighs with each brutal jab, the sound and sprays of his shaft making a mess of your juices underneath your dress ample in its audibility. “So, do you think it's time your girlfriend's dirty little button was opened up, hm?” He keeps one hand on your pucker and reaches for your boob to grope with the other.

Rainie blushes again and furiously lowers her head the moment her eyes connect with yours. Though you don't know it, her own has been deflowered not too long ago and she isn't sure what response would be favourable by you, so that and the embarrassment of the Leader questioning her for something like that about his wife when she is on amiable terms with the girl makes her choose silence for as long as allowed. And her own husband cockily leaning into her and mansplaining into her ear how it would work for you by comparing it with what he did to her pretty ass only makes her curl further.

“Shy little thing, isn't she, my precious?” So your husband turns his unwelcome attention back to you, bending the both of your bodies forwards so he can smack your asshole with the back of his hand easier, the impact making you rock violently forward. “Maybe you should learn some manners from her, huh?” The howls you let out from getting your pucker pinched and hit is something you would rather not narrate. All you choose to disclose of that ordeal is that sobs echo in the hall, another orgasm rips out of you and you are sure your body releases more liquid than normal for an average orgasm. “Look at how polite and nice she is, hm? While all you want to do is to curse your husband and be an ungrateful little sloth” it sounds as though a newfound annoyance causes him to grit his teeth towards the end and the tip of his fingers finds recourse in seeking for itself a passage past the tight barrier of your unwilling button as a result.

And so your mouth begins to run in the desperate way he loves. “N- No, no, no hubby! No!” You vehemently shake your head as you feel your knees start to buckle from the exhaustion. “I- I didn't mean it!” The bearded corners of his mouth pull into a deep smirk. He knows its coming, and he loves it.

“You didn't?” How can he not when he is the one who trained you to it and taught you the words to say during.

“No! No!” Your voice comes out child-like from your mind's succumbing to its defeat. For the day, at least. “I d- didn't!”

Steve is a jackhammer in how he fucks his children into you and works towards giving you more. “Oh, I see” now he speaks to you like an elder speaking to a young one, like you are no older than five winters. “Then, will you tell me why you said such naughty words to your husband who does so much for you?” He knows you're small now and so he chooses his words accordingly.

After all, it is Steve's meticulous tailoring of your mind and body which brings you to act out this specific sequence.

Nothing less, nothing more.

Just this.

A shrew tamed into a compliant wife equipped with the mind of a babe.

He may never admit it outright simply because it goes against his very code of life but Steve knows in his heart of hearts that it is this very push and pull you put up in your own passive little way that keeps him alert and your marriage interesting.

Addictive.

“Is ’cause— hnnng, cause—!” He pulls both of your bodies back up with the intention of turning you to face him but he chooses not to do it just yet. He wants you, those silly boys and everyone else who suspects that his judgement grows soft because of his fancy for your youthful beauty and adorable personality, to hear it. Steve can always pull you right back down if wants. Your reins will always be in a hand's reach to him. Just because he lets you sneak in your foolish ways sometimes doesn't mean you've conquered his nature-gifted better sense.

“Because, what?” Everything in life calls for balance and so each time your misbehavior that you think you hide so well from him begins to rise above a level he deems no longer amusing, he is there to hammer it down.

Quite literally.

“Because I am j- just an i- impudent,” Steve grunts and moans, feeling his cock twitch from how you always mispronounce imprudent when you are in this state. He taught you that word and true to your little baby self and mind, you can never get yourself to say it right. “Little wife and I am a d- dumby—”

“Fuck…” Steve feels a drop of cold sweat trickle down his back from your little vocabulary. He feels himself pant from how hard he fucks you, his windpipe alight from the friction caused by the air he heaves in with each desperate inhale.

You are a proper trouble; something he has never had before, and he loves it.

“— D- Dumby sloth who dunno any real worries besides e- eating and b- being spoilt b- by my lovu hubbsy—” your tongue is kinetic jelly between your teeth and Steve has begun to moan from how fucked stupid you sound. “So I get shtoopid and u- ungateful” Steve cannot contain it anymore. In a fevered and desperate confusion of how to express the thunderstorm you cause in his head, he slaps your hair away, causing for some of the flowers to go flying about, and sinks his teeth into your flesh, growling so deep into your skin that you feel the vibrations cause ripples in your blood. Perhaps that is what Steve yearns to taste. “B- But husby always fixes” your head goes limp against his as he sucks your skin like a crazed animal for you lose a track of how long. Your vision and hearing bolts away from your comprehensive faculties like a bullet train and your body gets sucked into the vacuum of your husband's beastly grip. You are just a lifeless doll rocking in whichever direction and manner he pleases.

Next time your brain catches on with your reality, your body has been placed under his with your back against the table. You faintly notice when your dress begins to get wet that splashes of mead cover it due to your brutish husband's depraved madness.

“Look at me, hey” he pats your incoherent face until your wandering gaze settles on him, teary eyes distant. “This is the face that you will see in those of your children, and children you shall have until this residence cannot contain any more” his promise echoes in your buzzing ears like the bestowing of an ultimate truth upon you by some powerful deity. “This is the face you will look up at as you spread your legs,” his tip is so swollen, raw and hot against your worn skin that you can feel it even in this state. Your features scrunch from the discomfort. “This is the face you will kiss and cherish” his fingers find your throat again and your eyes roll to the back of your head when he puts pressure on your windpipe. “And this is the face that you will look at until you breathe your last” he holds you until you are on the verge of losing consciousness, though letting go only to stifle the gasp you let out to resume your breathing with a hot sealing kiss.

Your muscles twitch and your body spasms in the position he has you in. Laxness washes over your limbs and you begin to violently shake from the dull and yet stinging quakes of sensation that bloom through your whole form.

For some dark, twisted and depraved reason, you cum from the helplessness of your situation and it is present in Steve's amused and proud smirk that the knowledge is not lost on him. Swiping an arm around you from behind with an air of satisfaction, he collects your limp body closer to his and walks off to your chambers with your drenched sexes still connected, leaving a crowd of embarrassed, curious, satisfied as well as tamed spectators in his wake.

You surrender yourself to him and close your eyes as your body collapses on top of his. Your mind barely works but you know one thing— fact as clear as day; you are not making it out of this without at least one child on the way.

And there isn't a single thing you can do about it.

. . .

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cellophanejpeg · 2 months ago

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i know you want my touch for life | s. hanta

s: After confessing his feelings for you and running away, Sero finally comes back to you.

w: blood, injuries, bathroom sex

n: my deepest and most sincere apologies for taking so long! my brain was throwing a tantrum ): thank you to everyone who commented, liked and reblogged this series! hope you stick around for more Sero thoughts in the future! beta read by my queen @jemifis | read on ao3

previous | start here

Please, call me back.

Hanta, let’s talk about it. Please.

Don’t push me away.

I miss you.

You stare at the text messages you’ve been sending Sero for the past week as you walk down the street on your way back from the grocery store. He hasn’t read the last one yet, though. His last words said to you still echo in your mind, even a week later. You haven’t seen him at work, so you suspect he’s changed his patrol shifts on purpose just so he can avoid you.

You don’t understand why he ran away after confessing. If he had stayed, he would’ve heard you say you loved him back, but he decided to literally jump out the window, leaving you in shock. You remember it had taken a few minutes for you to come to your senses, processing what just happened. Then, you had grabbed your phone to call him, but he has been ignoring you ever since.

The door to your apartment beeps once you type the password to it and you step in, taking off your shoes before closing it behind you. Immediately, you know something is wrong. The air is colder, an icy draft is coming from the window you didn't leave open when you left. Carefully leaving your bags of groceries on the floor, you activate your quirk and walk carefully through your home.

A sound comes from your bathroom, something dropping to the floor and someone swearing. You immediately recognize their voice.

“Hanta?” You say, from the bathroom door.

He's still in his hero costume, sitting on the floor, back turned to you. The supplies from the emergency kit you keep in the cabinet are all scattered on the floor, some bloody gauze and cotton balls staining the white tiled floor. Sero jumps when he hears your voice, looking over his shoulder to you.

“Oh my god, are you okay?!” You rush towards him, kneeling on the floor to see blood everywhere. He presses some clean gauze on an ugly wound on the right side of his stomach.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles, trying to hide his wounds from you, cheeks burning in embarrassment.

“What happened?!” You look for his eyes, but he avoids you. Your hands touch his, gently prying them apart from his wound. When you see it's a gash, not a stab wound, you almost sigh in relief. At least, you wouldn't have to take him to the hospital, “Here, let me help you.”

You grab some scissors from the sink cabinet to cut around his uniform so you can clean the cut. The silence fills the gap as you carefully cut through the fabric; you feel his eyes on you now that you’re concentrated on the wound. You open an antiseptic bottle and dab a gauze on it.

“Are you going to tell me what happened, or you’re just gonna stare at me the whole time?” You say, carefully dabbing the wet gauze on his cut.

“Villain…” He says after hissing from the sting, “got away… I don't know why I came here…”

A small smile curves your lips. “I'm glad you did. I missed watching Gossip Girl with you.”

Sero looks into your eyes for a moment before you resume your ministrations on him. A comfortable silence falls over you both; he watches as you take your time, enjoying the sensation of your fingers gently grazing on his skin. Then, you walk over to your bedroom and pull a shirt and a pair of sweats for him to wear.

“I think you should shower before I patch you up.”

He stands up, with some difficulty, and starts zipping down his hero suit. If this was before, you’d be basking on the sight, watching every curve and crease of his abdomen. But it’s different now. Sero ran away after confessing his feelings for you, and maybe he made a mistake in your eyes. You don’t want him to run now, so you don’t even mention the time you spent apart from him.

Even though this is the longest you’ve gone without speaking to him.

“Sure,” he responds, taking the clothes from you. You grab the doorknob to close the bathroom door, but he stops you, wrapping his hand around your wrist, “Angel…”

You swallow hard, avoiding eye contact.

“I’m sorry–”

“We don’t have to talk about it.” You interrupt him, putting your own feelings aside. Of course you want to talk about it, you want to spill your guts to him, say you love him back and kiss him until you’re out of breath. But if he doesn’t want to be with you, his friendship will have to do.

You can’t lose him, not over some stupid crush–

“I shouldn’t have run like I did…” Sero interrupts your thoughts. Your gaze snaps up to him and you see the sincerity.

“Please, don’t…” You plead, tears watering your eyes, “don’t ever do that again.”

He cups your cheeks to wipe the tears that are already rolling down your face, touching your foreheads together and whispering another apology.

“If you had stayed, you would’ve heard me saying it back.” You finally confess, wrapping your hands around his wrists, and closing your eyes. You miss the way he tenses at your words, snapping his eyes open. “But I don’t want to lose you… So if you didn’t mean it, if you said it in the heat of the moment… let’s put it behind us and–”

Sero’s lips press against yours, swallowing your words. You pause for a moment, before giving into his embrace. Your arms wrap around his neck as he pulls you closer, slipping his tongue past your lips. He walks you backwards until your lower back touches the sink and, at that, he hooks his hands behind your thighs and helps you up – grunting, since his wound is still very fresh –, on the cold marble surface.

“Hanta.” You try to say, but he’s already pulling your shorts down your hips. “Wait, stop.”

Sero looks at you with hunger in his eyes, but pauses his movements, fingers so close to your core, itching to touch you.

“Your wound–”

“It doesn’t hurt,” he interrupts, burying his face on your neck and gently biting your skin.

“But–” you try to protest, but he doesn’t let you.

“Please, Angel,” he mumbles against your skin, the pad of his thumb rubbing against your clit, “please let me love you, please.”

Heat blooms in your stomach as your heart skips a beat. Thoughts escape your mind as he makes his way down on your body, licking, sucking your skin, and gently nipping on your soft flesh. He pulls your shorts down, along with your underwear, unceremoniously, not wanting to waste a second without touching you. You lift your hips, one side at a time, so he can undress you easily and, soon enough, your ass is on the cold sink.

Sero spreads your legs and knees on the floor, burying his face in your heat. With every lick and stroke of his tongue, you grow wetter and your breath grows heavier. Then Sero pushes two fingers inside you as he stands up, pressing his lips against yours again.

“Can't wait any longer, sorry, Angel, I just–”

He sounds so needy, that you can't help but give in to him. You nod, making sure he knows it's okay for him to give in. Sero unzips his suit, revealing his already hard cock and you barely get a look before he's pushing inside you.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, bottoming out and grabbing your thighs so tightly that his blunt nails dig on your skin.

“Shit, Hanta.” You gasp as he starts a quick and hard pace, “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

“Missed you too,” he confesses, “Missed you so fucking much.”

You lace your fingers behind his neck, bringing his face to yours, touching foreheads and bumping noses. An occasional kiss is shared between the both of you, but it's mostly curses and affectionate words. You know when he's about to come as his thrusts start to quicken and the moans that slip past his lips are broken.

“I love you!” He breathes on your neck, releasing his orgasm and spilling everything inside you, “Fuck, I love you. I love you so much, Angel.”

A smile spreads on your face, as you recover from his outburst.

“I love you,” you respond, carding your fingers on his hair, “I have been loving you since we were stupid teenagers.”

Sero breathes out a laugh, pressing his lips on your neck.

“Sorry I ran away like that,” he whispers, cupping your cheek with a hand, “I was a little embarrassed…”

You're still smiling at him when you press your lips on his gently.

“I'm glad you came back.” Your hand wraps around his wrist gently. “But I need you to shower. It's a miracle you're not bleeding again.”

Sero laughs, pulling away from – and out of – you.

“Join me?” He takes your hand in his, a pleading look on his face.

You roll your eyes, “No. Shower and then we can go again.”

“Then, we can watch Gossip Girl?”

You laugh out.

“Yes, we can.”

You stand on your toes to kiss him on the lips. Then you push his shoulder, towards the shower box.

“Now, go.”

“Love you,” he says, “see you in a bit.”

“See you.” You leave the bathroom, butterflies in your stomach, joy flooding your senses.

@lousypotatoes @shoyosdoll @fresa-luna @crazyvalerie1236 @siillkie @jeanbabygirl @bookcluberror @joshhutchersonisdaddy @mudibleee

#sero hanta x reader #sero hanta #hanta sero x reader #hanta smut #sero smut #bnha smut #mha smut #my hero academia smut #boku no heor academia smut #gabiwrites.txt

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oatmealwrites · 25 days ago

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NSFW Holiday Hoes: [Frat JJK AU] Nanami x F! Reader

Eating Holiday Cookies!

Finance Student! Frat Treasurer! Nanami x F! Reader

Trying to save money in the frat's budget for all the expensive parties Gojo keeps throwing, you offer to help bake cookies for the next function instead of buying them. Though Nanami has something sweeter in mind he'd like to eat…

Tags: porn with plot, friends to lovers, helpless pining?, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, condom, condom breaks, pull out method, hickies, neck kissing, established relationship at end, gojo is a rat, haibara and ieiri are in on it, MDNI, 18+

Holiday Hoes Masterlist

regular masterlist

Word Count: 9.4k

kinda rushed? LMAO

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

Mariah Carey plays on the television of your shared apartment while you and Ieiri sit on the wooden floorboards humming along. Rolls of various wrapping paper litter the floor along with colorful bows, scissors, pens, and a few holiday snacks while the light smoke from her cigarette drafts in the air.

“Pass the tape.”

“–Here.”

You seal one side of the box in front of you, tape sticking to each end of your fingertips while Ieiri struggles to tie a golden bow to the strap of a gift bag. Iori had left an additional pile of holiday gifts that needed wrapping beside you on the couch, apologizing while she ran out the door to her part-time job.

“This is going to take forever…”

You don’t bother looking up from your position with tape covering all five fingers on one of your hands and instead remain focused on folding a loose piece of wrapping paper. “Hmmm? At least finals are done so we have the time.”

Ieiri sighs and finishes the small bow before sliding the gift bag near the love seat and looking at the mountain of boxes that remained stacked beside you both. The song shifts to one off of a Micheal Buble album and you hum along absentmindedly, back hunched over in focus despite the uncomfortable position.

Despite the 25th passing several days ago, most of your friends have begun to trickle back to campus from their break, creating the perfect opportunity for your belated holiday parties.

“Well,” Ieiri leans over and slides a small shoebox-sized gift closer to her before placing it on a roll of wrapping paper that was laid flat. “Maybe after this we can–”

Ring!

You both pause and look over to Ieiri’s phone lying on the coffee table and now vibrating against the glass with an incoming call. Placing the last few pieces of tape on the side of the box, you flip it over and look around for a spare marker while Ieiri accepts the call and places it on speaker.

“Haibara? You’re on speaker.”

She resumes her task and slides the blade of the scissors up the roll like a hot knife through butter while you continue your search for a Sharpie.

“Hey! Are you busy at the moment?”

“Mmmm just wrapping some gifts. What’s up?”

Like second nature, Ieiri notices you looking under the couch searching to see if it had rolled underneath and silently reaches for a marker at her side and passes it to you.

“Ah, perfect! So not too busy then…”

“Huh? Get to the point.”

Haibara’s voice is light and airy despite him obviously being frantic as the receiver shuffles against something a few times and Kento can be heard in the background yelling at somebody.

“Well it’s the budget again…”

You refrain a snort and pop the cap off the marker while Ieiri rolls her eyes and begins taping sides of the box. “That idiot Satoru again? Seriously, I don't understand why you guys are even surprised at this point.”

“I mean it’s not surprising but it left Kento and I in a tight spot–”

“–What do you mean you needed the rental to have a hot tub? Satoru–”

You bite your lip at the sound, and you and Ieiri finally let out a few laughs when she mutes the call. This isn’t the first time Satoru had gone over Kento’s head for a party budget, despite him being the treasurer, but it always left a mess of issues for Kento and Haibara to clean up.

“Ok, and why did you think to call me?”

Haibara shuffles a bit on the other end, trying to get Kento out of earshot and avoid any further interruptions. “Satoru is offering to cover the alcohol costs, but that still leaves the function budget empty to cover food and supplies.”

Ieiri hums and flips the gift around to begin taping the other side. “Soooo?”

“So what if you guys helped us? Maybe see if you know anyone with winter lights for the decorations and if you can come by the apartment to plan it?”

“‘Guys’?”

“Hm? I assume you’re with Y/N”

You offer a short ‘hey’ and slide the finished present over to the other pile of completed gifts and stretch the knot forming in your shoulder muscles.

“Please? Just come by and see what you can do to help us with food and decorations. We’ll be in your debt!!”

Ieiri looks up at you, the mountain of boxes yet to be wrapped, and then back at you once more; Micheal Buble continues singing in the background and a harsh wind has picked up outside. You’re beyond comfortable staying in for the day, but the stupid smirk your roommate shoots you is enough to kick her with your foot.

It wasn’t a secret between the both of you that you found the blonde, sleep deprived, and stressed out frat treasurer incredibly hot. A top of his class graduate student getting his master’s in finance, there were rumors he had even dabbled in some education courses in his undergrad years. Also the big to JJK’s newest pledge Yuji and personal mentor to other member Ino, Kento was a well rounded man who was liked by nearly everyone. To top off an intelligent, book loving personality, he was beyond ripped.

Ieiri giggles a bit and you reach to throw a paper bow at her, scoffing when it barely gets a few inches away from your hand before weakly falling to the ground. Kento was adored by nearly everyone, and that also meant there was a limited chance he would actually reciprocate the thoughts you had about him. You had bumped into each other often on campus and grabbed lunch when said events occurred, but besides that and assisting in cleaning up the budget, the man rarely messaged you outside of working hours.

Maybe you had been on a few coffee and study ‘dates’ but the real meaning of the d-word was yet to be determined.

“Yea I think we should be able to swing by~” She ducks as you make a swipe for the phone and kicks you back with her foot pressed against your gut,. “–You’re at your apartment right? We’ll be right over.”

The call ends and you give her a light shove before standing up fully and stretching the soreness from your back. Ieiri giggles slightly and whistles at the mountain of gifts yet to be processed while standing up as well.

“I’ll go–”

“–I already knew you would”

You roll your eyes at her interruption and continue, “if you promise not to do that thing you and Haibara always do when we hang out.”

Ieiri pads over to the kitchen and pours a glass of water while tapping her chin and feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do! You and Haibara always fuck off whenever it’s the four of us and leave Kento and I alone.”

“Maybe we just happened to get busy. Besides, it’s doing you a favor.”

You scoff and walk over to the coat closet and flip through your winter jackets before pulling out a puffer and knit scarf. While yes, you had absolutely 0 game when it came to asking Kento out to things, being “conveniently” stranded with him didn’t exactly produce many moments of casual opportunity for an initiative.

If he wanted to make a move wouldn’t he make one during those moments as well?

“Whatever, but we can’t be there long– Iori will kill us if we don’t finish wrapping those in time for the Secret Santa.”

Ieiri shrugs and puts out the last of her cigarette on the ceramic ashtray you got her for Christmas last year before slipping on her own coat.

“Fine, fine… I guess I’m driving too huh?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Kento and Haibara’s apartment is in a cozy complex near the university’s business building and nestled between a variety of coffee shops, boutiques, and restaurants. Along with the best bakery Kento has ever shown you. You barely ring the buzzer for their unit number before Haibara quickly ushers you inside through the intercom and the front door buzzes indicating it’s unlocked.

“Must be serious.”

