#FEM reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

d-z20 · 2 days ago

Text

More Than You Will Ever Know (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: For most of your time at college, you've been in a relationship with your sugar mommy, Agatha Harkness. Everything is going great except for the fact you are about to graduate and with that comes change

- OR -

What happens when you turn up at her door months later. It's sex, sex happens.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, alcohol, sugar mommy Agatha with a few grey hairs 😍, sugar baby Reader, established dynamic, Mommy kink, strap riding (R recv), squirting, angst, a little hurt/comfort, both Agatha and Reader are switches, fingering (R recv), oral (both recv), multiple orgasms, soft aftercare

Words: 5.9k

A/N: This probably isn't the fic y'all were expecting when I said I was doing a sugar mommy Agatha post... but I hope you enjoy it anyway my lovelies ;) requested fic

AO3 | Masterlist

The restaurant you were at was one of those exclusive places with no menu—just a personal chef curating a bespoke experience, each dish a masterpiece plated with precision. You weren’t sure what half the things on your plate were, but Agatha, ever composed, swirled a glass of deep red wine and explained each one with a knowing smirk.

She sat across from you, effortlessly elegant in a dark silk blouse, her silver streaks catching in the dim candlelight. You’d barely sat down before she leaned forward, her fingers brushing over yours, and said, “You look stunning tonight, darling.”

You did, of course, because she’d made sure of it. The dress you wore—a sleek, custom-made piece in a colour that suited your skin perfectly—was her gift. She had it delivered earlier that day, instructing you to wear it to your graduation as well. “Something beautiful for someone extraordinary,” she had hummed as she held it up against your body, assessing the fit before insisting on getting it tailored just a little more.

Throughout dinner, she was her usual indulgent self, ordering the best of everything and ensuring you never had to lift a finger. When the waiter poured more champagne into your flute, she merely tilted her head with amusement and said, “We’re celebrating, aren’t we?”

And celebrate she did—showering you with praise between bites of delicacies, her voice rich with something dangerously close to pride.

“I always knew you could do it,” she said, her thumb lazily tracing the stem of her wine glass. “You’re brilliant, and I’ve seen it from the very beginning. Your mind—fuck, it’s a wonder and a privilege to witness. I hope you know that.”

Warmth spread through you, not just from the alcohol but from the way she looked at you—as if you were the only thing worth admiring in this whole damn place. You ducked your head, feeling the heat creep up your neck, but Agatha wasn’t having any of that. She reached across the table, tilting your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet her gaze.

"None of that, baby," she chastised softly. "You’ve worked so hard, and now you're finally here. I am so proud of you."

Your heart squeezed, and before you could even form a response, she was placing a small velvet box in your hand. "Not yet," she hummed when you made to open it, her lips curling in amusement. "Save it for later."

You didn’t press, instead slipping the small box into your bag—another thing Agatha had insisted on buying for you.

And, in this moment, life was perfect.

—

Heat. Skin against skin. The soft rustle of silk sheets as your body moved against hers, your fingers digging into toned muscle. Agatha beneath you, her hands firm on your hips, guiding you, encouraging you, worshipping you in the way only she knew how. The air was thick with the smell of perfume and sex.

"You take me so well, baby," she rasped, her voice hoarse with want, nails dragging down your spine, leaving trails of pleasure in their wake.

Your head was spinning, pleasure pooling in your stomach, tightening unbearably. She always did this to you—reduced you to nothing but need, left you craving her touch even when she was already giving you everything. And right now, you could feel her inside you, the stretch of silicone filling you so perfectly it had you trembling, your body fluttering around the unyielding length with every slow, deliberate roll of your hips.

"Mommy," you mewled, your voice high and breathless, and Agatha groaned in response, her grip on you tightening.

"That’s right, baby," she purred, voice molten. "Come on, let me hear you. Let me feel you."

A desperate moan left your lips, your thighs shaking as she bucked up into you, her hands guiding your movements in a way that made you dizzy with need. Every stroke had you gasping, the friction deep and deliberate, hitting your g-spot over and over again. But it wasn’t just that—Agatha’s mouth was on you too, hot and wet, her lips closing around your nipple as she sucked, her tongue flicking over the sensitive bud, sending another sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"So fucking perfect," she praised, letting her fingers slide up to cup your jaw, tilting your head down until your lips were only a breath away. "You’ve been so good for me, haven’t you?"