Ieiri calls the elevator and pushes the button for the 7th floor while you use the mirrored walls to smooth out your hair which the winter wind has pushed in every direction. Checking your casual outfit of jeans, white t-shirt, and holly red cardigan underneath the parka, the elevator dings and you both step out.

“Can you stop that? You look fine.”

“Fine? I look like I’ve been run over by a snowplow.”

“Yea, well that’s how you always look. So just rela–”

You nudge Ieiri in the ribs and stop in front of the unit number 7-3 for only 5 seconds before Haibara swings it open; your hand still raised to knock against the wood slowly falls down in surprise.

“Thank goodness! Now get in here!”

The man grabs both your and Ieiri’s arms and pulls you through the entryway and into the open kitchen space right by the front door. You barely have time to kick off your winter boots before Kento walks in from his bedroom and gives a pitiful look to all of you.

Some purple bags hang under his eyes from the exhaustion of finals and a certain white-haired man’s antics, and his cheekbones seem more prominent than ever from lack of proper meals.

“Oh, you didn’t have to come.”

“We need backup if this is going to work!”

Haibara marches back around the kitchen island and shakes Kento’s shoulders with a slight panic while Ieiri coasts past them to open a window in their living room; she opens a pack of cigarettes and pulls out a lighter.

“Ok,” you say, leaning against the kitchen island and crossing your arms at the two men. “Why don’t you just fill us in first before we strategize what kind of help you even need.”

Kento mirrors your position and rests against the sink counter directly in front of you. “With Satoru covering the alcohol costs, that leaves us trying to figure out food and decorations.”

“Ask Suguru for decorations. I know for a fact he’s got speakers, holiday lights, and a smoke machine.” Ieiri takes a drag of her cigarette from the windowsill. “He might know someone with strobes…”

You notice a slight twitch in Kento’s eyebrow but ignore it when he continues, “Well, that just leaves food.”

Haibara beams at Ieiri while she flicks the ash out of the window and Kento turns to you thinking deeply, “That idiot said he’s going to be buying 14 handles of liquor… I suppose people will be too drunk to really notice what we serve.”

“Cookies?”

Kento snaps from his thoughts and looks at you. “Cookies? I mean I guess that works…”

“And it’s fitting for the holiday spirit!” Haibara smiles while walking back over from the window.

The two men nod once to each other and begin opening their pantry, taking out basic baking ingredients and placing them on the counter.

You walk beside them and assist in searching for flour. “Any particular flavor in mind? I already know Satoru would be heartbroken if we don’t have frosted sugar cookies.”

Kento scoffs and passes you a sack of all-purpose flour, “I’m not surprised… we can make those and another recipe I know.”

Kento stands up and looks at the ingredients, while you admire the apartment and watch Ieiri walk back into the kitchen after flinging the last of her cigarette out the window. The strung up holiday lights are most likely Yuji and Ino’s doing; getting Haibara’s permission while Kento was in class. Some old ceramic animals sit in several corners of the apartment: on the bookshelves in the living room, on the small end table by the front door, and along the kitchen counter touching the backsplash.

“Swedish..?”

“Danish. They were my grandfather’s.”

You silently hum and back away from the small ceramic goose with a red ribbon around its neck and look back at Kento who holds your gaze with a gentle admiration before turning back to the various foods on his counter. The decoration’s color scheme of red and white now makes more sense; you return to the counter next to the man while Haibara and Ieiri eyeball the ingredients and hover over her cellphone to pull up a recipe for sugar cookies.

“We’ve got enough to make these I think..shall we start?”

Immediately you break into two groups with Haibara and Ieiri making the base of the sugar cookies while you work with Kento to make the dough for the recipe he already knew. You scoffed at your roommate’s wiggling eyebrows when she immediately volunteered to help Haibara, and you now watch Kento intently while he sifts through ingredients deftly without reference.

“Geez honor roll for finance and a master baker? I bet your CV is impressive.”

“Personal hobbies aren’t typically included on resumes.”

You suck in a breath and nod once awkwardly, standing motionless at Kento’s side and silently cursing yourself for lack of better conversation.

“Thanks though,” Kento mumbles quietly, keeping his head down to focus on the mixing bowl beneath him.

Some blonde hair cascades from the swept back look it was currently fixed in and grazes the pink skin of his cheeks. You take a moment to drink in the image of him, dressed in a blue casual wool sweater, the fabric rolled up to his elbows and showing off his veiny forearms, and khaki slacks that stretched around the swell of his thighs.

“Can you pass the cinnamon?”

“Huh?”

“The cinnamon.”

You snap out of your intrusive horny thoughts and look around the counter before passing a small vial of spice to the man. You watch Kento mix together the dry ingredients, not missing the way Ieiri and Haibara chuckle amongst themselves quietly and turn up background holiday music on the bluetooth speaker.

Shooting a glance at your roommate, your eyes only lift when the oven dings to indicate the pre-heat is complete and ready to bake.

“Ah, we’re just short of sugar…”

Haibara and Ieiri stand over their own mixing bowl and look down at the contents below; everything else has already been added to the bowl. Ieiri makes a move for the now empty sugar sack and shakes the last few granules into the mix.

“It’s probably fine.”

“The ratio will be off.” Kento moves over to the two of them and takes Ieiri’s phone to eyeball the recipe. “You need 7 parts flour to 3 parts sugar… 7:2 won’t be good.”

You look between the three of them and raise an eyebrow when Haibara and Ieiri giggle to themselves. Setting the whisk still in your own mixing bowl, you walk over to their batch of loose powder and immediately notice that it seems more than enough sugar has already been added.

“Then we’ll head to the store!”

“Yes! Wouldn’t want the cookies to be botched.”

Immediately Ieiri moves to pick up her coat from the hooks by the front door with Haibara hot on her heels and digs through a small basket for car keys. You put your hands on your hips and shoot her a glare and she makes no effort to wipe the innocent grin from her face while shuffling on a pair of winter boots.

“We’ll head to the market right now! You guys continue.”

“Yes! We won’t be too long.”

Before you can even flip them off from behind Kento’s shoulder, the two slip out the door and can be heard giggling in the halls as they walk to the elevator.

“Those two…”

Kento pays no mind but sighs to himself before getting a large pan out and a rolling pin. “We can at least put this batch into the oven while they’re out.”

Spinning on your heels, you walk back over to the kitchen island and help scoop the dough out of the bowl and onto a cutting board. Without even speaking you both shift seamlessly to place the bowl in the sink while Kento begins to roll the dough flat.

“What recipe is this? You didn’t even need to look it up.”

“Hmm? Oh, I used to make them every year when I was younger.. They’re called brunkager.”

You rinse your fingers off and turn back to the man, now admiring the way he flats the dough with enough force to create a small bulge in the noticeable veins of his arms.

“I don’t think I’ve heard of those.”

He hums and turns to you with a piece of raw dough pinched between his fingers; you silently take it and pop it between your lips while he watches.

“Gingerbread!”

Immediately, a small smile works its way onto his face and he turns back to the flatten dough with a knife, ready to cut shapes.

“Basically. I used to make them with my mother’s side of the family when I was young.”

“Wow.. that’s really sweet.”

A small blush works its way onto his cheeks at your compliment but he ducks his head down to let more blonde hair push further into his face to hide it. He cuts a few more shapes before offering you the knife to create your own.

The entire moment is warm and soft; Last Christmas plays in the background while Kento pushes back the sleeves of your cardigan without asking as you cut a star shape from the dough.

“Now that I know you’re a good baker, I’ll have to ask you for cooking and finance advice.”

He doesn’t laugh while he places each shape onto the pan covered with parchment. “I’m not a personal consultant you know.”

Oh shit. Ok, maybe the conversation is still salvageable.

“--But I suppose I can help you if you really want to hear it. It’s kinda boring.”

“I don’t think so, and besides, you’re really good at it.” You stay looking down at the last few scraps of dough. “Plus, I’m trying to figure out how to save up for a car, ya know.”

Kento lets out an air of chuckle this time and arranges the last few shapes onto the pan. “Still not a consultant but,” he looks at your eyes and briefly your lips before peeling his eyes back to the cookies, “I’d be more than happy to help.”

The proximity is enough to make your cheeks warm, and Kento lifts his eyes to meet yours once more. So close you can smell the woodsy cologne he wears, you swear he’s leaning even closer with each passing second.

Instinctively you lean in and when you’re a breath away from meeting his lips there’s a shrill phone alarm against the counter. Immediately you both backup, as if snapping out of a trance, and Kento reaches over to tap ‘accept’ with a knuckle that wasn’t covered in flour and places it on speaker.

“Heyy~ What’s up, my favorite treasurer?”

Satoru’s voice chirps through the receiver and you stifle a giggle while Kento rolls his eyes. Using the remaining dough scraps, you attempt to forge little shapes beside him.

“Making cookies since you left us with no budget to purchase food.”

“Oooo! Are you making my favorites?”

“Yes we’re making sugar cookies the way the recipe intends, no ‘extra sweet’ ones you seem to demand so much.”

A giggle is heard through the speaker and you show your final shape of an attempted gingerbread man to Kento who smiles gently and nods in indication to add it to the pan. Stepping back, you move to open the oven door.

“Anyways~~ I heard from Ieiri that Y/N’s coming to the party. Either make your move now or I’ll tell Suguru he can ask her out instead.”

Despite holding the tray and standing right in front of the oven, Kento nearly trips forward to shove them inside before pivoting to grab his phone off the counter. Not caring if flour or residual dough gets on the screen, he takes it off speaker and awkwardly rushes over to the living to continue the call.

Huh? ….Ask you out? He wanted to ask you out???

You shut the oven door and make a mental note of the time before turning to watch Kento whisper-yell into his phone while pinching the bridge of his nose. His body refuses to turn around and face the kitchen again; you stand awkwardly after washing your hands and having no imminent task to complete.

“No you idiot… Are you aware that you’re not helping whatsoever?..... Ok fine, fine… just, don’t say anything to him.”

It feels wrong to even hear half the conversation despite needing answers as to what the fuck was currently happening. The conversation lasts maybe another 90 seconds before a long sigh can be heard escaping his lips and you quickly attempt to make yourself look busy. As if you weren’t hanging onto every word.

He slides his phone into his back pocket and approaches the kitchen with an awkward look on his face, not quite making eye contact.

“I won’t pretend like you didn’t hear that idiot on the phone…and I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable,” he pauses and looks up at you apologetically. “If you would rather go home… I know Ieiri was your ride. I can order you an Uber…”

…huh?

You pause and watch the man in front of you with cheeks so warm they could fry an egg and eyes open so wide they may pop out of your skull.

“What?”

Kento locks eyes with you and moves to stand against the counter, giving several feet of respectful space, and rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean I knew I should’ve never even told Satoru anything to begin with… I understand if you have feelings for Suguru and find this as awkward as I do right now…”

It takes several moments before thoughts can be translated into a coherent and understandable sentence, though it’s not the most articulate: “You like me?”

Despite being a boiled down version of what was actually happening, Kento just raises his eyebrows at your slight forwardness before nodding curtly.

“Yea, I do. I just… haven’t figured out how to come forward with it, until now..”

There’s a steady pause as his words sink in; the moment doesn’t even feel like reality as you stand there processing the gravity of everything before it comes crashing down.

“I feel the same,” you say as you take a careful step forward to close the distance slightly. “Ieiri always clowns me for never making any kind of move.”

“Well that makes two of us.. Haibara isn’t exactly subtle at trying to get me alone with you.”

You take another step forward and laugh at the simplicity of everything, shaking your head and not noticing the way Kento moves to close the space. He leans against the same side of the island with you and hovers inches away while he tugs your hand away from your face with a curious smile on his lips.

“What’s so funny?”

Waving slightly with your free hand, a few more giggles escape your lips while Kento moves to lean his head down towards yours.

“Are you laughing at me?” he questions playfully.

“Mmm maybe.”

You blink slowly at him once, a smile on your lips when he finally nudges his chin closer to connect your lips. Instinctively you shut your eyes and lean into the motion, a small smile on your face at how simple everything seemed.

With a few more pecks Kento backs up slightly, “it’s gonna be hard to kiss you if you keep smiling like that.”

There’s no pause for your response and he leans his head back down to kiss you once more, though not as gently as the first time. The hand that he had used to hold your hand a moment before now rests respectfully on your hips while his other pushes locks of hair away from your face.

The smile falls from your lips as you lean your head in further to match the force and your hands snake up to wrap around his neck and lazily rest on his broad shoulders. Music in the background isn’t enough to deafen the pounding heartbeat in your ears and Kento pushes further into the kiss, his nose occasionally brushing your cheek from the force.

In a drunken haze you pull him in closer, as if it were even physically possible, and your legs pivot to push your ass flush against the counter while Kento stands between your legs. Despite the intoxicating flavor of his lips, you can’t help but notice how PG the whole moment was.

Normally this would be fine… normally. But you’ve been thinking about this man for months on end and the fact he’s keeping his hands so painfully respectful at your hips has you craving something more.

Without disconnecting your lips, your hands snake down his sharp shoulder blades and then forearms before resting on his wrists. Before he can mumble a phrase into your lips, you push his hands down and back to rest against the swell of your ass.

Immediately, he leans back a bit and looks into your eyes. “Are you sure that’s alright?”

He pants lightly with pupils blown so wide they look black instead of hazel. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

A chill shiver runs down your spine and you instinctively lift your hands off his wrists in slight shock. Fuck. The last thing you wanted to do was pressure him into something he didn’t want.

“O-Oh! I’m sorry… I should’ve–”

“–No.” Kento leans forward and interrupts, “I want to do…that. To touch you and more.. But I didn’t want you to think that’s all I’m actually after.”

You pause and look up at his face, with lids half closed as you drink in the way his usual rational and put-together appearance begins to melt.

“So what are you after?”

Kento sucks in a breath and looks around aimlessly for a moment while shaking his head; this conversation was not something he was expecting to have when Haibara had invited you and Ieiri over.

“I wish I could do this a bit more properly but-” He looks back down at you and admires your eyes before lingering on your lips. “Something serious. Something real. I’m not really a guy who does anything like this casually.”

“Me neither. I don’t usually kiss and grind against the people I cook holiday cookies with.”

Kento actually laughs at this and leans down to peck your lips chastley, his hands still on your ass, but the pressure never increases.

“Good, the idea of anyone else being able to do this pisses me off a bit.”

“Mmmmm like Suguru?”

This causes a scoff to escape his lips and his fingers to dig slightly into the flesh of your ass, “Don’t.”

A coy smile works its way onto your lips while you return to wrap your arms around his neck and pull his mouth to hover just above yours. His lips purse slightly, in both feigned annoyance and eagerness to reconnect your mouths once more.

“Or what?”

That's all it takes for Kento to push his face forward and meet your lips with passion and sink his fingers into the flesh of your ass. It’s light at first, but when your fingers pull on the strands of his blonde hair, the pressure increases and begins to knead.

Tugging his neck down further, you tilt your head to the side and deepen the kiss, parting your lips slightly when his tongue swipes against your own. Kento isn’t sure what he enjoys more in this moment, the taste of the spiced dough on your tongue or the sweet fruity chapstick that lingers on your lips.

Fingers squeeze and tug at the flesh of your ass and after a moment you snake one hand down to rest on his wrist and drag it up to cup your breast. Immediately the both of you groan into the kiss and Kento raises his other hand to now knead at both of your tits.

Fingers cup the underside of your breasts while his thumb pads circle and push against your bra where your nipples harden underneath. Squeezing and palming at your tits while his tongue explores your molars is enough to cause your aching cunt to squeeze pathetically around nothing.

“Fuck,” Kento parts from your lips and pants slightly before delving down to kiss and bite at the flesh on your neck. “Driving me insane right now baby.”

There isn’t time to linger on the pet name before he sinks his canines into your neck and begins sucking the flesh. His hands leave your tits and wrap around to squeeze at your ass while his pelvis finally grinds harder against your hips; his erection begs for some sort of friction.

Kento runs the flat of his tongue over the skin a few more times before kissing it in a weak apology for the bruise and moves on to another section of your neck. He places a few quick kisses to your pulse point right under the jaw before biting once more; his nose tickles the skin just below your ear.

“Ha.. you seem…nnghh.. Excited,” you barely groan out, head tilted back and to the side to allow more room for his ministrations.

Kento places a few more kisses to the spot before trailing his lips down the side of your neck in search of the next place to leave another purple hickey.

“Of course I am.” His lips stop just above your collarbone as he murmurs into the flesh, “I used to get so fucking worried you would see the boner in my jeans whenever we would get lunch together… didn’t want you to think I was some sick pervert.”

You gasp when his lips suck against your flesh before breaking into a slight giggle and tugging at his hair.

“Mmmm I’m beginning to think exactly that.”

He lifts from your collarbone with a pop! from the suction and scoffs before nuzzling into the other side of your neck. Planting chaste kisses while his hands slide down and his thumbs rub circles on your hip bones.

“Well if you knew what I was thinking… you wouldn’t be far off the mark.”

You shiver at the words and tug his hair to tilt his head upright and drag his lips to meet yours. Immediately he tilts into it further and chases after your lips every time you part to take a breath. As if addicted, his lips refuse to leave yours for more than a moment at a time, holding your hips still while he pathetically ruts his throbbing cock against the fabric of your jeans.

With one more grind against your hips that leaves your cunt drenching your panties in a desperate heat, you tug his head back. A whimper nearly escapes his lips at the action of being deprived of your lips and the sting of his hair being pulled when you look into his eyes.

You wrap one hand to cup his cheek which he instinctively leans his head into and places a chaste kiss into your palm. His eyes don’t leave yours while you both pant a few times.

Taking a breath you slide your other hand flat down his chest and take in the softness of his wool sweater and the firmness of his pectorals and abs underneath. You break eye contact and watch your hand trail further down until your fingers trace the hem of his khakis and toy with the belt loops of the fabric.

Before you can even move to the button, his hand leaves your hip and holds your wrist firmly in place. You silently swallow and look back up at him.

Maybe he doesn’t want to go further… maybe he wants to leave it here.

A few more doubts swirl in your mind while you furrow your brows in thought before Kento leans in to kiss your palm against his cheek once more.

“Don’t.” He kisses your hand again. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you nod once before he tugs you into him and away from the counter. His hands run under your ass to where the flesh meets your thighs and tilts his head up.

“Jump f’me.”

Immediately you respond to the command and jump up while Kento’s arms grab the underside of your jeans and hoist you up to match your pelvis to his. Your feet don’t have time to wrap around his waist before he walks forward again and places you on the kitchen island.

Stepping back he walks to the oven and dutifully shuts off the heat before eyeing you once again like prey.

“Making cookies can wait,” he walks over and splays your thighs to stand between them. “I’d rather eat one right now…”

The way he looks down at you is enough to make your gut do cartwheels with excitement; the calm and rational man in front of you is now replaced with one desperately oozing carnal desire.

He leans down to capture your lips once more before gently pushing your back flat against the counter; he pushes the mixing bowls and dry ingredients to the side to make room. As soon as the cool marble of the counter top flushes against your warm skin, you can feel him play with the button of your jeans.

“This ok, baby?”

You peer down and admire the way he hunches over and pants lightly against your exposed navel from the way your shirt has ridden up slightly. Swallowing, you nod once more, heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Kento places a light kiss against your navel and pops the button open and slides the zipper of your jeans down.

“Usually, I’d prefer words, but,” he taps your hips to indicate for you to lift them and he drags the fabric down to your ankles and pulls them to the floor, “we can work on that later.”

Immediately you move to shut your thighs in embarrassment but his hands catch your knees and push them apart again. You whimper slightly as he hunches over a bit more to admire the way your lace panties are stained with a dark patch of arousal.

His breath is hot against your inner thighs when he takes his index finger to run up and down the patch in half amusement and half awe.

You make a pathetic attempt to shut your thighs again. “It’s embarrassing…”

Kento stops his finger mid swipe and pushes into the fabric to sop up more of the wetness seeping from your aching cunt. You twitch at the sensation and look up at the ceiling in attempt to cool the heat in your cheeks.

“Not embarrassing,” he says as he releases the pressure and leans down to place a quick kiss to the patch before hooking his fingers around the elastic waistband. “It’s all for me… right?”

He pulls your panties down partially and taps your hips once more to indicate for you to briefly lift up again.

“Nngh..y-yea..”

Your voice is weak in your throat but the silence and lack of touch makes you tilt your head up once again to watch them man. Sitting up on your elbows briefly, you don’t miss the way he palms the fabric of your panties into a smaller bundle and slips them into the pocket of his khakis.

“Hey–”

“Mm?” Kento pushes them further into his pocket before resting his hands on your knees to keep them spread. “I didn’t mean to ruin them…”

He leans down and pants lightly against your cunt, “It’s only fair I wash them and later…promptly return them.”

Before you can make a remark that he is indeed perverted, Kento opens his mouth and licks a long stripe up your pussy. Leaning back against the counter once again at the sensation, the man between your thighs doesn’t hesitate to initiate a disgustingly sloppy french kiss against your cunt.

Lips moving against your cunt, his tongue works its way inside and moves to massage the walls of your pussy. Lifting his hands away from your knees and letting your thighs cup his ears like muffs, one hand goes to splay the opening to your cunt wider while the other rubs circles into your clit.

“Ahhh… fuck!”

Kento’s nose rubs against the flesh where your pussy and inner thigh meet, occasionally tickling you despite the intense pressure of his mouth against you. With one more thrust of his tongue inside, he lifts his face slowly to reattach his lips to your clit.

His chin is covered in a mixture of wetness and saliva but he pays no mind; his index finger slowly inches inside while his tongue ruts against your clit. You throw your head back at the delicious stretch against his finger and twitch your hips at the sensation of his lips suckling on your nerves.

“Fuck baby… you’re pretty tight.” He leans back and looks up at you from your thighs, eyes half closed in drunken pleasure, “gotta make sure you’re warmed up before you can take me.”

The idea of letting the put together and posed Kento have his way with you makes you clench pathetically around his finger.

He leans back once more. “Just got so much wetter.” He adds a second finger and shamelessly watches your face contort with pleasure. “Gonna be the death of me.”

You whimper at his words and grind against his fingers, the familiar knot in your abdomen getting tighter. Kento doesn’t mind the awkward half-hunched position he’s in as he increases the speed of his tongue and continues finger fucking you in attempt to find that particular spot.

“K-Ken… nnngh FUCK..”

You can’t even mumble his whole name, too dizzy from the pleasure coursing through your veins. Feeling the knot get tighter you bite your lip and run a hand through his hair and tug at the scalp lightly before gently pushing his head back.

Immediately, the man stops and looks up at you in worry; your slick and his saliva still coating his chin in a shiny sheen.

“I-Is everything ok?” He stands up fully and searches your face intently. “Did I hurt you?”

The soft and intimate tone of his voice spurs butterflies in your stomach and you sit up fully on the counter to face him. On instinct, Kento steps between your thighs and leans his head down to search your face; his forehead hovers only an inch above yours.

“I’m ok, Kento. Really… I am.”

You tilt your chin upward to peck his lips and he immediately latches his mouth to yours, showing all his worry and attentiveness through the action. When you lean back his lips chase yours for a moment and his eyes search yours; the taste of your own slick now coating your lips.

“I’m ok.”

“Then.. why did you–”

“–I want to come… I want you to make me cum..”

He searches your face in a brief confusion, eyebrows furrowed in a ‘V’ shape before you continue.

“I just…” The admission makes your cheeks burn, but before you can turn your head away he lifts his hand to hold your cheek and face forward. “I just… wanted to cum.. On your cock…”

Despite whispering the words, the man hovering right in front of you hears each one and opens his eyes in a slight shock before grinning.

He leans down and kisses you once again and sighs in relief, “Oh thank goodness… I was worried you were having second thoughts about me, baby.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into you again and smile up at him, “Never.”

“Good. To be fair I wasn’t sure I would even be able to stop now that we’ve started.”

The contrast of his behavior to his gentlemanly nature makes you grin and connect your lips once more before he backs up and offers a hand. Slipping your fingers in his, you slide off the counter and admire the way he bends down to collect your jeans before leading you to his bedroom.

You take a moment to admire the room while he moves to lock the door and neatly fold your pants. His bed is tidy and neat but the desk by the window is scattered with a variety of papers, coffee mugs, and trail mix containers. There’s a floor lamp that brings a warm glow to the room in addition to the natural light which makes it extremely cozy.

Despite there being maybe one article of clothing on the floor, Kento immediately moves to awkwardly organize things.

Dusting off the tops of his dresser and fixing the high school photo of him, Haibara, Suguru, and Satoru he turns to you. “Sorry for the mess… I wasn’t expecting company here today.”

You chuckle and move to admire the photo next to him, “Woa, your hair! I didn’t know you had an emo phase.”

Kento rolls his eyes and moves to smooth the pale brown comforter flatter while you drink in the rest of his room. A small record player sits on the top of a small bookshelf in the corner while his walls are neatly decorated with a variety of travel posters of places he’s been and wishes to go.

“Malaysia?” You mumble while moving to step next to him again.

“My dream vacation.”

You smile and wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss, only stopping when he backs up to pull off his sweater and undershirt in one movement. The sight of his toned body is enough to make you clench around nothing. Once the fabric is flung to the floor he reaches forward to cup your jaw and slides his tongue back into your mouth as if it was more comfortable in yours than in his.

Your legs hit the back of the bed from the force and you disconnect your lips to peel off your cardigan and sweater. You let him admire the matching lace fabric of your bra for a moment before you undo the metal clasps and drop it to the floor.

His hands lift to knead your now uncovered tits and you moan into his mouth from the sensation when he takes his fingers to pinch your hardened nipples. Shivers running down your spine, the lack of previous release creates an extra needy whine escaping your lips.

The erection painfully pushing against the fabric of his khakis grinds into the flesh of your pelvis; when your hands move to undo the button and fly, Kento doesn’t stop you this time. Tugging the fabric to his mid thigh, his cock now pushes against the thin fly of his Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

A dark gray patch is stained from the pre cum leaking pathetically from his tip and his hips twitch as soon as your fingers ghost the outline of his cock. Kento’s lips trail your neck while you palm his cock through the underwear; his teeth nibble the flesh behind your ear while light moans escape.

Before you can dip your hands into the waistband, Kento lightly pushes you back onto the bed and captures your lips once more. You scoot back to the pillows at the top of his bed and rest on your elbows when you watch him shimmy the boxer briefs down and free his cock to the air. And he’s definitely well endowed.

Slightly larger than average, the thickness is enough to make your cunt clench around nothing when you imagine the delicious stretch. A noticeable blonde happy trail starts at his navel and goes down to the base of his cock, though everything is neatly trimmed.

Kento notices your stare and awkwardly smiles before giving himself a few pumps and walking back up to the bed. Before you can sit up right and welcome him back to the space with your lips on his, he backs up.

“Ah, condom.”

He pivots and opens his nightstand to dig around for a spare rubber; he nearly gives up the search until his fingers graze a familiar foil texture. Sighing gently in relief, he shuts the drawer and climbs up onto the mattress to meet you.

You meet his lips and lay down further to accommodate the way his body hovers perfectly above yours like a puzzle piece. He reaches down to rub your clit a few times while sucking gently on your neck before pulling back and sitting on his ankles.

He tugs the edge of the foil open and pulls out the lubricated condom; Kento gives a few more pumps to himself before lining his cock the ring of the rubber. Eyebrows furrowed at the motion, you both watch in a shocked horror when the edge of his thumbnail catches on the latex and rips a noticeable hole in the side.

“Fuck.”

Kento tugs it off and tosses it into his bedroom trash before digging through his nightstand again with a frustrated look.

“I don’t think there are any more… shit.”

You sit up and look at the man and gnaw on your lip. Any other time, you would use reasonable sensibility and just offer reciprocating oral between you both. That’s any other time.

“Pull out?”

Kento whips his head around so fast it nearly breaks and mumbles out, “huh?”

The desire coursing through your veins and sight of his cock makes your mind drunk. “Just pull out? Yea?”

Normally Kento would scoff and say how risky that method was in preventing unwanted pregnancies. Normally. Instead he mirrors your drunken gaze and nods slowly, “Yea… I’ll just pull out.”

He walks to the edge of the bed and pulls your ankles so your hips hover in the air in line with his pelvis. For good measure he taps his flushed pink tip to your swollen clit a few times; pearls of pre cum leaking profusely from the tip.

Locking eyes with you for a moment, he sinks in inch by inch, groaning at the sensation of hitting it raw. You lean your head back and wince slightly at the stretch while Kento’s hands immediately move to intertwine with yours.

Kento was expecting you to leave as soon as that idiot Satoru had accidentally aired his pathetic feelings, not for you to reciprocate those same desires and lay beneath him squirming while his cock splits you open. The sight is one he wants to immortalize in his memory: the way your head is thrown back in pleasure from the sting of the stretch, the little nod you make to indicate it’s ‘ok’ to move, and the beautiful way your tits bounce up and down with each thrust.

“F-fuck… Kento..”

Your legs are positioned straight up on his shoulders while he stands and thrusts into your cunt as you lay partially on his bed. There’s a mix of his eucalyptus detergent on the sheets and the raw scent of sex in the air.

His cock pushes in deeper with each thrust, bullying the opening of your cervix despite the facade of a gentleman on his face. Heavy balls slap against the underside of your ass, giving an audible ‘plap’ ‘plap’ ‘plap’ echoing in the room and sweat begins to drip down his temples.

Each stroke has him bottoming out and pushing the stubble of his pubes against your puffy clit for the stimulation you’re craving. The sensation of his cock splitting you open and smack of skin against yours has the familiar sensation building in your abdomen.

Looking up, Kento nearly looks pained from the concentration on his face. You raise an eyebrow but he shakes his head and lets out a shaky breath and places a chaste kiss to your ankle on his shoulder.

“I-I’m… ahhh.. Fine baby… just trying not to cum.. Haaa”

Eyebrows furrowed in deep thought, the sensation of your cunt clenching around him leaves Kento trying to imagine Satoru’s face to avoid cumming too early. He’s supposed to be a gentleman, and well… nice guys finish last right?

Swallowing thickly, Kento moves to hold one of your legs steady on his shoulder while the other rubs circles against your clit. The combination of his cock rutting against your g-spot while the pad of his thumb rubs against your nerves causes a long whine to escape your lips.

“K-kento… fuck!.. G-Gonna cum…”

A gush of arousal seeps from your cunt and your walls clench around his cock while your orgasm washes over you. Head back in pleasure while your nails dig indents into his forearms, your hips twitch to ride your orgasm.

As soon as you regain a steady breath, Kento’s hips stutter and he pulls out with a ring of your cum smudged at the base of his cock. Giving a few extra pumps, hot ropes of cum spill out and over your stomach while your name escapes his lips like prayer.

The warm and sticky sensation coats your abdomen while Kento hovers above you panting; your legs fall from his shoulders and are split around his waist. The moment is raw and vulnerable for a few moments before the post-orgasm clarity washes over both of you.

“I’ll grab a washcloth…hate that I made such a mess of you again.”

You sigh and blink wearily while sitting up on your elbows, smiling at the joke he had made. Watching Kento slip on his boxer briefs and slide out of the room to the bathroom, you exhale and lean further into the comforter of his bed in a sleepy haze.

You don’t even notice when he reopens the door with a warm washcloth in one hand and a tall glass of water in the other. “Don’t tell me you’re asleep already.”

A gentle hum leaves your lips as you sit up and watch the way he gently wipes his cum from your skin and offers you the water.

He stands back up and looks down at you sitting contently. “Though the image of you in my bed is something I can definitely get used to.”

Before you can answer, a light ‘ping!’ rings out from the pants pocket of Kento’s khakis. You can exchange a glance and he leans down to retrieve his phone and stare at his screen in shock.

“What’s wro–”

“They said they’ll be back in 5.”

Your words die in your throat and you both immediately make a break for the bathroom to clean up as fast as possible. After briefly fixing his hair, Kento leaves you to pee after you shoo him out with a, ‘no man is worth a UTI’.

Washing your hands and briefly wiping away any smudged mascara, there’s a short courtesy knock and Kento’s hand pokes out through a crack in the door.

“Sorry there’s no time for a shower….maybe later if you wanna stay, you can take one.”

“Thanks,” you say while grabbing the clothes and changing behind the door as if he didn’t just fuck your brains out. “I’ll be out in a second.”

The door shuts again and you toss the oversized ‘Finance Department’ shirt and JJK sweatpants on while rolling your eyes at the lack of underwear provided. You wander out of the bathroom and stop in the hallway to watch the way Haibara and Ieiri are carrying several bags of groceries into the apartment.

“I thought you went out for sugar? What’s all this?”

Haibara slips past Kento and begins pulling out various bags of chips and snacks from the bag in front of him. “We should watch a movie while the cookies bake! So that means we needed snacks. Plus Satoru called and asked for a few things.”

Ieiri makes no attempt at an excuse and smirks when she sees the way Kento is no longer in his khakis and sweater and instead is wearing a pair of flannel sleep pants and long sleeve frat t-shirt.

She shrugs her shoulders at the man and fishes in her pocket for a lighter. “We just needed something to do in order to stall for a bit longer.”

Your cheeks flush and you finally walk out into the kitchen and avoid the shit-eating grin on your roommate’s face. Haibara doesn’t even notice your change of clothing while Kento looks at you with a warm smile on his lips.

Ieiri lets out a low whistle, “Nice clothes.”

Haibara stops from putting soft drinks in the fridge and now finally notices your attire and raises an eyebrow at it. Both he and Ieiri exchange glances before Kento raises his hand to pause their imminent bombarde of questions. “There’s nothing wrong with my girlfriend wearing my clothes.”

“Girlfriend?!”

GIRLFRIEND?

Ieiri and Haibara mirror your internal confusion while Kento idly walks to the oven to resume the heat needed to finish baking the cookies. He holds himself as if he had just reported the weather and moves to slide a hand around your waist and tug you into him.

“Geez! What did we miss?”

“I don’t think we wanna know.”

Haibara winces at Ieiri’s crude words and shakes his head to avoid imagining his roommate and friend banging in the apartment. Kento rolls his eyes while Ieiri moves to finalize the last of the sugar cookie recipe and prepare a pan.

You seamlessly move to help her cut a few shapes and don’t miss the way Haibara breaks from his mortifying realization to shoot a thumbs up to his roommate. The moment is warm and familial, the group now working as a team of 4 instead of two groups of 2.

By the time you take out the brunkager and put the sugar cookies in the oven, Haibara pads over to the living to flip through a variety of movies. Ieiri follows him to open the window and lean out the edge to light another cigarette and blow the smoke outside.

You sigh comfortably and reach to grab a cookie and blow gently on it, slightly wincing when the delicious flavor burns your tastebuds from the temperature.

“Careful…we’re not trying to make your tongue swollen.”

“Oh, is there something else you want my tongue to do?”

Kento stutters slightly and nudges you in the ribs indicating the risky behavior considering the proximity of your friends while rolling his eyes.

“There are a million things I could think of, and if we had more time, I would’ve loved for a few of them to happen.”

You smile and move to rinse your hands off in the sink, enjoying the background ambience of Ieiri and Haibara arguing over whether to watch ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas’ or ‘Home Alone’.

Kento remains leaning against the counter while watching you. “I mean it. Both things actually.”

You wipe your hands on the kitchen towel and raise an eyebrow while waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t enjoy quickies or casual flings… I want more time with you,” he puts his arm out to grab you into him, “with you as my girlfriend.”

There’s no response needed when you lift your chin to press a kiss to his lips and giggle when Haibara and Ieiri groan from the couch.

“Ugh! Didn’t you guys already fuck it out of your systems? I’m not ready to be an aunt yet.”

“Not on the kitchen island! What about our deposit if you break it?”

Kento scoffs and moves to walk you to the couch to join your complaining comrades; he sits on the right side against the armrest and pulls you in between his legs to partially lay against his chest.

The moment is cozy and relaxing as the sun begins to dip and brings a warm glow in the apartment while a blistering wind picks up outside. Ieiri reaches for a few chips while Haibara gets comfy on the side love seat and hits ‘play’ on the remote.

“Wait..” he looks up between you and Ieiri. “I already knew Kento grew up making cookies and that’s why he enjoys doing it so much now… but what about you guys?”

Your own roommate shrugs, “I guess I like the parties? Secret Santas are kinda fun once the alcohol is flowing.”

Haibara hums at the answer and turns his attention to you; Kento places a chaste kiss on the back of your neck and traces circles on your hip bones where the waistband of the sweatpants sit. You turn to Kento and smirk, “Well considering Kento likes eating making cookies…. I’d say I like sleigh rides.”

TY for ur patience for this series! I've been busy but still wanna finish this into the mid-january timeline (also why was writing kento lowkey harder than I thot it was gonna be)

[ Next up -> Oncology student! Frat President! Fwb Satoru x Reader

Holiday season is always referred to as 'cuffing season' though he never really saw the point. Why want a real relationship when your casual affair offers everything he wants... or so he thought. Matching sweaters, gift wrapping, and sipping hot cocoa definitely isn't casual.. but it's all he wants for Christmas this year. ]

my other series are still ongoing i promise!

likes/reblogs/comments all appreicated ☆:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:☆

-oatmeal

#nanami kento x reader #kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader smut #nanami x reader smut #kento x reader smut #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #jealous nanami x reader #jjk oneshot #jjk fanfic #nanami one shot #kento one shot #jjk x yn #oatmealwordsnanami #oatmealholidayhoes

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saeun · 2 months ago

Text

ꪆ୧ ── WISH UNATTAINABLE ┊ A MERE DREAM ﹑ HSR ⤿ starring: boothill ◟ sunday ◟ dr. ratio.

꒰ a player's mission ﹢ ding! quest(s) unlocked. to obtain a reward of 100 stellar jades, knock yourself out with missions involving your favourite! don't get caught up in the dream though.

𖧷 · love, ‘su: i clearly had an idea & needed to jot it down before i forgot about it (old draft i wrote when i js was fresh into hsr bear w me 😢)

COSMIC SPLENDOR AND MERITED PRAISES ⟡ siobhan’s revealed that someone's here for you, insisting for you to not be a killjoy and come meet him.

“drink's on me sweetheart, knock ya'self out,” boothill slides the cocktail at you, giving his signature smirk as its free side dish.

you're not quite sure what you expected, but boothill being a bartender wasn't one of them. actually — it's believable when you think about it.

when siobhan sent you those messages, your mind went to either gallagher or aventurine. (un)fortunately, your guess was wrong. you are now a taste-tester and subjected to subtle flirting? a win is a win.

boothill puts a hand on his hip. he mixed the drink gracefully with siobhan's aid, it's bound to be perfect — hopefully.

“what's it called?” you asked, turning the glass around to appreciate the red and orange ombre. it reminds you of someone, but you can't put a finger on it.

“didn't think that far into it.” he shrugs. “you can name it, sweetheart.”

“i can name it sweetheart?”

“no, i meant... well, why the fuck not.”

you're sure you heard a disappointed sigh from him. maybe it's the alcohol? whatever, it tastes good. the drink's sweet, but it leaves a bitter aftertaste — if that makes sense. it's so sweet that you keep sipping, yet it's so bitter that you're reminded it's alcohol and not juice. a perfect balance.

gently placing the glass down, you slid it towards boothill, “another glass please, gentleman.”

“right away, darlin’,” he accepts your request, refilling your glass with the sweetheart special. this time, he adds a little edible glitter in the mix to spice up the aesthetic.

the glass is once again slid back to you. the only difference is a shine to the liquid. the new beauty to it can make even argenti fall to his knees to worship it (he worships anything beautiful).

“it's so good i can kiss you for it,” you mindlessly reply, licking your lips from the excess liquid.

goodness, do you want him to overheat? is the way to defeat a galaxy ranger a compliment without thought put into it?!

“pfft— uh— well—” he sputters, unable to form a proper sentence yet.

a few coughs later, he regains his ability to speak, “it's just that good ain't it, darlin’?”

“you're the best and i need you in the express to make fifteen of these,” with desperation in your voice, you lean over to hold his hand. it's cold, but not cold enough to make you back away.

“i'll be right with ya!”

THE INTERPRETATION OF DREAMS ⟡ you received an anonymous message urging you to come to penacony. it felt like a scam, but the messages were too prim and proper to be one.

hmm, something isn't right. you can feel it in your bones. either you're experiencing side effects of being on cleaning duty, or you're being hunted down. has your excellence finally exceed you to the point where you've appeared on someone's hitlist? maybe.

staring at the message on your phone, you squint at it before moving your head away. you must be careful or else you'd be affected by its ominous energy.

there's only one logical decision to make: find dan heng and let him decipher a possible hidden code in the messages.

“dan heng, i need you!” you exclaimed, opening his room's door with a force that should only be reserved for battles.

“did you clean your manners out too?” sighing, dan heng closes the book he's reviewing.

“i think i'm being kidnapped,” ignoring his snarky comments, you enter his room, showing him the pile of messages.

> Hello, (y/n). I trust that you've been well during your trips.

> Have you decided on whether you'll return to Penacony? If not, I hope that you come soon.

> There is something I wish to do with you.

> Meet me at The Reverie Hotel 10 system hours from when you reply. I shall accompany you directly instead of a regular staff.

> That is all. I'll keep the conversations for our meeting.

you shake your head, hugging your body in attempts to shield yourself.

“see! there's no way that isn't someone out to get me.”

dan heng falls silent. clearly, this is someone you've met before, but who? they haven't left any name, let alone a profile icon. there's only one way to find out and that's to reply.

“hand me your phone, i'll reply.”

...

have you been deceived? is dan heng in on this too? why would he reply? suspicion dominates over you. you slowly back away from his side.

“damn... they really do say your enemies are close.”

“that's now how it... whatever. just give me the phone so i can ask for their identity.” his tone's laced with disappointment. he's not surprised, but boy was he wrong for thinking you matured.

being left with no other choice, you surrender your phone and safety to him.

< Sorry, who are you?

< I'm sure we've met though.

“they're typing...” he mutters, leaning into your side so you can see the screen too.

> My apologies. I forgot to set my account.

> This is Sunday, head of the Oak Family.

“sunday?!”

“sunday!?”

this time you both were taken by surprise. out of everyone in penacony that would've sent you a text, he was the least expected. dan heng shoots you a pitiful look. he's pretty sure sunday's still on your hitlist.

“i am not going.”

“it's rude to ignore someone's request.”

“dan heng,” you began, folding your arms across your chest, “you can't make me go.”

in response dan heng simply nods. he walks out his room and into the main area. you're not sure what he did, but he came back to you lounging on his bed in five minutes.

you were already comfortable, with one knee up and a foot on the knee. you expected him to come back, but not with a trusted adult.

“are you serious?”

“himeko, (y/n)'s ignoring someone's request to meet.”

one corner of his mouth moves up. he knows he won this battle. snitching is the way to go, always.

and that's how you're now standing besides sunday. all stiff with nervous laughs, praying to whichever aeon that he doesn't use the telepathy punishment thing on you. it's game over and restart if he ever dares to.

sunday's as poise as ever — with a hand behind his back, he observes the view of oti mall below. it's bustling with life; the noise is enough to do all the talking. truly a one-sided comfortable silence.

“so... how's life been, sunday?” you tread carefully with your question and behaviour. you don't even make eye contact.

sunday smiles slightly, “it's been busy as ever. this is probably the only moment of peace in my schedule.”

and it's silent again. how do you continue a conversation with a bigshot? you ran your mouth with the supreme guardian of belobog but god forbid you're with the head of the oak family. scary.

cold sweat drops. you have got to keep the conversation going or you'll lose your mind in seven minutes.

“been getting into gambling with the slot machines lately. what about you?”

perfect. ten out of ten. a penacony-related addiction.

“i see you've picked up that ipc stoneheart's behaviour.”

okay, maybe it wasn't that perfect. and was that disappointment?!

it's silent again. you steal a glance of sunday and it did not help. he has a relaxed expression on his face. his chest rising and falling with every breath. is he truly comfortable with the silence? you're dying here.

a sigh leaves you. why not just speak your mind.

“to be honest, it's a little uncomfortable being so silent. i feel like i'm being watched by that large eye in the mall.”

sunday's head turns, his expression slightly changes.

“apologies, i did not notice. would you like to take a walk together?” he suggests, holding his palm out to you.

you place your hand in his, trying to hide the smile. you're finally going to do something instead of standing like an npc.

“yeah, sure.”

after your approval, you basically re-toured penacony. he even took you to his office. that's not even the biggest part. the huge wow factor here is that you were hand-in-hand with him. yes, hands intertwined with the most handsome man in penacony. someone should be jealous.

although his hand was gloved it still counts. the gloves are thin anyway — it was basically skin contact. had you known beforehand that sunday's hand was this manly you wouldn't have even complained to dan heng.

COSMIC SPLENDOR AND MERITED PRAISES ⟡ herta bothered you to return to her station, insisting that she needs your help. you reluctantly agreed, but didn't expect to meet the doctor you've been hitting on.

> Come. I need to experiment on you.

< Excuse me?!?

> Aeon stuff.

< Which Aeon is it?

< Herta?

< Hellooooo... Anyone there...?

> [Automatic reply] Hi, I'm currently unavailable, and won't be contacting you later.

< You've got to be kidding me.

> [Automatic reply] Hi, I'm currently unavailable, and won't be contacting you later.

a heavy sigh leaves you. new day, same old herta demanding your presence and going off the net. well, it's been a while since you've revisited herta's space station, and it doesn't hurt gaining new knowledge on aeons. hopefully it'd be quick... and that screwllum's there as well. out of the three, screwllum's the sole one that's gentle.

once you stepped foot in her office, you stepped right back out. seeing someone you've been avoiding to reply to their messages certainly isn't a good thing. the chances of the man you were testing your charisma on being with herta is low — incredibly low — but never zero.

“come here, (y/n).” a voice filled with authority calls for you who's standing to the side of the door.

you purposefully chose that position; since the doors are automatic, they'd immediately open if you were directly in front of it.

“no, thanks!” you yelled, preferring to stay where its safe from confrontations.

inside the office, herta folds her arms. the clock is ticking, and she doesn't want to lose interest before she can glimpse the secret of at least one aeon.

“just go get her. what're you standing there for?”

with a tone as blunt as that, ratio feels slightly offended, but he can't argue. she's right, he can simply bring you back inside the office.

confidentally walking towards the door, he steps out and immediately turns his head left. it was as he calculated: you were right there leaning against the wall, trying your best to act nonchalant while ignoring his obvious presence.

“don't act childish.” disappointment laces his voice, his folded arms shows it, too.

“whatever do you mean, doctor?” you smiled.

ratio's having none of it. he moves his position to stand in front of you, forcing you to look at him instead.

“your behaviour then and now is childish. get back in the office.”

“cut me some slack! do you think the courage i have over text translates to real life?” your defenses raise, poking his chest to enforce your point. “you're intimidating and handsome, dude. give me a break.”

a silence follows. the kind of silence that indicates you said something you definitely should've kept as a thought. nervously, you move your eyes to look at ratio's. the eye contact doesn't last long — like you said, he's intimidating (and handsome).

“tell me something i don't know.” ratio breaks the silence, grabbing your finger off his chest. “but that's not the point here, is it? we have something to do.”

mood: ruined. it's common knowledge to anyone who's been in a conversation with ratio that he's well aware of his visuals. compliments are nothing new to him — it's a shame he didn't act the way he did in your daydreams.

“gosh, you're so annoying.” a voice of defeat.

grumbling, you straightened your posture, making your way back to herta's office. ratio followed behind, observing the you walked. has someone walking always been attractive, or is it just because it's you? a question that he'll be pondering on until he finds a suitable answer.

“hey. you guys took too long. i don't wanna do it again,” herta complains the second she saw you two walk in.

#. ae-generated: honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #honkai star rail x reader #boothill x reader #boothill fluff #boothill x y/n #sunday x reader #sunday fluff #sunday x y/n #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x y/n #dr ratio fluff #hsr fluff #hsr drabbles #hsr imagines #honkai star rail fluff

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webslingingslasher · 3 months ago

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J!!! I don't remember if nerdy!peter plays video games but I'm pretty sure he does 😓 how would he react when angel keeps wanting his attention but he keeps saying 10 more minutes so she gets annoyed 😓😓

I literally love all your Peter's sm idek how u have the mind for all this!!

*cleaning out my drafts* wheew boy, i hope you guys remember nerdy!peter. he's been on a shelf too long!

peter doesn't even blink when you kiss the side of his face- he doesn't notice in the slightest. you hold in a sigh and mutter out a half-hearted goodbye.

'i'm leaving, i'll call you later.'

suddenly, peter's available to talk. 'woah, wait, you're leaving? why?' you bite your tongue, there's a dozen things you want to say and none of them are nice. if you stay, you'll cause a fight.

'because i'm mad at you and if i don't, we're gonna have a fight.' peter gives you puppy dog eyes, he's pre-apologizing and he doesn't know what for yet. they always soften you but when he turns away to check his screen, you harden right back up.

'i had no eyes, sorry, sorry. med pack, please.' you can only put up with so much and a game taking priority over your relationship was just a straw too much. 'you're about to have no girlfriend.'

peter hits mute real fast, tossing his headset off and standing up even quicker. he's looking at you like a deer in headlights, 'you said what?'

'i shouldn't have to threaten a break up for you to listen to me, peter.'

'i was listening! you were fine then all of a sudden you're stomping out of here and calling me single.' he’s not allowed to care when you get mad, he should've cared the last five times he said ten more minutes.

'i'm leaving.'

peter blocks the door, you cross your arms over your chest. 'talk to me.' you're being petty because it's the first time he's giving you attention since you've been here. it's nice to have him worry over you.

'no, i'm mad at you.'

'yeah, i picked up on that. wanna tell me why?' your eyes narrow, he can’t act cute when you're pissy. 'no.' peter gives you a pity smile but he's not sad at all. 'then i can't let you leave, sorry.'

'you think holding me captive will fix things?' there was a snap with your voice, peter takes a step away from the door. he was half and half with your tone but after that he feels the need to back down.

'you're actually mad at me.' peter doesn't like when you're upset with him, it makes him feel all itchy. 'you can leave, angel. if you think it'll help, you can leave. but i would really like it if you told me what was going on first.'

you and peter make communication a priority but this time you want to be childish. if he couldn't understand why you were mad, he obviously didn't respect your time. you wouldn't act like this if it was the first time, but it’s everytime you come over and he's already on his computer.

you're getting tired of begging for your boyfriend to choose you over a video game, especially after he told you to come over.

'no. i'm leaving and i want you to think about why i would be mad at you.' peter whines in return, he hates when you don't give him an answer. 'angel, please. this is punishment enough.'

the issue is how well you know him. he's going to pout and give you kisses while he tells you how sorry he is and he never meant to make you feel ignored. it always makes you forgive him too quick, you don't want him to apologize for it, you want him to acknowledge it.

'you're gonna try to excuse it and kiss it better and i don't want that. i want you to look me in the eye and tell me you've been shitty.' peter's already giving you that pouty look, you ignore the clench your heart gives when he pulls you closer by your hips.

'i'm still gonna kiss it better, i'll just tell you i'm shitty while i do it.' you don't gripe when he gives you a chaste kiss. you don't tell yourself you're going back on your word, just that he didn't give you one when you first got here.

'wanna tell me why i made you mad?' you love when peter talks to you like this. it's not a whisper, but it's low. it's almost guttural- a ring of sexual if you looked at it the right way. when he pairs it with two wet kisses to your cheek, you have to remind yourself to stay strong.

'your game.' you silently moan when peter pushes your back against his door, he drops a mark to your neck. 'mhm, what about my game?' you're not sliding a hand into his hair to egg him on, it's to support yourself, that's it.

'you were ignoring me again.'

peter's lips catch anywhere they can meet, you think you're about to start sweating. 'i hate begging for your attention, i don't want to do it anymore.' peter's kissing your sweet spot, you try to keep your focus.

'angel, no one has my attention more than you.' there's only so much you can fight and peter's pillowy kisses isn't one of them. you're not forgiving, you're just compartmentalizing. plus peter's the best damn kisser you've ever had.

‘until you’re on discord with your friends.’ you’re reminded of your anger, you push peter off and glare at him. ‘if i didn’t tell you i was leaving, would you have even noticed?’

'of course i would, i check on you every couple of minutes.' peter might suck at giving up a winning streak but he makes sure to put his eyes on you every two minutes.

'making sure i'm still here isn't the same as giving me attention. and dump me if i'm wrong, but i want a boyfriend who's a little obsessed with me.' peter kisses the middle of your throat, it spurs more frustration.

'if you wanted to fuck me, you should've done something about it an hour ago. you don't get to disrespect me then put your dick in me.' peter exhales over your skin, it feels like a laugh. you don't know why he thinks you're joking. he reads your mind before you can say it.

'angel, i'm not trying to seduce you. i'm trying to show you how obsessed you make me.' you give him your neck and he softly bites, just like that, the fight's over. 'go on... i'm listening.'

'i've been shitty.'

peter's kisses make sense, they've been on a subtle trail downwards. he sinks to his knees on the floor, hooking your leg around his shoulder and looking up at you. looking up with his angelolatry duties.

'and now i'm gonna kiss it better.'

#nerdy!peter drabbles

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sehodreams · 8 months ago

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fucking Anton with a breeding kink is so hot like when he has hot passionate romantic sex it definitely feels like baby making

Sorry, I don't think this is what you wanted to read but it's what came to my mind. It's been in my draft for so long, I tried to think of a different idea but it stayed like this 😭

TW and tags: p in v, no condom, literally babymaking.

He's especially needy on these occasions. You don't really understand what goes through his mind when he's pushing you to the bed all serious, or when he's brushing his fingers on your waist while you're getting ready for bed, but there's simply an alarm that starts sounding inside you, a "shit" repeating in your head because you know what's about to come.

He's not harder, or rougher. He's really slow since he wants to feel you more, caressing corners of your skin not even you pay attention, like that little emptiness in your collarbone, or the inside of your arm when he pushes your hands up to take control of your moves.

Still, finally, this day, he's brave enough to tell you those thoughts that fill his head and you always wondered about. Spitting things you know cross him in the middle of the night, you gasp for air when you hear his voice. "You'd look so pretty pregnant,'' he whispers. ''I can't stop thinking about us living in a bigger house, big enough for you to have anything you could ever want... don't you want to come and search for one with me?"

"What are you saying?" You answer. You want to think that maybe he's joking, but it's all so intense, his finger flicking your clit and his eyes on yours at every second, gleaming even in the dark.

"We could be a family, maybe a little girl to keep company to my favourite girl in the whole world?" He's going too far now, and you're trying to resist it. It's too drawing, the tone of his voice, the aroma of his bed that is almost yours now after all those nights sleeping together, and the image he's planting on your head. You're so comfy in that picture, being kissed by him while he rests his hand on your stomach, and everything is dizzy when he's sliding into you.

"You-you really want that?" You ask unsure, feeling too good and in a haze of pleasure. More than just loved, you feel almost adored.

"It's everything I can think about,'' he groans. ''I want to make my girl a mom, the most beautiful one."

Fuck, not again you say inside your head. He knows he shouldn't ask you for things while fucking. You're too weak to resist him when it's all so good, he pressing you to the mattress and his hips slowly finding that spot that doesn't let you think things twice when he bottoms out and steals every air you could have with his weight over you.

He's not saying anything else about it. He's just pounding and holding your hands over your head while the other in your waist keeps you in place to receive him. He couldn't let you move apart when your pussy is squelching, begging for him to spill everything inside.

You don't talk, but you want him to cum inside, you're too deep into the fantasy to say no to him, and soon you're clenching, not wanting to let him pull away from you and your new dream.

Fuck, you curse again. You're not even sure you want to be a mom. Obviously, you haven't thought about it as much as him.

Yet, you can see everything so clearly now. A house with a pretty garden, white ceilings and breakfast out in the fresh air on Sunday mornings.

You can't push him away when you know he's about to cum. His breath is getting harder with every thrust and the sweat is accumulating in his forehead. Usually, you'd have cleaned it with your hand, but he doesn't let you move, both wrists pinned in your pillow.

''I'm not wearing a condom,'' he warns you.

You don't know why he's telling you that by that point. You physically can't push him away, and you both know you can't say no to him, not while fucking, not at any moment, and this one is not the exception.

#riize smut #anton smut

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ginnsbaker · 1 year ago

Text

prophylaxis

Summary: The most powerful Avenger is afraid of one thing: dental appointments, or the one where you're a dentist and Wanda is a baby about seeing one

Word count: 2.6k | Warnings: None. This is just good ol' fluff

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Author's note: This has been sitting in my drafts for some time, and while this is a one shot, I might follow up with more :)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Next part: the follow up

Steve and Natasha are barely done with their own routine dental check-ups when the notification of an emergency mission comes through. The Avengers' annual dental visit is typically swift and uncomplicated, but the arrival of their urgent mission turns the day into something far more chaotic.

“Where is Wanda?” Steve asks, scrolling through the mission details on his phone.

Natasha shrugs, sipping on her post-check-up glass of scotch. “I haven't seen her since breakfast.”

Vision appears in the room at that moment, his face expressing the closest thing to exasperation an android can manage. “She’s only now on the chair,” he says, glancing at Steve, whose eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Now? But everyone else is done!”

“I had to convince her to come,” Vision sighs. “I found her hiding in the back library. It took me the better part of an hour to persuade her to face the dentist.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at the revelation, trying to suppress her chuckle. The most powerful Avenger, avoiding a simple dental prophylaxis. “We don't have all day, Steve. The mission is critical.”

Steve nods, sliding his phone into his pocket. “We'll leave a note for her. She should meet us ASAP once she's done.”

Natasha gets up from her chair, glancing one last time at Vision, as she quips, “Good luck to whoever is the dentist working on her this year.”

As you approach the dental chair, you take note of the apprehensive figure occupying it. You've already seen a dozen Avengers today, each with their unique quirks and idiosyncrasies.

But Wanda Maximoff, her gaze filled with clear distaste for the situation, seems to take the cake. She's curled in on herself, making her seem smaller than she actually is. The sight of her alone would have been enough to unnerve you, but the intermittent quivers of your dental tools due to an unseen force send a cold shiver down your spine. You can't help but wonder if you've drawn the short straw when they assigned you the patients for today.

You try your best to project an air of calm. Inside, though, your nerves are jangling like alarm bells.

“Wanda, right?” you confirm, trying to keep your voice steady.

She nods, her eyes wide as saucers.

“I promise this won't hurt,” you reassure her, even as your tools continue to rattle on the tray. “It's just a routine check-up.”

A skeptical glance is thrown your way but it's at least some reaction. Her gaze is piercing, and it takes every bit of your collected facade to keep from faltering. An absurd thought flashes across your mind: if you were to meet an untimely demise in your line of duty today, who on earth would inherit the numerous houseplants that have taken over your apartment over the years?

With a nervous smile that Wanda can barely make out behind the surgical mask you wear, you gently ask, "Shall we begin?" Your tone is soothing, carefully modulated to put her at ease.

The poor Avenger takes a deep, long breath before giving you the go-ahead to proceed with the checkup.

For her part, Wanda begins to concentrate on anything other than the feeling of your gloved fingers in her mouth. Her gaze settles on your oversized prescription glasses that lend an air of professional yet friendly vibe. And there’s something about the clean, familiar scent wafting off your white coat that comforts her more than she's willing to admit.

She can’t help it when her mind starts drawing comparisons with last year's dentist—a gruff, no-nonsense man whose hands always seemed cold and who lacked any bedside manner whatsoever. You, on the other hand, are like a breath of fresh air with your calming demeanor and reassuring approach. Wanda blushes at the thought that, admittedly, you’re kind of a nice upgrade.

You begin the examination with meticulous care, your movements deliberately gentle to assure Wanda of your sensitivity to her obvious anxiety. As you carefully check her teeth and gums, you're acutely aware of how much trust she's placing in you, despite her apparent discomfort.

Glancing into her eyes as you angle your dental mirror to inspect her molars, you're suddenly struck by the piercing green of her irises. Even under the harsh clinic lights, they appear incredibly vibrant. Framed by the dark eyeliner she wears, her eyes are sharp and arresting. They follow your every move, staring up at you with an intensity that causes your skin to perspire under your uniform.

You've dealt with many patients over the years, some with eyes equally as fascinating, but something about Wanda's gaze is different. It's as if she's not just watching you but reading you, understanding you in a way that makes you feel exposed.

Your focus starts to waver under her scrutiny, and that's when you notice something strange. The dental tools on the tray beside you begin to quiver more violently, vibrating with an unseen force. Your heart skips a beat, realization dawning on you that Wanda's powers are reacting to her nervousness.

But it's not just her nervousness; Wanda's face takes on a look of surprise, her eyes widening momentarily. You can almost feel her presence in your mind, a subtle brushing against your consciousness.

She's read your thoughts, albeit accidentally.

She knows how captivated you are by her eyes.

Catching yourself, you quickly shift your thoughts to a safer topic–your plants. The vibrant green of Wanda's eyes morphs into the various shades of green gracing the leaves of your beloved indoor jungle. Your Monstera, your string of pearls, your peace lily–

And yet, none of them are a match for the pair of green orbs that your mind keeps going back to. A flush of embarrassment creeps up your neck as you meet her gaze, the unspoken understanding between you making the air in the room feel charged. Wanda's cheeks take on a hint of color, and her control over her powers seems to falter, your tools–and a chair behind Wanda–now levitating a couple of inches from where they originally sat.

“I'm sorry,” she stammers, wide-eyed and apologetic. You barely make out what she’s saying with her mouth still wide open. “I didn't mean to…”

“It's okay,” you reply in a comforting murmur, pausing your examination. The room fills with the soft humming of the overhead light and the subtle scent of sterilized equipment. “I'm here with you. We'll go at your pace. Just breathe.”

Giving Wanda a few moments to calm herself, you pull back, placing the dental tools on the tray beside you. You keep your eyes on Wanda, a soothing smile hidden behind your mask. Her chest rises and falls steadily as she follows your instructions, taking deep, calming breaths.

However, you can't help but glance at the floating items around you, fearing that one of them might go straight for your heart that’s thudding loudly in your ears now. They seem to be suspended in mid-air, almost like a magic trick. Wanda catches your gaze, following it to the levitating objects. The already present color on her cheeks darken, and with a flicker of her gaze, your tools reintroduce themselves to gravity once again.

You don't comment on it. Instead, you simply offer another encouraging smile, masked by your surgical mask, but visible in your eyes. You extend your gloved hand towards the once again earthbound dental tools, feeling the cool metal against your palm.

“Are we good to proceed?” you ask in a soft voice, patiently waiting for her agreement before picking up where you left off.

Wanda doesn’t move, seemingly hesitant to say yes or no.

“Will it help if I talk to you?”

She gives you a small nod in response this time.

“Alright,” you say with a hint of a chuckle. “Don't judge me if I start to sound silly, okay?”

And so you start to speak as you get back to work, recounting random memories and thoughts as you continue with the examination. You talk about funny incidents at work, share stories about your beloved plants, and even admit to that time you almost killed your favorite fern with coffee instead of water. At first, you feel slightly ridiculous, babbling about the care of succulents to an Avenger, one of the most powerful beings on the planet. But as the minutes tick by, you see a change in her. The initial terror in her eyes fades into curiosity, her body relaxes, and she even smiles at some of your sillier anecdotes.

You get lost in talking to Wanda, feeling both delighted and somewhat ridiculous that you're enjoying this one-sided conversation. You're fully aware that she can't respond with an excavator in her mouth, but it doesn't feel like she's just tolerating your chatter. Her eyes are attentive, following your movements, reacting every now and then. Her body language is open, receptive, almost as if she's hanging onto every word.

As for Wanda, something unexpected is happening. She finds herself liking your voice more and more, feeling an unfamiliar pull towards it. It's warm, comforting, and filled with a sincerity that she didn't expect. She even finds herself slightly attracted to it. But it's a foreign feeling, one she doesn't quite understand, especially in this setting.

As you conclude your examination, you realize that one of Wanda's molars needs a filling. It isn't urgent, a situation that could be deferred to another appointment if she wishes.

“Looks like you have a small cavity,” you inform her, meeting her eyes. “It's not of immediate concern, but we should schedule another appointment if you'd like to have it filled.”

To your surprise, Wanda agrees, not just with a polite nod, but with a subtle hint of anticipation lighting up her eyes. She agrees to another date, another round of you poking around her mouth with your scary dental tools. And yet, there's a hint of eagerness that surprises even her.

As you finish your work, you lean back, pulling off your surgical mask and gloves. For the first time, Wanda gets a full view of your face. It's like a silent reveal, one she hadn't been expecting, and it takes her aback.

She finds herself caught in a subtle admiration, a feeling that quickly intensifies as she takes in your features. There's something about your face that she finds herself drawn to, the warmth of your eyes, the curve of your lips, the soft contours of your cheekbones.

And when you smile, her breath hitches slightly. It's a simple gesture, but one that lights up your face, reaching your eyes and causing them to crinkle at the corners. It's genuine, open, and a little bit contagious.

“Thanks for your patience, Doctor...?” Wanda voices, feeling a tad awkward. It occurs to her belatedly that she didn't have the foresight to ask for your name before you started the check-up.

“Just call me Y/N. It's my pleasure,” you reply, your smile deepening, unaware of the effect it's having on the Avenger before you. “I'll see you for that follow-up appointment, then?”

As soon as Wanda is escorted outside by Vision, you release a breath you didn't know you've been holding. Leaning against the counter, you try to calm the racing of your heart, which beats as if you've just run a marathon.

Wanda Maximoff is... quite a surprise. Her beauty, her vulnerability, the way she seemed to really listen to your inane chatter–it's all unexpected, disarming even. You find your mind drifting back to the way her eyes softened, the almost shy smile that graced her lips.

You quickly shake your head, trying to dispel these thoughts. This is unprofessional, you think. She's your patient. A patient who just happens to be one of the world's most powerful individuals. It's nothing more than that.

You glance at the clock on the wall, realizing you've spent more time with Wanda than any other patient today. You should be moving on to your paperwork, getting ready to call it a day.

But as you sit down at your desk, the fluttering feeling in your stomach doesn't subside, and Wanda Maximoff's haunting green eyes remain etched in your mind.

Walking down the corridors of the Avengers compound, Wanda finds herself in step with Vision. As they pass various agents and fellow Avengers, Vision turns to look at her.

“Wanda,” he starts, his voice taking on that concerned lilt that she's grown accustomed to. “I'm detecting unusual signs in your vitals. Your heart rate is elevated, your body temperature has slightly increased, and your pupils are dilated.”

Wanda blinks, feeling an unexpected heat crawl up her neck. Her palms are also feeling slightly clammy, and she has this weird fluttering sensation in her stomach. She tries to brush it off. It must have been the anxiety, right?

“Are you not feeling well?” Vision probes further, halting in his tracks to face her. His eyes scan her face, looking for any visible signs of discomfort. Wanda's mind races, trying to figure out how to downplay her seemingly irrational reaction to a denti–a dental appointment.

“No, Vision. I'm... I'm just fine.” Her voice sounds surprisingly steady to her own ears. She forces a smile onto her face, aiming to reassure her friend.

Vision doesn't seem fully convinced but doesn't push further. They resume their walk, but Wanda can't shake off the feeling that something has changed, something she doesn't quite understand yet. And for some reason, her thoughts keep drifting back to a certain dentist with a soothing voice, warm eyes, and a love for plants.

How did it happen that a dental appointment, of all things, has turned into the highlight of her day?

The kitchen is dimly lit when Vision enters, the only illumination coming from the withdrawn overhead lights. Natasha is there, assembling her favorite late-night snack, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She looks up as Vision approaches, her eyes curious.

“I trust the mission went well?” Vision inquires, noting the subtle signs of fatigue in Natasha's posture.

She offers a half-smile, nodding. “It did. It's all sorted now. How's Wanda after the check-up?”

Vision's eyes narrow slightly, and he hesitates for a moment before responding, “She is... well. The new dentist was quite effective in putting her at ease.”

Natasha smirks, spreading the jelly onto the bread with precision. “Told you a change would do the trick. I still can't believe you managed to convince Tony to switch dentists.”

“And find the perfect replacement,” Natasha adds after some thought, licking the jelly from the knife.

“It was a logical choice. The previous dentist was less than satisfactory, particularly with Wanda.” He pauses, considering something. “But this one... she seemed to have a rather profound effect on her.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, looking up from her sandwich. “Profound effect?”

“Yes,” Vision says thoughtfully. “I detected unusual signs in her vitals afterward. Increased heart rate, heightened body temperature, a certain... excitement in her demeanor. It was quite unexpected.”

Natasha's eyes widen slightly, and a mischievous smile begins to form on her lips. “You don't say?”

Vision gazes at the digital interface on his palm, a soft hum of approval in his voice. “Indeed, she has also filed for a leave of absence a week from now. She has another dental appointment, but this time at the doctor’s private clinic.”

Natasha pauses, her sandwich halfway to her mouth.

Vision meets her gaze, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "Do you think it could mean something?"

Natasha shrugs, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Who knows, Vis?” she says, taking a huge bite of her sandwich. “Maybe it's just a good dentist.” And then with a wink and a knowing smile, she adds, “Or maybe…”

She leaves the thought hanging, deliberately ambiguous, and exits the room, her satisfied crunching echoing down the hallway.

Vision is left standing in the kitchen, confusion etched across his synthetic features. He considers the day's events, attempting to analyze how Wanda suddenly managed to conquer her most irrational fear.

Humans really are something.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #vision #steve rogers

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acciocriativity · 5 months ago

Text

-> | You keep distancing yourself | Ateez Reaction (Hyung Line)

Some could call selfsabotage, others could say is insecure attachament style, but maybe, you're just tired of fighting a losing battle.

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Ateez OT8 x gn! reader

WC: 2 k

N/A: This is my peace offering after vanishing for so long (please don't k word me)! I had this in my drafts for the longest time, but I only got enough motivation to finish it yesterday

Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Thank you so much for reading my work!

Kim Hongjoong (김홍중)

His kakaotalk notifications were non-existent these days.

None of the boys were good texters, and their group chat was silent since Seonghwa asked for something he didn’t remember anymore a while ago. So why did he keep glancing at his phone across the table when he should be working? You never answered whether you would like to come see him next month or not.

“Aish..”, he suddenly got up and walked left and right in the tiny studio, every now and then hitting one of the chairs and acting like it was their fault.

Was it really too forward? Maybe you just were not comfortable with the idea. But you two met 5 months ago and you were never afraid to get out of any situation that made you uncomfortable, so you could just say no, no hard feelings. There’s always a next opportunity, right? So why, why didn’t you just reply?

His phone lighted up. A new yellow notification appeared and he ran to grab it. The simple thought of you messing with any rational thoughts on his mind.

He felt stupid as he read it, then dropped the device on the table, too dejected to care about Mingi’s lost earphones.

Since when did he become so clingy? Maybe you were just busy now, yeah, that was it.

And he wasn’t wrong. You were doing the most to busy yourself so you would have a perfectly acceptable reason to not answer him at all.

Any college assignment you had a month to do was now was a top priority. The new hobby you wanted to try for a while? You just started it. You barely talked to your brother nowadays, but in the last two weeks, you visited his family a couple of times.

Why? You knew what you were doing in the first few days. You got attached too soon, fell deep into a hole and only realized the moment he asked you to watch his concert, ‘It’d mean the world if you come see me on tour next month’ it said. You recalled one of those deep conversations you had some random night the moment you read it.

“It’s kind of embarrassing, but not at the same time”, you remembered how he looked down when you asked about it, the blush on his cheeks gave him away. “It gives me so much strength and makes me want to work harder whenever important people come to see us”.

He also said how he treasured whenever important people in his life would support him that way. Even through a simple video call, you saw how his eyes shined as he giggled, only to change the subject. A part of you wished to feel how it was to have a support system like he does, but you never thought you would be included in that category for him. You did not even know if you want to or if you could deal with the pain that always comes with giving your heart to people and letting people in.

So you refused to think about it.

Park Seonghwa (박성화)

He cleaned his throat as he saw you coming towards him at one of the many small corridors of KQ Entertainment.

“It’s now or never, now or never, now-”

You barely glanced at him as you walked into one of the empty meeting rooms like it was previously agreed.

Lucky him, nobody saw the disheartening expression on his face or how he hesitated to push the door open. His confidence level went back to below zero and instead of an easy smile, he could barely manage a shy smile and an unnecessary formal bow as he came in, it wasn’t like you did not know each other.

So maybe this collaboration would not go as smooth as he let the others convince him it would, still, he could talk to you and, hopefully, get back to the simple relationship you both once had.

“Hello, Seonghwa-ssi”, you said in such an indifferent polite tone. It surprised him and yourself.

What hurt him most was the fake professional smile on your face. You were known for your authenticity and the worst poker face on earth, but you made the effort to pretend in front of him, like he was nothing more than an inconvenient stranger in an elevator. His heart felt heavy on his chest, he never had to make an effort to make you genuine laugh or smile, and now he realized how much he took that for granted back then.

You seemed perfectly fine in front of him, like it hasn’t been more than a month since your last conversation. But he still likes to believe he knows you better than that. And maybe he wishes you also can not be fooled by his brave facade.

“How have you been?”, the words fell out of his mouth before he could even blink.

You cleared your throat as you sat on one of the rolling chairs. “Been good, Hongjoong-ssi is a bit late. Can you confirm that he is coming soon, please?”

You pretended not to notice how he fumbled to grab his phone to send the text and instead, busied yourself to set up your laptop on the empty wood table. But you could not ignore how he was still standing like a lost child by the table.

“Are you going to grab some water before the meeting?”

“No, no, I’m… I’ll go to get some coffee, do you want it?”

You said no, so he took your perfect opportunity to get out and he left as quickly as he could with hurting his pride too much.

With his back to the wall beside the coffee machine, he sent more than 16 messages pleading Hongjoong to let go of their stupid plan and come as fast as he could to the meeting. Yet, he was left unanswered. The last sent message almost taunted him, it said “Just apologize for your stupid mistake and make things right by her”.

He knew he had to after he acted like an asshole, it was clear the moment he got home to be with his own thoughts, but the more he reflected on their plan, more he realized maybe this is why you waked away from him.

So he gathered his courage once again, but now to apologize for two things and leave you alone for good.

Jeong Yunho (정윤��)

He watched as you giggled over some silly comment Wooyoung made a point to tell for the nth time. Yet, there you were, acting like it was the funniest thing in the world. Maybe he would react the same way if you stopped ignoring him for once that night.

“It’s getting hard to watch this”, Jongho mumbled under his breath as he stood up from the couch to refill two glass cups in their dorm’s kitchen, both for himself because only God knew how tiring was to hype up a miserable and stubborn friend.

Yunho did not notice the change beside him, but he did take note of your agitated state under his stare. He wished that could satisfy a selfish desire of satisfaction, but he felt nothing of that sort. Instead, his heart felt heavy with despair and unfulfilled need of your attention.

It felt silly to him at first, you two kissed after drinking a lot, so what? He was ready to let the past be the past and he thought you were on the same page. How stupid of him, he recognized it. Your relationship with him never went back to what it was, but it took him a while to notice he did not want that at all.

“C’mon, will you really let him suffer for the whole night?”, Wooyoung asked as he leaned into your side, ready to cuddle some more in part because he wanted to and in part because it was fun to see Yunho going insane over it.

You two been near the window for a while, enjoying the soft cold breeze of the night after a sunny day.

“You can’t deny it forever”, he said it in an annoying singing tone. “-ow, but you know I’m right”, he looked down to your hands dangerously close to his poor ribs, then grab them tight. “Ok, I get it, not talking about it”.

“Great, now let go”, you mumbled. “Let go, I’m not poking you”, you insisted trying to free yourself, only for him to intertwine your fingers.

“What if I don’t want to? Now, stand still”, he said as he leaned into your shoulder, taking the space like he was entitled to it.

Now, you were flabbergasted and defeated, because no matter what you do, you could not escape him on cuddle monster mode.

“Can we talk?”, you froze in place the moment you heard Yunho’s smooth deep voice right beside you. His gaze were focused on your face, yet you still made no move to acknowledge it.

“Give me my cuddle buddy back later, yeah?”

And just like that, the freaking traitor let go of you. You could see the mischievous light on Wooyoung’s eyes focused on your figure.

“There was no way to run away now”

That thought ran through yours, Yunho’s and Wooyoung’s mind. But you felt rage while Yunho felt hope.

“There’s nothing to talk about, wasn’t what you said?”.

You bumped into the traitor’s shoulder, then walked away.

Kang Yeosang (강여상)

Maybe you were some sort of a masochist or, maybe, you were plain stupid.

You’ve been friends with him for so freaking long, long enough that the few female friends that could still deal with your bullshit were exhausted of you and your ridiculous crush.

You clearly knew you were the latter, for some reason you thought you’d get over at some point or maybe he’d suddenly see the mysterious thing he was always looking for in you. None of those happened.

You stopped talking about him a little ago, maybe a month or two, and it was a good change to your friends’ ears. It was noticeable, but they gave you enough grace to not mention it. Little did they know, you were running from him like the plague as well.

Truth to be told, Yeosang did not notice it per se. He knew for sure something was going on after you declined his third attempt to make plans in less than two weeks. Why would he think you were lying to him at all? He thought you were sick and if you were felling that bad, of course he wouldn’t hesitate to agree with you, it would be better to meet up another day.

But then, two whole weeks with barely a peep from you? He missed your companionship in a way he did not know he could. You came into his life and little by little carved your space in his heart. But it was hard to put this feeling into words, he was not good with them in general, so you often had to read through the unfinished lines.

Now, he laid on his back watching the nothingness on the ceiling, yet his mind kept recalling the earlier conversation with San, if he could call his tongue tied moment a conversation.

“So what you gonna do?”

He could do nothing but stare wide eyed. Up until then, he did not think- no, he did not feel like he should do anything. You said through your actions many times already that you wished to be alone and as a friend, what else could he do but respect that?

But San was a hopeless romantic, and he wasn’t one to let things go so easily. Also, he wished the best for the two of you, in whatever way that may be even though Yeosang did not see those possibilities right in front of his nose.

“What should I do?”

“You have to figure it out on your own”

He did, he should.

He called you.

You didn’t pick up.

You were tired of being the one reading between the lines.

Tag list: @h3arteyes4mingi

#ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez reactions #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #hongjoong angst #seonghwa angst #yunho angst #yeosang angst #ateez masterlist #ateez angst

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creaman · 7 months ago

Note

Hi there! I apologize for taking up your time, I am just so curious: When you tackle a comic, what does the process behind it look like?

Asking because I found myself scrolling through your blog once again and couldn't help but marvel at all the beautiful effects you use, at how flawlessly the structure guides the viewer's eye across each page, how the graphic weight seems to always be in just the right places…, and wonder how you learned doing this. Everything you put out looks incredibly professional and I aspire to reach your level of skill 😌❤️

Thank you Finz!! You're no bother at all, I'm an open book. This is such high praise for a guy that really doesn't have a set process, I feel like a hack. Ha. Rest assured my style is still developing. Besides the referencing of the linework and composition of official comic books, (practicing by redrawing panels for fun), explaining the process makes me feel like a serial killer but I will do my best.

(WIP Riddler panel, scrapped Scarecrow composition)

My comics usually stem from a single panel or concept — I like to focus on/emphasise particular panels of my pages, the heavy hitters, the main piece that catches your eye. I know I'm not a profoundly technically proficient artist so I prefer visually interesting elements and formatting, i.e. drawing characters outside their frames, negative space, notation, perspectives etc.

(Kung Fu Panda 4 sketch god I hate Kung Fu Panda 4)

I like to establish 'main focus' panels, the bits of the comic that really, well. make people want to chew on it. This is where the technical effort is concentrated, really, and the rest of the comic is generally build around these concepts.

('Restaurant Balthazar' focus panels)

Textures and effects are done on individual panels first, then the entire page as a whole to even out the unity. Generally, blocking in shadows, hatching for visual interest + middle tones, then textures/half-tones, then highlights.

(Script excerpt WIP)

I'm not a writer per se, but having a vague 'script' in your pages helps with pacing and direction. Comics are a versatile story-telling medium. I only really do scripts for comics longer than 2 pages. An optional but recommended strat is to send your script to a friend for a second opinion.

(Script excerpt — 'Restaurant Balthazar', annotated by @vincepti0n I don't know why he drew a face in the middle)

With the script crudely slapped together, I rough out the thumbnails and composition with the text, prioritising coherence and clean integration of previously mentioned 'main focus' panels.

Settling on a composition sucks the hardest. Drawing is fun, thinking makes brain hurty. Variety is good! Close-ups, wide shots, visual metaphors. Every panel is its own artwork.

The text bubbles are usually added in post, yes, but I'm just one guy and I don't have a writer to call me a good boy for doing things correctly. Bite me.

(Early 'Restaurant Balthazar' drafts)

In addition, keeping the text graphics in mind help create a sounder composition wherein even if the panels don't read cleanly left to right + top to bottom, the text can stagger and create the same reading order effect.

Panels and concepts are constantly tweaked, and my comic process is still highly experimental. A lot of industry standard comics aren't illustrated to their full potential due to deadlines and such — I strive for visual epiphany by treating each panel as its own artwork, and every page as a a bit of a mural.

(Old art hurts the soul)

Constantly experimenting allows you the insight of looking at your current art in comparison to your older works. In more recent works, I've been blocking in more shadows wiht lineart with thinner lines and more line weight, and learned to integrate the subject characters with less plain, abstract backgrounds.

TLDR: I have no idea

#creaman-answer-sheet.pdf #art process #vinegarclown #creaman #fanart #digital illustration #jonathan crane #riddler #wip #comic process #creaman talks to drywall

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 3 months ago

Note

heyyy, can i ask for 80's Dave fingering reader under the table in a dinner please? Thanks!! <3

A/n: posting my drafts rn and then I will be trying to write more

Warnings: Smut, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), I don't know how to tag this so if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

This was his first time meeting your parents, it was supposed to be perfect and it was stressing you out. Dave, of course, had the 'perfect' idea on how to help you relieve said stress.

You refused, you had a plan and you would stick to it, even if you were desperate for something to calm your mind and your plan meant refusing him.

Everything was going perfect. Close to dinner starting, before your parents arrived, Dave had backed off from his approach, letting you do what you felt you had to do and complying easily with your instructions.

When your parents got there he was pleasant with them, he knew they wouldn't like him because they didn't like, well, him. They didn't like his music, his persona, how he spoke. Really, they hated him, but they liked how he made you feel, even if they felt it was only temporary.

You'd made the perfect meal, with Dave's help of course -he went out and got groceries while you were cleaning and then cleaned up the mess you'd made while cooking, still thoughtful and helpful enough- and now you were seated with your parents in the dining room.

Despite what it seemed to you, Dave never let it go. You were stressed and it was always his job to help you when you were stressed or angry or feeling any sort of negative emotion, he was your boyfriend and that was one of his jobs as your boyfriend.

So, no, he never let it go. He set a table cloth on the table, an overly grand one that was definitely not needed for this dinner, however, his plans varied from yours.

It his everyone's lap so no one could see anything, especially not his hand. He knew your parents had noticed his hand on you, on your thigh, they didn't need to know he had two fingers buried knuckle deep inside you.

At first you'd tried to get him to stop, holding his hand in yours, guiding it back to your thigh or his own lap. However, as the conversation dragged on and your parents became more pushy about Dave and his career, asking questions they didn't need to be asking, degrading him subtly in so many words. Eventually, you just had to let it happen.

Dave was getting annoyed, so were you, and you'd been stressing the past week over this exact conversation.

You wore a dress, it wasn't hard for Dave to move your panties to the side. He moved slow, resting his arm on your thigh and using his wrist to keep his ministrations subtle and hidden from your parents, all while keeping up a polite smile with your dad across from him.

He'd curl his fingers, prodding that special spot and drawing noises up, threatening to leave you at any moment. He kept pulling and pushing his knuckles in and out of your hole, where there'd be the most stretch and chance to hear you.

You knew he loved hearing you, it's how he made it through tours where you couldn't come. He just needed to hear your sweet moans and he'd be done within minutes.

You wouldn't dare make a sound now, if you did you'd never be able to speak to your parents again, look at them again. You'd be disowned forever and a day.

Nevertheless, you could feel that burning ball building inside you, you couldn't ignore it and hoped it went away, not when Dave's fingers were working on you as they were.

The conversation was directed mostly towards Dave, your parents were using it as an opportunity to just get mad at him, politely of course.

But Dave... Dave, to put it nicely, was an asshole. He saw the effect he was having on you and needed to hear those sweet sounds he loved oh so much.

"We were actually planning on getting a dog, weren't we, sweetheart?" He asked sweetly, smiling tugging at his plump lips, those same lips you'd kissed a thousand times before, those lips you'd kill to have on you right this second.

Instead of jumping on him right then and there you gave a small nod with a smile to match.

"Go on," he continued, swiftly pulling his fingers from you just to watch you choke back a squeal, "tell your parents about that breed you'd been looking at." He suggested, watching you closely.

"I-I, um..." You trailed, unable to look your parents in the eyes.

You stood up, brushing your dress down and mumbling something about needing fresh air before walking off.

Your parents were confused as you left, wondering what happened to make you feel like that. Not that it would've been hard to put the blame on them, having asked such rude questions about the man you'd told them time and time again that you loved to him, nonetheless.

Dave excused himself, using his best sympathetic tone when saying he needed to go check on you.

You'd gone to your shared bedroom and the second Dave had closed the door behind himself he was on you, wrapping his muscular arms around you and pulling you tight to him, lips crashing against yours.

You tried to push him away but he just moved from your lips to your neck. "Davie-Davie, please! Please, Davie, we-we can't do this!" You tried to reason, hands planted firmly on his shoulders.

"Yes, we can, you just have to have faith, darling." He mused, guiding you backwards to the bed.

He sat you down on the edge of the bed and got on his knees in front of you, spreading your legs and tugging your panties down, giving him full access to your glistening folds.

He went right back to fingering you, only now his tongue made it even more unbearable, circling your clit and collecting your juices. You were so sweet on his tongue, delectable and those noises that had his mind running laps.

You could feel that knot getting dangerously close to snapping. Tears filled your eyes, body trembling as you struggling against Dave's touch, trying to keep you still enough for him. You just wanted to use him, or let him use you, which ever was easier.

You'd been driving yourself crazy with this dinner, you hadn't let yourself get too close to Dave and now that you finally let him in you couldn't take it, it was too much all at once.

You needed it, you needed him so bad.

You bit your lip so hard you drew blood, but it was worth it as you felt the wave of pleasure wash over you, that feeling of pure bliss where your body completely relaxed and you could just feel Dave with your whole being.

He didn't let you enjoy it for as long as you'd like, pulling away, pushing his fingers into his mouth and cleaning them of you before getting your dress right.

He rested his hands on your waist and looked up at you with sincere, warm eyes. "Everything is fine, you did great and you are so, so beautiful tonight, do you know that?" He said.

You had no idea what he was talking about or what he was doing. You wanted to questions him but then the door opened and took all of your attention.

It was your dad coming to check on you. Dave had heard him coming and knew he needed to cover, so he did, shining a smile at your dad as he came in.

"Don't worry, I've got her." He said, standing and pulling you to your feet, holding you close as your knees wobbled from the high he'd just brought you to.

Oh, how he loved you.

Oh, how he tortured you.

You had to sit through the rest of dinner with your parents totally commando in a dress, all while Dave sat completely fine next to you. Well, aside from the obvious tightness in his jeans.

#megadeth x reader #megadeth smut #megadeth imagines #megadeth fanfiction #megadeath #megadeth #dave mustaine x reader #dave mustaine smut #dave mustaine imagines #dave mustaine fanfiction #dave mustaine #dave mustaine rp

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pookieprincessa · 21 days ago

Text

Undercover!Price x Civilian!Reader

This idea/prompt has been living in my mind AND drafts rent free for AGES, guys.

Inspired by that Amsterdam operation from MW2 (why aren't people talking about it more?? dangerous guys posing as civilians are my favorite 😭)

This is slow burn-ish except it never burns; mostly "slice of life" kinda fluff. Not proofread yet.

Tw: needles (low-key, brief mention)

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

It's all you've ever dreamed of.

Your own cafe, beautiful spot in the city, right by the canals where boats of tourists swim by. The railing was covered in pretty flowers, a few tables outside under big canopies to shield your customers from the sun or the rain. Don't even get me started on the evening hours, when you turn on the little lights and give the place such a cozy atmosphere.

It started out small - the locals weren't keen to swap their usual coffee place for the new, cutesy cafe in town. At first.

Then, after the first wave of tourists during the holiday season, you got a ton of good reviews online, some of your younger customers made TikToks about the place - not that you were complaining, free advertisement and all that.

Over time, you've come to recognize a few regulars - an elderly couple that always came in for a cup of coffee and a croissant after church in the morning; a group of girls that bought your sandwiches for school.

And then, there was him.

You've come to know him as "Mr. Price" and that's all you knew about him.

Sometimes, he'd show up everyday, sit at the same spot and drink his coffee.

Sometimes, he'd disappear for days, even weeks. But he came back. Always.

You didn't want to ask about it, didn't want to seem nosy. You didn't comment on the scrapes or bruises you'd occasionally catch on his hands.

Despite his irregular visits, he held a spot in your memory. He was kind, charming. Always asked about your day, always made small talk. He quickly became your favorite customer. You started looking forward to serving him, to hearing him call you sweetheart. He'd often hang around until the late hours of the evening, to keep you company while you cleaned and closed the place (he didn't want to leave you by yourself when it was already dark outside).

Today was different, though. Price didn't let you carry his coffee to his table, he took care of that himself. He didn't make small talk. And he didn't sit in his usual spot, close to the bar. He sat outside. The look on his face was different too, he seemed more serious, even tense.

You glanced at him from time to time, noticing that he kept looking around and talking to someone through an earpiece as he nursed his cup of coffee. You figured it was just connected to his phone.

Inside, Price was panicking. Cursing fate that it was YOUR cafe the men they were supposed to ambush picked for their little "meeting". He hated how he had to suddenly treat you like a stranger. He felt partially lucky, though. He could keep an eye on you this way, make sure you were out of harm's way in your oblivious state. Nonetheless, he couldn't help the rush of anxiety anytime his eyes would meet yours across the cafe. He prayed to all the gods that you don't come up to talk to him like you always did. And he sure as hell couldn't tell his general he couldn't do this op because he's been flirting with the barista.

He didn't want to put you at risk - he grew too fond of you for that. Too fond. He repeated that in his head over and over. But God, he couldn't stay away. Not when you always greeted him with that smile.

And he saw that look of disappointment in your pretty eyes when you noticed he wasn't going to sit in his usual spot close to you.

Yeah, he'd need to tell you the truth pretty soon - it would be a shame if he scared you off.

He just hoped you weren't looking when he stuck a needle in one of the men's neck and dragged him into the backseat of an armored Jeep.

That'd do it.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚₊

#john price #captain price #cod x reader #cod #cod modern warfare #modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain price x reader #captain price x you #john price x reader

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zablife · 10 months ago

Note

Lee! Hope you're doing well 💋 so I so your prompt for the requests and if you're feeling inspired with this what about?

- ❛ I’ve killed for you. Who else can say that? ❜

with Tommy?

The Debt

Warning: Dark!Tommy 💀, mention of gun, blood, murder, trauma

You bit your hand to keep from screaming as the man in the long, black overcoat pushed you inside your small bedsit. The door slammed behind you as you stumbled toward the window, pushing the lace curtains aside with trembling fingertips. The remnants of blood were still there on the cobblestones beside the alley, though it was quickly being washed away in the driving rain.

Your memories of the violence carried out in your name would not be erased so easily. The bile rose in your throat as you thought of each shot striking its target, blood gushing over the pavement and splattering onto your shoes. You looked down to see the evidence of the stains that had ruined your new boots, an odd sensation washing over you as though you were staring at someone else's feet rather than your own.

"Come away from the window, love," a low voice rumbled across the room like thunder.

Your body shuddered involuntarily at the noise, a hand gripping the window ledge to keep upright. Feet uncooperative as your mind, you attempted to reply, but found yourself unable to dislodge the words from your brain. You shook your head fiercely, but the cotton headed feeling wouldn't budge.

The man scoffed at your disobedience, removing his coat to wrap around your shoulders protectively. He clamped a large hand over your shoulder, guiding you toward the little table in the corner. As he handed over a flask, he instructed, "Sit down and have some of this. It'll steady your nerves."

Suddenly you heard yourself stutter, "I...d-d-don't drink."

"Alright, tea then," he conceded. "Where do you keep it?" He leaned over you, eyebrow raised in question until your finger pointed in the direction of a far cupboard.

As he turned away, his gun came into view and your heart began to hammer at your ribcage until you thought you might faint. Pressing your fingers to your temples, you closed your eyes and attempted deep breaths. Eventually you pushed them out in labored waves, though your body was quickly wracked by sobs.

"Hey, hey...there's no need for tears," you heard the deep voice begin to soothe as you felt a warm cup being pressed into your palms.

Looking up through watery eyes, you sniffed, "Who are you? What do you want?"

Taking a seat opposite you, the man's crystalline blue eyes locked onto yours intently as he introduced himself as Tommy Shelby. "You don't know who I am?"

"No," you admitted. "I've only just arrived this week."

Tommy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That's what I thought. You'd never have taken that short cut if you'd known the sorts of bastards lurking."

A draft blowing through the crack in the windowsill crept across the back of your neck at that moment, triggering a phantom feeling of icy fingers upon your throat and you startled losing your grip on the china.

Tommy caught the cup before it landed on the floor, hissing as the hot liquid scalded his hands.

"I'm sorry, I felt his hands..." you mumbled, fingers tracing the delicate skin where the man from the alley had grabbed you.

"You've had a shock," Tommy stated, cleaning himself off with a rag. "But you needn't worry any longer. You're under my protection now." He stood with a determined nod, gathering his cap and placing it on his head.

For the first time that evening your shoulders relaxed and you breathed a sigh of relief. With a bit of effort, you banished the terrifying images of what you'd seen and tried to find good in the intimidating man before you. You even began convincing yourself it was fate that brought him to look after you in your new city.

However, as you stood to remove Mr. Shelby's coat, he casually announced, “You can bring it tomorrow when you see me about repaying your debt.” Then he proffered a business card.

You stared up at his chiseled face, partially covered in shadow. Unable to tell if he were serious. "I don't understand,” you admitted with a puzzled look.

Clicking his tongue disapprovingly, he pulled on a pair of black leather gloves. “So forgetful all of a sudden, aren't we," he scolded.

Your throat went dry, constricting painfully when you tried to swallow. "What do you mean?"

The leather cracked menacingly as he reached out to caress the apple of your cheek with the back of his hand. "I've killed for you. Who else can say that?" he reminded you in a voice far too flat and calm to offer affection.

Your eyes went wide as you searched his darkening pupils, panic shooting down your spine as you thought of what awaited you at the address printed on the card. The bit of paper shook violently in your hand as his thumb grazed your lips, leaving a powerful promise in his wake. "I've done something for you, now it's your turn."

When you bristled beneath his touch, he leaned toward your ear, a hiss escaping on his whisky scented breath. "I could return you to that alley if you like, but I think you'll find this arrangement far better." He turned without giving you a chance to protest. There was no need for once you owed a debt to Tommy Shelby, he owned you for life.

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

Tag List:

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@dearshelby

#peaky blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby #dark!Tommy Shelby

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erosmutt · 5 months ago

Note

hi loveee! I don’t know if you currently take requests but I had this idea in my head for quite a long time now. It may be a little bit kinky so I’m just warning you😭 The idea is that Clay (cuz we all love him lets be honest) and Preg!Reader are like all day at home and Clay lays in bed all day cuz he just been thru some surgeries yk and the reader like cares about him obviously and Clay like gets fed up that she keeps wearing these tight short dresses at home cuz its summer and she likes to show off her bump🤗 and one night he has all of these dirty toughts about her colliding. He wakes her up from her dreams with a kiss and its just like nasty disrespectful sex ☺️ I would totally understand if you wouldn’t like to write it and its absolutely alright. Thank you if you write this honey and take your time!💗💗

THIS ASK IS FROM JUNE 28TH. i am SO sorry, i started working on it and it sat in my drafts </3 ugh i fucking love clay, and thankkkkk youuuuu for giving me an ask that's someone other than scott/sam! i adore my boys, but give the others some love! also... the summer dress + baby bump combo... hnnghgh

also i'm saur sorry this sucks. it's because i'm hurriedly writing it (i'm writing this over a span of like a week LMFAO) and i usually have to let the ask marinate in my mental file cabinet before i can really give the person that requested a good drabble they asked for :(

"you've been in here all morning, just what are you making?" your fiance asks, smiling brightly. he comes into the kitchen and sees a shit ton of baking ingredients all over the place. "honey, hey,"

clay stops in his tracks when he sees... muffins. many, many muffins. on the counters, on the kitchen island, and you were spooning batter into a previously used muffin tin. "my love," he says warily, coming up and resting a hand on your lower back, giving a gentle massage to the area. "are we hosting a party i didn't know about? is there a bake sale going on? we don't have to worry about bake sales for awhile, you know. just what are you doing?"

you didn't know, and he didn't know, but you were nesting. not unusual since your due date was just under a month away, but it normally consisted of cleaning and organizing and decorating - not making enough muffins to feed a small town.

"muffins," you say, shaking the batter remnants into the last cup. you turn and look up at him, a bright, stupid smile on your face. "have one!" picking up a muffin and taking the liner off it, you waddle towards clay, and you offer him the baked good. "here!"

clay looks down at the muffin and takes it, then takes a bite and hums happily. "it's good honey, but what's the occasion?" he reaches down and presses his hand to your swollen belly, then gives it some rubs. "just in the mood for muffins, huh?"

you nod eagerly, then lean forward and kiss his cheek. "can you make strawberry muffins the way you make blueberry muffins?" you ask him curiously, not minding the way he pulls you in and turns you around to face the counter. "i'm sure. by the way, you look very cute this morning." he murmurs, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your neck. "thank you." you respond softly, removing the remaining muffins from the tin.

"i never thought you would wear this dress." he continues, coaxing you to bend over the counter. but much to his dismay, you stand straight and make your way over to the fridge to put the container of muffins that had cooled away. clay sighs and rubs his brow, his stiffening cock not calming down for the foreseeable future.

"'m gonna go lay down, my back hurts." you tell him, walking past him to go to the bedroom. once you were out of his sight, he leaned back against the wall and rubbed his palm over his boner. "fuck."

it had been a handful of hours when clay made his way to the bedroom to check on you, your dress ridden up, an indication of your struggle to find a comfortable position to sleep in. "love," he calls softly, his hand coming to gently grip your bicep. "you won't sleep tonight if you keep napping so late my love."

you stir awake, a soft whine leaving you as you turn over (after some struggle, due to your tummy), eyes opening to see clay. "hi." you smile, and he takes your hands, helping you sit up. "you looked peaceful, but you had to get up." he chuckles, then cups your face with one hand and rubs your rosy cheek with his thumb. his eyes flicker down to your chest, then back up to your face. "you looked lovely today."

his poor attempt at seduction was clearly working, since you pressed your thighs together and looked down at his crotch. the tent being pitched surely didn't go ignored. your hand moves to his clothed dick and begins to rub, a smile gracing your lips. "you were trying to tell me this earlier, weren't you?"

clay nods and hurries to undo his slacks, freeing his cock that greeted you with a twitch. "i didn't want to be so desperate," he shudders as you maneuver yourself onto your back, tugging your dress up. he immediately gets between your legs, his tip teasing your clothed pussy. "because you're gonna have this baby any day now," he goes on, pulling your panties aside. "and i don't want to hurt you, love."

he guides his dick into you and moans, eyes rolling back as he bottoms out inside your warm heat. "gods," he whispers. "i don't think i could wait any longer." clay begins rocking his hips, the motion making your full tits bounce, your hands coming to rest on your belly. "clay, you don't have to be so gentle," you whine. "i want you to fuck me."

clay swallows down the paranoia and begins to thrust harder, grunting with each smack of his balls against your ass. "ughn- shit," he curses, much to your surprise. he tried not to, to keep up appearances. "have you always b- hhugh -een this tight?" he asks, nearly in disbelief. you giggle, your gaze fixed on his face, expression displaying immense pleasure. "i guess so."

he leaned down and put his hands on either side of you then began to thrust harder as opposed to faster, brows furrowed. barely five minutes in and he was already about to cum. "love, please," clay falters for a second, his hand going over his chest. right before you could stop him, he came inside you with a drawled moan, eyes fluttering closed. "oh..."

you, as quickly as you can, have him pull out and lay down next to you. "babes, are you okay?!" you put your hand over his, eyes filled with fear. "you shouldn't have-" "i'm fine," he mutters between catching his breath. "it was amazing, my heart was racing." you blink at him, then gently pat his hand. "yeah, it does that when you're excited." you giggle. "rest, clay."

#bnuuy answers #asks!#slutforfinnickodair #erosmutt #clay beresford #clayton beresford #clay beresford smut #clay beresford x reader #clayton beresford x reader #clayton beresford smut #clay beresford x you #clayton beresford x you #x reader #hayden christensen #awake 2007

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suddencolds · 6 months ago

Text

Atypical Occurrence [2/?]

hello!! 10 drafts and (exactly) 3 months later, I am finally back with part 2 of Atypical Occurrence 😭 You can read part 1 here!

This chapter is a little personal to me. I don't tend to linger on writing scenes like this (in part because they are a little difficult for me), so it took awhile to hammer out the dynamic I wanted. That said, here it is at long last!!

This is an OC fic ft. Vincent and Yves. Here is a list of everything I’ve written for these two! :)

—

Summary: Vincent shows up late to a meeting. It just goes downhill from there. (ft. fake dating, the flu, a house visit, and certain revelations)

—

There’s a grocery store that’s a ten minute drive from Vincent’s apartment. Yves picks out ingredients for chicken soup, two different kinds of cold and flu medicine, a new pack of cough drops, a few boxes of tissues, a small thermometer. All in all, it’s less than a thirty minute excursion—something he’s done many times before in uni, where everyone seemed to catch something in the middle of exam season, and a house visit was just a short walk away.

Chicken noodle soup isn’t difficult. He’s made it a hundred times—he’s experimented with a dozen different variations of it. He puts the groceries in the fridge, washes the vegetables, and gets to work.

While the soup cooks, he half watches it, half busies himself with cleaning the apartment—loading up the dishwasher and hand washing everything that doesn’t fit, stocking the fridge and the medicine cabinet with the groceries he’s gotten, vacuuming the floors with a vacuum cleaner he finds tucked behind the fridge.

Then he shreds the chicken, chops a round of fresh vegetables to add to the broth, and waits.

It’s comfortably quiet. Outside, rain drums steadily on the windowpane. It shows no signs of stopping soon. It’s dark enough outside��the sun fully set, the clouds heavy overhead—that the lit interior of the apartment kitchen feels like a warm reprieve.

Yves likes cooking. He doesn’t actively enjoy doing chores, but there’s something comforting to how mindless they are. It’s an appreciated distraction.

The rain outside is loud enough that he doesn’t hear the footsteps, approaching, until Vincent clears his throat from behind him.

Yves jumps.

“You’re up,” he says, spinning on his heels to face him. Vincent looks a little worse for the wear—his hair a little messy, his shirt slightly rumpled from sleep, his glasses perched haphazardly in place.

Yves watches him take everything in—the pot on the stove, the chopping board set out on the counter, the empty paper bags from the grocery run flattened and stacked into neat rectangles.

“And you’re still here,” Vincent says.

“I made soup,” Yves says, by way of explanation. “It’s chicken noodle. I wasn’t sure if you’d be up for trying something new.” He reaches over to lift the lid off of the pot of soup. Steam wafts up from it, carrying with it the faint scent of the aromatics he’d added—thyme, bay leaf, garlic, peppercorns. “Actually, you picked a good time to wake up. I just added in the noodles, so it’s almost done.”

Vincent eyes the pot, his expression unreadable. “Did you leave to get groceries?”

“Earlier, yeah. You weren’t kidding about your fridge being empty.”

Vincent frowns. “I can pay you back. Did you keep the receipt?”

In truth, the price of the groceries is the last thing on Yves’s mind right now. He waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It must have taken a long time.”

“Soup is pretty forgiving. You just toss everything into a pot of boiling water and wait. It’s barely any work at all.”

Vincent stares at him for a moment longer. Then he says: “That’s an oversimplification.”

“Not really. Besides, I enjoy cooking,” Yves says. “Thanks for letting me use your kitchen—though, technically, I guess I’m asking forgiveness instead of permission. I’ll clean everything up, by the way.” He’s done dishes along the way, so there isn’t really much to do besides rinse off whatever’s left, load up the dishwasher, and store whatever’s left of the soup in the fridge.

“You don’t have to,” Vincent says, before turning into his elbow with a few harsh, grating coughs. “I can clean up. It’s my apartment.”

“If you think I’m letting you do household chores while you have a fever—”

“It’s not that high,” Vincent interrupts, perhaps a little stubbornly. Yves lets out a disbelieving laugh. He leans over the counter, shifts his weight forwards on his feet to press the back of his hand to Vincent’s forehead.

It’s concerningly hot, still, which isn’t a surprise. Though perhaps the way Vincent blinks, a little tiredly, and leans forward into Yves’s hand is a giveaway on its own.

“It’s definitely over a hundred,” Yves says, withdrawing his hand. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll have you know that I bought a thermometer.”

For a moment, Vincent looks surprised. Then he sighs. “That was an unnecessary purchase.”

“Are you admitting that I’m right?”

Vincent just frowns at him, which—Yves notes—isn’t exactly a denial. “Fever or not, there’s not much I can do except sleep it off.”

“You can go back to sleep after you’ve had something to eat,” Yves says. “What was it that you said? That you haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday?”

“...You won’t leave unless I eat, then,” Vincent says. He says it evenly enough that it barely registers as a question.

Yves smiles at him. It’s not a wrong conclusion. “Exactly,” he says.

—

In between the hallway and Vincent’s kitchen is a small dining area, furnished with a high table and two high chairs. Yves waits until the noodles are cooked just enough. Then he turns off the stove, unrolls a placemat to lay out on the dining table, and carries the pot over.

He gets everything he needs: two bowls, two spoons, some of the fresh parsley he’d chopped earlier, for garnish—and lays it all out.

“I can help,” Vincent says, for maybe the third time.

He’s seated on one of the chairs, which Yves had pointedly pulled out for him, looking like he’s perhaps a few seconds away from getting out of his seat and doing everything himself. It’s just like Vincent, Yves thinks, to offer to help—even at work, aside from all the work he takes on, it feels like he’s always finding some way or other to be useful.

Yves says, “When you’re not running a fever, you can ask me again.”

When everything is laid out, he pulls up a chair for himself, so he can sit across from Vincent—who is still perched on his seat, though he looks a little less like he wants to get out of it. “You didn’t have to wait for me,” Yves says.

Vincent blinks at him. “It would have been rude to get started on my own.”

“Nonsense,” Yves says. “I made it for you.”

He takes a bite. The soup tastes fine. That is, it tastes the same as every other time he’s made it—light and comforting. It’s just one of those recipes Yves thinks he can make in his sleep. Nothing about it is particularly inventive. Still, he hasn’t cooked for Vincent before—not formally, at least, other than the dish he’d bought to Joel’s potluck—so it’s a little nerve-wracking to watch Vincent take a bite.

It’s worse, still, to watch his eyes widen by a fraction. For a moment, Yves wonders if he’s done something wrong—if perhaps, it isn’t to Vincent’s taste, after all. He sets his spoon down. “Is it okay?”

“It’s really good,” Vincent says. “I can see why Mikhail said what he said.”

“What?”

“That your cooking was half the reason why he roomed with you.”

Yves laughs. “So does that mean you’ll forgive me for trespassing?”

Vincent smiles back at him. “I’ll consider it.” Now, with his glasses off, Yves can see his eyes a little more clearly—they’re slightly red-rimmed, his eyelashes long and dark, his cheeks flushed brighter with fever. There’s a little crease at the edge of his eyes which shows up when he smiles.

Yves is caught off guard, for a moment. The tightness in his chest is nothing, he tells himself. Certainly not a crush that he shouldn’t be allowed to have.

A crush. That’s new, too. It’s ironic, considering the terms of their fake relationship. He thinks it’s probably supposed to make him better at this—what better way to feign romantic interest than to not have his feelings be so fake, after all?—but instead, he finds himself at an uncharacteristic loss for words, finds himself stumbling over the most basic of pleasantries.

Of course, he has no intention of acting on his feelings. Vincent is attractive, yes—but he’s also considerate, and attentive, and hardworking enough to go early and stay late, to take on work he doesn’t get credit for. He’s thoughtful enough to entertain Yves’s friends, to have lunch with Yves’s siblings, to fly all the way to France to meet Yves’s family.

But all of that is inconsequential. None of it is going to amount to anything, because Yves knows how to keep his distance. Because Yves needs this—the perks of their fake relationship—more than he needs to indulge in any inconvenient crush. Because he knows enough to know how things would turn out if he were to say something.

That’s the thing. Vincent isn’t cruel. It’s for that reason, precisely, that Yves knows that he’d drop this arrangement immediately if he knew. Vincent would never string him along knowingly, and that’s what makes this so much worse—Yves has gone and gotten himself stupidly attached.

Now that they’re sitting across from each other, in Vincent’s apartment, having dinner, Yves thinks—a little selfishly, perhaps—that this is the best that he can ask for. It is all that he can ask for. Far better to keep up the pretense entirely, far better to pretend that this is all just for show. When they put an end to this arrangement—someday, inevitably—Yves will thank Vincent for everything, and then they’ll go their separate ways. He already knows how it will go. There is no need to complicate things.

It’s quiet, for some time. Yves finishes his bowl first, heads over to the sink to rinse it off, and positions it neatly in the lowest compartment of the dishwasher. When he gets back, Vincent is spooning more soup into his bowl. Yves allows himself to feel a little relieved to see that he has an appetite.

“It’s been awhile,” Vincent says, after some time. “Since anyone’s done this for me.”

“Made you chicken soup?” Yves says, a little puzzled. “If you want the recipe, I can give it to you. I make it all the time.”

“No,” Vincent says. His expression is unparseable. “Just— since anyone’s looked after me, in general.”

“Oh.” Yves finds his mind is spinning. “How long have you been living alone?”

“Since university. I had suitemates, in my second year. Then I got an apartment of my own.”

“Because you like the privacy?”

“It was just simplest.”

Yves thinks back to his years, rooming with Mikhail—the conversations they’d have to have to figure out groceries, to alternate cooking dinner and doing dishes, to manage transportation. He has a studio apartment now, too, but he’s over at his neighbors’ house frequently enough, or otherwise at home with Leon and Victoire for dinner, so it doesn’t really get lonely.

“You have a pretty spacious kitchen,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind that I used your pots and pans. I’ll wash them, I swear.”

Vincent takes in a small, sharp breath. Yves looks up just in time to see him twist away from the table, tenting his hands over his nose and mouth.

“hhIHh’IIKTS-HHuhh-!”

“Bless you!” Yves exclaims. Judging by the way Vincent keeps his hands raised over his face, he assumes that there are going to be more. He rises from his seat, heads back into the kitchen in search for—ah. Six boxes of tissue boxes, stacked neatly into a block. He tears off the thin plastic film around them, removes a box from the pile, and pulls off the tab.

When he gets back to the dining table, Vincent is ducking into steepled hands with another—

“hhih’GKKT-SHHh-uuUh! hh’DDZSChh-HHuh! snf-Snf-! hhh… Hh… hh-HH-hh’yIIDDzsSHH-hHUH-!!”

The sneezes seem to scrape painfully against his throat, for the way he winces in their aftermath. He twists away from Yves to cough lightly, after, into his shoulder, his eyes watering. “Bless you!” Yves pushes the tissue box towards him. “Here.”

Vincent takes a tissue from the box, blows his nose quietly. When he emerges, lowering the tissue from his face, his eyes are a little watery. He eyes the tissue box. “Did you buy these earlier, too?”

“I did,” Yves says. “I picked up some medicine, too. I didn’t know what flavor you wanted, so I got a couple different kinds. And some other stuff—your fridge was getting pretty empty, by the way—in case you needed it.”

Vincent lifts his head to study him, as if there’s something he’s trying to understand. Finally, he says, “Do you do this for all of your friends?”

“What?”

Vincent frowns, as if the subject matter should be obvious. “Cook for them. Get groceries. Clean their apartment.”

“Sometimes,” Yves says. He’s certainly no stranger to stopping by to help—sometimes with homemade soup, or tea packed tightly in a thermos, or something else. Then again, that was easier to do back in uni, when everyone lived within a twenty minute radius. “It depends on what they need.”

“So this is just a Yves thing.”

“What? Showing consideration for my friends?”

“Showing consideration is one thing,” Vincent answers. “You could have left after dropping off the files. You would still have been showing your consideration.”

“I guess that’s true. But at that point, I was already here,” Yves says, with a shrug. “It seemed logical to check up on you.”

“Well, now you’ve checked up on me,” Vincent says. “So you can go.”

Yves supposes this is true.

“Do you want me to go?” he asks.

Vincent says, “It’s late. I assume you have things to get home to.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Yves says.

Vincent says nothing to that.

But Yves gets the message, even without him saying it. If Vincent is the type of person who prefers to be alone when sick, Yves won’t take it personally. He doesn’t want to overstay his welcome—arguably, he’s already stayed for much longer than Vincent had invited him to.

There’s leftover soup in the fridge—enough to last Vincent a couple days, hopefully through the worst of this—and Vincent’s apartment is reasonably well-stocked now. He has something to take if his fever gets any higher; he has all the basic supplies Yves could think of off the top of his head.

And Vincent is a lot of things, but he isn’t irresponsible. He’s shown himself to be self-sufficient more times than Yves can count. There’s no reason why Yves should have to stay and look after him for any longer—no reason, perhaps, aside from the fact that seeing Vincent ill has left him more worried than he’d like to admit.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll go. But at least let me clean up first.”

He does dishes, leaves the cutting boards and the pot out to dry on the drying rack, transfers the soup to smaller glass containers to store it in the fridge. He returns the vacuum cleaner to the storage closet he found it in. Then, as promised, he gathers his things—not much, just his phone and his car keys—and heads toward the front door.

Vincent follows him to the door, presumably to lock it after he leaves.

Yves steps outside, lingers for just a moment on the doorstep. The car is parked close enough that he hadn’t bothered to grab his umbrella, but now it’s dark out, and it’s raining just as hard.

“I left new cough drops on the kitchen countertop,” Yves says, biding his time under the overhang until he inevitably has to get rained on. “The medicine’s in your bathroom, behind the mirror, with the thermometer. Everything else is either on the counter or in the fridge. Don’t come back to work until your fever’s completely—”

It happens in a moment: Vincent stumbles. Yves is looking at him, which means he sees the exact moment when it happens. Yves doesn’t think, just reacts—he reaches out to grab his arm to keep him from falling entirely.

“Woah,” he says, steadying him. “Are you—”

Vincent’s hand is concerningly warm, even through the fabric of his sleeve. For a moment, he leans into Yves’s touch, though this seems less intentional as it is inevitable. He’s breathing heavily, his eyes tightly shut, his shoulders rising and falling not as soundlessly as usual.

Yves swallows past the alarm he feels percolating in his chest. Had he been about to pass out? Just how high is his fever right now? “Vincent—”

“Sorry,” Vincent manages, through gritted teeth. He makes an effort to regain his balance, to move away. He sways on his feet, and Yves feels the panic in his chest rise anew.

He reaches up and slings an arm around his waist. “Hey,” he says, trying for reassuring. “I’ve got you.”

Vincent doesn’t say anything, to that. He just stands there, perfectly still, his eyebrows drawn together, his shoulders a little stiff under Yves’s touch.

Without letting go of him, Yves shuts the front door gingerly behind him, toes his shoes off at the door again. “I think it would be best if you laid down,” he says. “Do you think you can walk?”

Vincent nods, slowly. Yves tracks the bob of his throat as he swallows.

“Sorry,” Vincent says, again. “I… didn’t expect it to be an issue.”

He’s frowning, hard, as if he’s upset with himself, though Yves can’t quite piece apart why he’d have reason to be. “Hey, no apologizing,” Yves says. “Save your energy for walking.”

Vincent seems to understand that their current arrangement will not change until he’s in bed, so he lets Yves steer him towards the bedroom. It’s a short walk—down the hallway and then off to the left—but Yves spends half of it distracted by how warm Vincent is. Like this, he practically radiates heat.

It’s not until Vincent is settled on his bed, the blankets pulled loosely over him, that Yves allows himself to let go.

Truthfully, the last thing he wants to do right now is leave. But it isn’t about what he wants, and perhaps Vincent would sleep better if he did.

“Are you warm enough?” Yves asks. The words feel heavy on his tongue.

A nod.

“Do you need me to get you anything else?”

Vincent shakes his head.

“Okay,” Yves says. “I guess I shouldn’t overstay my welcome, then.”

Vincent will be fine, he tells himself. At the end of the day, they are only coworkers, and Vincent is one of the most independent people he knows. If Vincent doesn’t want him here, the best Yves can do is comply with his wishes. He straightens. “Text me if you need anything, I mean it.”

He lets go of the blanket, rises to his feet. Only, then—

There’s a hand on his sleeve, tugging.

Yves goes very still.

When Vincent notices what he’s done, alarm flashes through his expression, and he pulls his hand away as if he’s burned.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, again. And just like that, he’s back to how he always is—his expression perfectly, carefully neutral, in a way that can only be constructed. “I’m sorry.” But Yves doesn’t forget what he’s seen. “You can go.”

Yves’s heart aches. He settles back at the edge of the bed, reaches out a hand, settles it gently at the edge of Vincent’s forehead. At the physical contact, Vincent’s breath catches.

And for a second, Yves wonders if he’s made a mistake—if maybe Vincent doesn’t want to be touched, right now. If he’s misread the situation; if Vincent wants him to go, after all. He opens his mouth to apologize.

But then Vincent shuts his eyes. The tenseness to his expression eases, almost imperceptibly, his eyebrows unfurrowing. Oh, Yves realizes. His head must hurt—Yves suspected as much—but if he’s not mistaken, the expression on Vincent’s face right now is…

Relief. Cautiously, Yves traces his fingertips lightly over the edge of Vincent’s temple, combs them slowly through his hair. Vincent’s eyes stay shut, but the furrow to his eyebrows loosens, and his jaw unclenches, just a bit. The change is minute, almost imperceptible. If Yves weren’t paying close attention, he might’ve missed it.

As if he could pay attention to anything else, right now.

Tentatively, Yves cards his fingers through Vincent’s hair, traces slow circles into his scalp, slowly, carefully. He does it until the heartbeat he feels thrumming under his fingertips—quick and erratic—slows. Until Vincent’s breathing evens out, until the hurt in his expression dulls. Until the tension in his shoulders eases.

By the time he finally withdraws his hand, Vincent is fast asleep. Yves fetches a new glass of water for his nightstand, changes out the plastic bag lining the trash can, and lines the cough drops and medicine up at the edge of Vincent’s desk. He flips through folder 2-A, assessing.

Then he heads back out to his car to get his laptop, and gets to work.

—

He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

But when he wakes at Vincent’s desk, it’s to an unpleasant ache in his neck that spreads laterally into his shoulders—probably from sleeping with his head pillowed awkwardly against his arms. He lifts his head.

Behind him, there’s a weak, uncertain breath, and then the sort of cough that makes Yves’s chest hurt in sympathy. It sounds wrong, somehow—too quiet, for its proximity. Muffled.

It’s dark inside, aside from the faint glow of Vincent’s digital alarm clock, the pale green digits cutting into the black. He hears the rustling of blankets, followed by another short, painful intake of breath.

The sneeze that follows is stifled into something. Even stifled, it sounds uncharacteristically harsh—all force, pinched off into a short, muffled outburst which sounds barely relieving, at best.

“hH’ih’iNNGKkk-t!”

Yves blinks. Then he leans over the desk to flick on the lamp. Dull golden light suffuses the desk, bright enough to cast Vincent in form and graying color.

“Are you okay?”

At the light, Vincent’s eyes widen. He looks—stricken, somehow. Then his expression shutters, and he frowns. “Did I—” he stops to cough again into his fist. It sounds as though each breath he’s taking in is an effort of its own, shallow and unsatisfying. When he speaks again, his voice sounds noticeably hoarser. “—Did I wake you?”

Yves opens his mouth to respond. Before he can think up a convincing excuse, Vincent shakes his head dejectedly, as if he already knows the answer.

“Sorry,” he says. “I was - cough, cough - tryidg to be quiet.”

Quiet. As to not wake Yves, presumably. The revelation causes an ache to settle somewhere deep inside of him, heavy and inexorable. Yves is more than certain that this flu is already miserable enough on its own, even without the added challenge of having to be quiet about it. He wants to say, do you really think that’s what matters to me? He wants to ask, how long have you been up dealing with this on your own?

“You don’t have to be quiet,” is all he manages, instead. It’s a miracle that his voice manages to come out as evenly as it does.

Vincent looks like he’s about to say something. But before he has a chance to, he twists away to cough harshly into his shoulder. Now that he doesn’t make an attempt to muffle the coughing fit, Yves can hear just how harsh it sounds.

It’s the kind of coughing fit that just sounds exhausting—forceful enough to leave tears brimming at the edges of his eyelashes, his breaths coming in shallowly.

“Can I get you anything?” Yves asks, when Vincent is done coughing.

Vincent just looks back at him, unmoving. In the dim light of the desk lamp, he looks perhaps more exhausted than Yves has ever seen him—really, he looks as though he hasn’t slept at all. He’s seated with his back against the headboard with a blanket pulled around his shoulders. One of his hands is clenched loosely around it, pinning the corners in place.

“Tea?” Yves offers, because it’s better than saying nothing. “Water, cough drops. A cold compress?” Vincent doesn’t say anything, but Yves thinks, a little helplessly, that there must be something he can do. “Extra blankets? Tissues? Ibuprofen?”

“Water… would be nice,” Vincent says, as if it takes a lot out of him to admit it. Yves blinks, surprised—he had half expected no answer at all. At Yves’s split second of hesitation, Vincent’s frown deepens, his grip around the blankets tightening slightly. “...If it’s not too much trouble.”

Yves has never gotten out of his seat faster. “Of course,” he says. “I’ll be right back.” he swipes the empty glass from the nightstand and heads out into the hallway.

It’s dark. There aren’t many windows in the hallway to let in light from outside, but once he gets to the dining room, it gets easier to see. Judging by how dark it is outside, there are probably a few hours left until sunrise. It’s still early, then. Early enough that it’s quiet, around them—no traffic out on the streets, save for the occasional car, headed to who-knows-where; no neighbors going about their early morning routines; just the steady trickle of rain on the windowsill. Yves rinses the cup out in the sink, shakes it dry, and fills it again.

When he makes it back to the bedroom, it’s unusually quiet. Vincent is still sitting at the edge of his bed, looking like he hasn’t moved at all since Yves left the room.

Yves crosses the room to hand him the glass. Vincent blinks up at him, a little blearily.

“I got you water,” Yves says, unnecessarily.

Vincent takes the glass from him with both hands, as if he doesn’t quite trust himself to hold it with just one. Yves looks away as he drinks.

When Vincent lowers the glass at last, Yves takes it from him and sets it back into place onto the bedside table. He straightens, turns to face Vincent again. “Any better now?”

Vincent nods. It’s quiet, for a moment. Outside, the rain has nearly stopped—the room is soundless, aside from the thin whirring of the air conditioning. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

Yves hums. “To be honest, I didn’t either.” He stifles a yawn into one hand—he’s still a little tired. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“You must be tired,” Vincent frowns, looking him over. “You came right from a full day of work to check on me. Does your neck hurt?”

“What?”

Vincent inclines his head towards his desk. “I’ve fallen asleep there before. It’s not very comfortable.”

Yves thinks he shouldn’t be surprised, at this point, that Vincent has picked up on something so subtle. “It’s not that bad,” he says, reaching up with a hand to massage his neck. “My neck would probably be sorer if I’d slept through the whole night. I should thank you for waking me.”

“You could’ve taken the couch instead,” Vincent says, a little disapprovingly. “It would probably have been wiser.”

“I wanted to be here so I could keep an eye on you,” Yves says, because it’s true. “Besides, you sat in a chair while I slept in France. That can’t have been comfortable either.”

“It’s not just about that. You—” Vincent raises a hand up to his face, ducks into his wrist for a sudden: “hh-! hhiH’GKT-sSHuh! snf-!” He sniffles, then presses the wrist closer to his face, his expression shuttering. “Hh… hh’IIDDZshH’Uhh-!”

“Bless you!” Yves says, startled.

Vincent blinks, a little teary-eyed, turning over his shoulder to muffle a few harsh coughs into his wrist. “You shouldn’t have slept so close to me. I really don’t want you to catch this.”

He’s frowning, as if it really is a big deal. As if even now, even shivering and feverish, it’s somehow Yves that he’s more worried about right now.

Yves isn’t particularly concerned about that—he has no shortage of sick time to take off of work, in any case. If he does manage to catch this from Vincent, he’ll just stock up on essentials before the worst of it hits. It would be nothing he hasn’t done before. Still, Vincent looks so—well, so tornby the mere possibility of it that Yves wants to say something to comfort him.

“How about this?” he says. “If you’re so worried about it, you can buy me cough drops next time I come down with something, deal? Then we’ll be even.”

Vincent’s eyebrows furrow. “That’s a terrible deal for you.”

“I’ll get sick at some point in my life, anyways,” Yves says, with a shrug. “If this means I get free cough drops out of it, I’d say it’s a win.”

He moves the desk chair over so he can sit down at the edge of Vincent’s bed. Vincent watches him, uncertain. He looks like he’s resisting the urge to say something—to tell Yves to move further away, probably.

“Relax,” Yves says, reflexively. “It’ll be fine, seriously. I know what I signed up for.”

He leans forward, presses the back of his hand against Vincent’s forehead. Vincent closes his eyes. A slight tremor passes through his shoulders at the contact, but aside from that, he stays perfectly still.

“Your fever’s worse than before,” Yves says, withdrawing his hand.

“It’s not.” Vincent’s eyes are still shut. “The temperature is just higher because it’s night time.”

The suggestion is so far from comforting that Yves almost laughs. “You know,” he says, “that’s not very reassuring.” The blanket around Vincent’s shoulders starts to slip, so Yves reaches over and snags an edge of it, fluffs the whole thing outwards to lay it neatly around Vincent’s shoulders, like a cloak. Secures it with a loose knot. “Are you feeling any better than before?”

Vincent does open his eyes, now. He looks as though he’s trying hard to figure out how acceptably he can lie. “I…”

“You can be honest.”

Vincent’s jaw clenches. He reaches up with one hand, his fingers curling around the blanket Yves set down around him.

“My head feels heavy,” he says. He screws his eyes shut, his eyebrows furrowing. “And my chest hurts.” He lets out a short, frustrated breath, as if every sentence is a new and difficult admission. “I’m… not used to getting sick like this.”

Yves’s hands still. “Like what?”

“In any way that would necessitate taking time off from work,” Vincent says, looking away. The discomfort sits, plainly and indisputably, in the way he holds himself—his shoulders stiff, his jaw clenched—everything a little too tense, despite his exhaustion.

Yves stares at him for a moment, considering. In the end, it’s the small, impulsive thought that wins out.

He takes a seat at the edge of the bed, next to Vincent. The mattress dips under his weight.

Vincent has always been taller than him, but sitting down like this, they nearly see eye to eye. It’s a risk, of course, to offer this. He and Vincent haven’t been physically intimate outside of the times where they’ve had to prove their relationship to an audience. But when he thinks back to how Vincent reacted to Yves feeling his forehead, or Yves carding his hands through his hair—if he hasn’t misread, it almost feels like—

Yves opens his arms out in offering, tries on a smile. “I’ve been told I give good hugs. Good enough to cure all ailments, obviously.”

For a moment, Vincent stays perfectly still. Yves has five seconds to overthink all of his actions over the past twenty four hours.

Then Vincent inches closer, ever so slightly, to lean his head on Yves’s shoulder.

Yves curls his arms around him. There’s the slightest hitch in Vincent’s breath, at the contact. Then the stiffness seeps out of his shoulders, and he presses a little closer—as if he’s allowed himself permission, at last, to let go.

His whole body is concerningly warm. “You’re burning up,” Yves says, softly. He reaches up with one hand to run his fingers through Vincent’s hair.

“...I figured,” Vincent says. The next breath he takes comes in a little shakily. “Whoever gave you the review was right. You are a good hugger.”

Yves laughs, a little surprised. “Careful. You’re going to inflate my ego if you keep talking.”

“I can’t help it if it’s true.”

Yves has hugged a fair share of people in his life. He doesn’t think he’d be able to list them all if he were asked to. It’s different, though, being so close to Vincent—so close that Yves can reach out and let his hair fall through his fingertips. He can lift up his palm and feel the rigid line of his spine, the slope of his shoulders; he could reach out and trace the dip of his wrist, the form of his hand. Vincent’s chin digs slightly into his left shoulder. His nose is turned slightly into Yves’s neck—like this, he is almost perfectly still. Yves can feel the warm brush of air against his neck whenever Vincent exhales. He is so close that Yves is afraid, for a moment, that he might hear how badly his heart is racing.

Would dating Vincent be like this? Would this kind of exchange be given and received as easily as anything? Yves wills himself not to think about it. This is nothing, he tells himself, but a simple offering of comfort between friends. To think otherwise would be disingenuous.

They stay like that for some time. Time slows, or perhaps it expands or collapses—really, Yves would be none the wiser. The whir of the ceiling fan and the light rain on the rooftop a constant. When Vincent pulls away at last, it’s to turn sharply off to the side to muffle a sneeze into his sleeve.

“Hh-! hhIH’IIDZsSHM-FF! snf-!”

“Bless you,” Yves says, blinking. The sudden absence of warmth is a little jarring. But Vincent isn’t done.

His eyebrows draw together, and he ducks tighter into his elbow, his shoulders jerking forward. “hHIH’iiGKKTsSHH—! Sorry, I— Ihh-! hHHh’DZZSSCHh—uH-!”

“Bless you again,” Yves says, reaching past him to hand over the box of tissues on the nightstand. He holds out the box for Vincent to take.

Vincent turns away to blow his nose. When he returns, he’s a little teary eyed. The flush on the bridge of his nose hasn’t gone away.

“When I asked you to come over,” he says, “I wasn’t expecting you to stay.”

Yves blinks. “Is it so strange for me to be here?”

To that, Vincent is quiet, for a moment. Yves looks out the window, where he can see the skyline, off in the distance, the dark form of the apartment building across the streets, the street in between lit dimly with golden streetlights.

“A little,” he says. “When I was young, if I got sick, it wasn’t really a big deal.”

At Yves’s expression, he amends: “That’s not to say that my family didn’t care, because they did. No one spent too long in my room—better to not risk catching it, if they could help it—but back then, if I didn’t have much stomach room, my mom always cut fruits for me to leave on my desk. Sometimes she made ginseng tea, too.” he shuts his eyes. There’s a strange expression on his face—something a little more complicated than wistfulness.

“We had a habit of keeping the heat off, in the winters, and closing the windows. But if I was running a fever, my brother always made sure to keep the heat on.” His lip twitches, almost imperceptibly. Then: the smallest of smiles. “Sometimes he’d stay outside my door to talk about his day. He was the class lead, back when he was in high school. It was always something inconsequential, like which of his classmates he liked and which ones he held a grudge against, and why. Almost always for the smallest reasons, like someone borrowing a pencil and forgetting to give it back, or someone tossing the ball to him in gym class.”

“Were you and your brother close?” Yves asks.

“Close is relative,” Vincent says. “I never really knew how to—inhabit his world, I guess. When I moved to the states, and when I decided to stay here, part of it was out of some sort of defiance. I didn’t want to have to follow in his footsteps, because then I could only ever be focused on doing things differently.”

He shuts his eyes. “But I felt close to him, then. When he stood outside my room and told me those stories. Even if they were things I wouldn’t have cared about had they happened to me, I guess. It’s strange how that works.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Yves says. He’s always had a good relationship with Leon and Victoire, though that doesn’t mean they’ve always seen eye to eye on things. “Sometimes it’s less about what they say, and more about the fact that they’re saying it.”

Vincent nods. “They all cared about me in their own way,” he says, at last. “I don’t think I appreciated the extent of it at the time. When you’re a kid, you tend to take everything at face value.”

“Do you regret it?” Yves asks. “What?”

“Not appreciating them more, back then.”

Vincent smiles. “I was just a kid. I suppose it’s natural that I didn’t know better.” Yves has a feeling that that statement is perhaps further reaching than Vincent is making it out to be. “I didn’t think much about it at the time.”

“Do you ever miss being part of a large household?”

“It’s peaceful on my own,” Vincent says, at last. “I usually don’t mind it. I usually have other things to worry about.”

He hasn’t asked if the information is useful to Yves, Yves realizes, a little belatedly. Back then, at Joel and Cherie’s potluck, Vincent had seemed to believe that the only way Yves could possibly be interested in him was if the information could serve their fake relationship, somehow.

The realization settles him. Perhaps Vincent has shared this because he knows Yves cares.

“Your apartment is nice,” Yves says, trying to ignore the insistent beat of his heart in his chest, which all of a sudden seems to want to make itself known. “I can see why you would like living here.”

Vincent tilts his head up towards the ceiling. “It’s not the same, of course. As home. Though that’s a given.” Yves notes the usage of the word: home. Here, instead of home, the clarifier salient, even though Vincent’s done nothing to emphasize it. Could it be that after all these years, Vincent still considers Korea to be home, for him? “When I’ve had people over, it was just for dinner. Not for…”

He looks over to Yves, now. Yves knows what he means, knows how to fill in the rest of the sentence: not for the reason you’re here, now.

“I know I’ve intruded a little,” Yves says, with a laugh.

Vincent frowns at him, his eyebrows furrowing. “I wouldn’t consider it an intrusion,” he says. “You’ve helped me a lot. I just—I’m a little embarrassed that your first time over had to be under these circumstances.”

Your first time over. Yves ignores—well, tries to ignore—the implication that this could be the first out of many. That he might have another opportunity, in the future, to swing by. Vincent hasn’t confirmed anything, and it’s not likely that their fake dating arrangement would warrant another house visit, out of the public’s eye. Yves tells himself that the warmth he feels in his chest is misplaced.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I like seeing you,” Yves says.

Vincent raises an eyebrow at him. “Even bedridden with a fever?”

Isn’t it obvious? “Of course.”

“I’ve been terrible company,” Vincent says. “And even worse of a host. I recall I fell asleep yesterday, only for you to spend two hours cleaning my apartment?”

“Vacuuming is therapeutic.”

“You said that about cooking, too,” Vincent says, narrowing his eyes. “Am I supposed to believe that you enjoy doing all household chores?”

“It’s not like you made me do them. I just wanted to be useful, and your vacuum was easy to find.”

“I’ll be sure to hide it thoroughly next time,” Vincent says, deadpan.

Yves laughs. “It’s like I said,” he says. “I like spending time with you. Even—” To steal Vincent’s words from earlier. “—bedridden with a fever.”

Vincent huffs a sigh, a little incredulously.

“Though, I promise I won’t intrude for much longer,” Yves tells him. “I’ll probably head out in the morning.” He’s almost done with the work Vincent has on his desk—he’d fallen asleep checking over one of the income statements for discrepancies. A few hours should be enough time to make sure that everything is in order. He still has work at eight—he’ll probably be a little tired for it, considering how late he’d slept, but that’s nothing new.

“I’m sorry,” Vincent says, averting his glance. He frowns down at himself, as if he really is apologetic. “You must’ve had other evening plans.”

None as important as taking care of you, Yves catches himself thinking. He can’t say things like that if he wants to keep this—well, this unfortunate recent development, i.e., his feelings for Vincent—to himself.

“It wasn’t just for you,” he says, instead.

“What?”

“I didn’t just do it for you.”

Vincent blinks at him, a little confused. “Are you going to say you get personal gratification out of seeing my apartment clean?”

“It’s like you said,” he says. “I’ve never seen you this unwell. You said this doesn’t happen often, right? When you didn’t show up at work, I…” The next admission feels a little too honest—but there’s a small, unwise part of him that wants to get it across, regardless. “I was really worried. Even though you said you had everything covered, I wanted to make sure you were fine.”

Vincent nods. “I get it. It would be an inconvenience if I were unfit to be your fake—”

“It has nothing to do with that,” Yves interrupts him. His heart hurts a little, with it. “I wanted to see that you were fine because I care about you. To be honest, I think I would’ve spent the entire night worrying if I hadn’t come.” He laughs, a little self-deprecatingly. “It’s a little selfish, I know.”

Vincent’s eyes are very wide.

“Anyways,” Yves says, with the sinking feeling that he’s said too much, “you should try to get some more sleep.” He rearranges the blankets around Vincent, a little unnecessarily, fluffs the extra pillow that’s leaned up against the headboard, and turns away. “It’s still really early. If you’re planning to be back in office next week, it would be best to keep your sleep schedule intact.”

“Yves,” Vincent says, from behind him.

“Hmm?”

“...Thank you.”

When Yves works up the courage to look over, Vincent is smiling, unreservedly, as if something Yves has said has made him very happy.

Yves’s heart stutters in his chest. Fuck.

(On second thought, it might not be so easy to live with these feelings, after all.)

—

At daybreak, Yves drives home to get changed, takes a quick shower while he’s at it, and heads off for work. He yawns through half his morning meetings, adds an extra espresso shot to the coffee he snags from the break room.

The text arrives halfway through the day, just before he’s intending to head downstairs for lunch.

V: When I asked you to bring folder 2-A, I didn’t mean for you to complete my work along with it.

Yves smiles. He’d emailed Vincent the completed work from yesterday’s late-night work session before he’d left. Vincent must’ve seen it.

Y: some genie i met told me your wish was to have your work done before the deadline

V: What are you talking about?

Y: he also told me you were very stubborn about not redistributing your assignments to anyone else Y: so you can’t blame me for taking matters into my own hands

V: Yves.

Y: feel free to check it over for errors :)

#sneeze fic #snz fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snzfic #- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -#- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - (adding in my a/n under the cut)#i have a lot of thoughts about this chapter as a whole #just editing + finishing off the last 2k of this took me 12 hours T.T #(maybe unsurprisingly) emotional intimacy and caretaking are very hard for me to write;#of the fics i've posted to this blog not many of them focus on the c portion of the h/c just in general?#so this was somewhat uncharted territory for me #i hope it's not too niche to resonate w anyone else 😭🙏#yvverse #my fic #also on a lighter note. i have been looking forward to writing yves caretaking for so long 😭😭😭😭😭

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spinningwebsandtales · 6 months ago

Text

Imagine Kafka Taking You On A Date

Kafka Hibino X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: A little steamy but it's just a whole lotta fluff

Word Count: 2k

Requested by @banana658

(A/N:) I didn't meant for this to take me as long as it did. I've been in a little writing slump as my artwork is taking most of my time. It doesn't help that I have a painful cyst in my wrist. But I can tough it out especially when I get to write cute stuff like this! I just love writing for Kafka and getting requests for him are like a present to me! I'm glad to see other fangirls appreciate Kafka like I do! So I hope you enjoy this little piece of fluff and that is everything you wanted and that it was also worth a little bit of the wait! I still have several Kafka works sitting in my drafts so keep an eye out! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Kafka leaned against a building wall, tucking his hands into his pockets while strangers passed him by. It was a nice change of pace seeing civilians so relaxed, despite the fact that a kaiju attack could come at any moment. It was thanks to The Defense Force that people could have some semblance of normalcy and he so desperately wanted to join that team. And he had one last chance, one more time to try before his age caught up to him once and for all. But he shook his head, shoving those thoughts to the back of his mind as he continued to wait. He hoped for just one evening the kaiju would pity him and let him have this moment to enjoy something he never allowed himself. Rushed footsteps had Kaka turning his head towards the sound pushing any remaining thoughts to the very back of his mind. He spotted you quickly making your way through the flood of the crowd. You waved when you noticed Kafka staring and he waved back. His heart began to pound a little harder, seeing your messy bun and casual clothes that were both comfy and stunning on you. In seconds you stood before him panting and tucking strands of hair that had slipped loose.

"Sorry I'm late," you panted. "I got caught at work and I ran home to change. I hope you weren't waiting here long."

"Nah I haven't been here that long at all," he grinned easing your worries. In all honesty he would wait an eternity for you if it was required. He kept that embarrassing thought to himself though.

"How was work," you asked while adjusting the strap of your purse that had slipped in your rush.

"Messy," Kafka replied causing you to giggle.

"I salute you and all the crews that clean up the kaiju aftermath. I couldn't do it."

"The smell isn't so bad once you get used to it," Kafka shrugged before offering you his arm. "Though intestine duty sucks! Nobody can get used to that part." He knew you were being nice, asking him about his work but he refused to let the topic of kaiju guts ruin his night out with you.

"Seriously," you took Kafka's arm leaning up against him while your fingers threaded together with his. "I appreciate what you do Kafka. The Defense Force gets all the glory and they should but I don't want you guys to feel like nobody appreciates you."

He blushed, glad to have people like you to realize the important work he and his fellow kaiju cleaners do.

"How was work for you," Kafka asked, happy to have a chance to change the subject as you both walked together. The softness of your fingers laced with his wasn't lost on him as he was having a hard time keeping himself together.

"Ugh busy," you deflated. "I was so excited about tonight that everyone and their aunt came in to slow me down. Then when you're naturally in a hurry everything slows you down. But I made it and I'm here with you so that's all that matters."

"You don't have to be in a hurry to be on time with me. I would wait for you as long as it takes. You're worth every second."

"Well aren't you sweet Kafka," you cooed as a blush darkened Kafka's cheeks.

"Soooo," he coughed, "how about conveyor belt sushi?"

"Yes please! I'm starving and I feel like I could eat my body weight in sushi right now."

"Good because I know the perfect place."

"Lead the way oh valiant man of kaiju disposal!"

The place Kafka chose was packed with the dinner rush but you both were able to snag the last booth before the line outside started to gather. Kafka helped you to sit before taking his seat in the booth across from you. He knew most girls would hate having to be in such a cheap place, they rather have the expensive sushi restaurants. But not you, you were always content and happy to be around him no matter where you both went. You were watching the little plates go around and around, trying to decide what you wanted first and Kafka was just content just watching you instead. You glanced towards the screen at the table, of the anime character keychains the restaurant was advertising if you ate so many plates. Kafka made it his mission right then that he wasn't leaving until you at least had one keychain, even if it wasn't exactly the one you wanted.

"Who are you wanting to get (Y/N)," Kafka leaned in to ask.

You pointed," Him! He's my absolute favorite but I would take any one of them honestly. It's fun just to see the surprise."

He nodded, "Well we can't get you your prize unless we start eating so dig in!"

"Gladly," you beamed.

Easy conversation passed between you both as plates began to pile on the table. Kafka would take the time out to slide them into the counter and it wouldn't be long until you had that prize in hand. You had forgotten about the prize so far as you were enjoying the food. While you stuck with most of your favorites you weren't scared to branch out and try other things you normally wouldn't. You picked up a plate while Kafka slid more plates getting them out of the way and counted, you took a bite. You could have melted into the floor at the delicious taste and you knew you had to share with Kafka.

"That good huh," he chuckled.

"You have to try some!"

"Okay," Kafka smiled. "I'll grab one as it comes by."

"You don't have to," you picked up the other sushi piece with your chopsticks and held it out to him. "Here have this piece!"

Kafka looked at you before glancing at your chopsticks. The ones you had been using since the meal began and it made him shiver.

"I couldn't possibly take yours. You really like it."

You still held the sushi out a stubborn pout on your face and Kafka knew he couldn't win against you. He liked you too much and he would count this indirect kiss as a blessing. He took the food and you were right it was delicious. Though he did have to fight the red in his cheeks before you noticed. Kafka gulped as you took another bite with the chopsticks you just used to feed him. That's when you jolted, realizing what you just did.

"Kafka I am so sorry," you couldn't believe you didn't realize. "I wasn't thinking! I hope I didn't make you feel uncomfortable."

He waved his hands quickly trying to dash your fears, "No it's fine! It didn't bother me at all! I just didn't want you grossed out that you shared your chopsticks with me and I didn't want to take a piece of the food you're enjoying."

"I want to share," you replied pushing the plate towards him. "I never want to be selfish whenever it comes to you."

"I don't think you have a selfish bone in your body," Kafka replied as he took your hand when you released the plate. He kissed your wrist gently and placed it back on the table. He turned to put more plates into the counter when you tried to reply. It was that moment that you both had eaten enough and your prize dropped down cutting the conversation short. Kafka gently took it from the chute and deposited it into your hand.

"Your prize! Open it let's see who you got," he grinned brightly and you shivered in anticipation.

Kafka paid the tab and held the door open for you as you both made it back onto the street. You skipped happily your new keychain already put on your purse. You had to stop yourself from squealing in the restaurant when you opened the capsule to see the character you wanted nestled inside. Kafka had clapped for you, extremely happy that on the first try you had gotten the keychain you wanted. His mind kept racing as did his heart at the thought of your radiant smile.

This time Kafka took your hand, lacing your fingers together. He had never been happier than in this moment. He had a lot riding on tomorrow and he wanted to remember this time for a long time just in case everything didn't go well tomorrow.

"Are you okay," you interrupted his thoughts as you felt Kafka's body stiffen.

He sighed, "Yeah. I take the physical test tomorrow for The Defense Force. Ichikawa pushed me to try again and he's testing with me. The kid has a lot of potential but I'm still skirting by by the edge of my teeth. And I'm terrified, it's my last chance as I'll be too old next year and that's the end of my dream."

You squeezed Kafka's hand tightly, trying to will the confidence you had in him into his being. "You can do this Kafka. I believe in you and Japan could use a man like you in The Defense Force. I know your best friend is a captain and she's amazing, but you're amazing too. You just have to realize that and know that nobody can judge you by things you can and can't do. Just give it your all I know you can do it!"

Kafka wiped at his eyes and tugged you into a crushing hug. You squeezed him back tightly glad that you were able to encourage him, even if it was just a little bit.

"C'mon let's get you home so you can be well rested for tomorrow," you finally said when he let you go.

"That eager to get rid of me," he chuckled while he sniffled.

"Absolutely not but a Defense Force officer in the making needs plenty of rest!"

"Yes ma'am," Kafka saluted. "But I'm making sure you get home safely. I'll go straight home I promise."

"Pinky promise," you glared knowing that Kafka had a habit of enjoying a beer or two once he got home.

He wrapped your pinky with his and nodded, "I promise."

You leaned in kissing his cheek, "For luck."

He cupped your cheek and pressed his forehead to yours as your pinkies remained intertwined. He brushed a tender kiss against your lips. You melted against him tugging him closer with hand pulling at the collar of his shirt. He deepened the kiss leaving you breathless as you both finally realized the tension between you two melting away. Kafka had tried to rein in his feelings, afraid that he would lose you if you knew how he felt about you. But as you kissed back he realized how much you felt the same. Parting from you he kept his forehead against yours, trying to catch his breath as he gazed into your misty eyes.

"I wanted to do that for awhile now," he admitted.

"Me too," you smiled blushing bright pink. "But no more distractions get me home!"

Kafka swung your clasped hands making you laugh as you both continued talking. Dreaming about the future as he lead you home, making sure you were safe inside before you closed the door. As promised Kafka went straight home and got ready for bed. He just knew he would make it this time and it was all thanks to you. He couldn't wait to call you tomorrow and tell you that he made it. He fell asleep with your smile in his thoughts and the kiss still lingering on his lips.

#Kafka Hibino X Reader #Kafka Hibino / Reader #Kafka Hibino #Kaiju No. 8 #Kafka Hibino Imagine #Kaiju No. 8 Imagine #KN8 #Imagine #Not My Gif #Request #My Writing

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