"Y-Yes, Mommy," you gasped, barely coherent, but she swallowed your sounds with a kiss, deep and possessive.

The pressure coiled tighter, impossibly so, your body alight with sensation, every nerve ending sparking under her touch. You could feel another orgasm building, stealing the breath from your lungs, your nails sinking into her shoulders as you chased that final, devastating peak.

"That's it, my love," she groaned, her voice thick with satisfaction. "Cum for me, baby."

And you did. A shattered moan, body arching, the pleasure tearing through you like fire. The intensity was blinding, overwhelming; your entire body tensed, then gave way to the sheer force of your climax. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as the pleasure burst free, your thighs trembling violently as you soaked the strap buried deep inside you.

Agatha groaned low, feeling the warmth spread between her legs, the slick mess you had made drenching the harness, the sheets, and her own skin. “Fuck, baby,” she husked, her voice thick with satisfaction, her hands gripping your hips as if to steady you. “Look at you... so perfect.”

Your breath came in rapid pants, your limbs weak, your body still wracked with aftershocks. The evidence of your pleasure was undeniable—your arousal staining the sheets beneath you, glistening against Agatha’s stomach just above where the strap had pressed flush against her. She let out a pleased hum, her fingers tracing soothing circles on your back as you collapsed against her, utterly spent.

“There you go, baby,” she whispered, her voice softer now, almost reverent. “You did so well for Mommy.”

Her hands ran slowly, worshipfully, over your spine, grounding you as you shivered against her. She pressed lazy, lingering kisses to your temple, your cheek, your shoulder, anywhere she could reach, while both of you struggled to catch your breath. The world beyond these walls didn’t exist; there was only the warmth of her embrace, the way she murmured your name like a prayer, the soft hum of contentment vibrating against your skin.

You belonged here. With her. Always.

And yet, you didn’t notice the way her expression shifted, the way her hold tightened just a fraction, as if she were memorising the feel of you, as if she were already preparing to let you go.

—

The sun dipped below the skyline as you sat on the edge of Agatha’s expansive marble countertop, feeling a familiar weight in the air. Less than twenty-four hours ago, you had been wrapped in her arms, your body trembling with pleasure, her voice thick with praise as she called you perfect. She had spoilt you rotten—an extravagant dinner, a new dress, a reminder that she was proud of you, that she always knew you’d make it. Things had felt so whole, so right.

But tonight? Tonight felt like the cruellest contrast.

Agatha’s penthouse, usually brimming with her presence, warm and commanding, felt cold and distant. She was pacing the living room, arms crossed, her sharp blue eyes avoiding yours. There was no teasing smirk, no playful remark about how well you took her the night before. The tension in the air was suffocating, pressing against your chest like a vice.

Finally, she broke the silence with a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You’re about to graduate, Y/N,” she began, her voice smooth yet clipped. "I think it's time we stop pretending that this... arrangement... still serves either of us."

You blinked, your stomach plummeting. Just last night, she had held you so tightly, whispering sweet nothings against your skin. And now she was speaking as if the last three and a half years were nothing more than a fleeting indulgence.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the words came out too sharp, too raw.

Her eyes flickered toward you, her lips twisting into a teasing smirk, but it didn’t carry the same warmth it usually did. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, darling. You have a great job lined up and a whole life ahead of you. You don’t need me to be your sugar mommy anymore."

The words stung. You swallowed against the lump rising in your throat, masking it with a hollow laugh. "I don’t need you? Is that what you think?"

"You don’t need a sugar mommy," she corrected, her voice carrying that sharp edge that cut deeper than you wanted to admit. “I’m saying it’s time for you to grow up. To live your life without being bound to anything—or anyone.”

The finality in her words left you breathless. This wasn’t a joke. There was no hint of her usual playful cruelty.

She really meant it.

“I don’t want that, Agatha,” you said softly, your voice cracking just a little, but your pride wouldn’t let you break. “I’m not ready for it.”

“Oh, I know you’re not,” she replied smoothly, turning away to pour herself a drink. The sound of liquid hitting glass was deafening in the quiet room. “But you’ll be fine. You’ll forget about me and find someone more your speed. Someone young and eager to be your equal, not just someone who's... well, who’s old enough to be your mother.”

A sharp sting bloomed in your chest, a dull, aching wound. Three and a half years down had come down to this. It started as just a simple arrangement—she took care of you financially, and you gave her company and affection in return. But somewhere along the way, something deeper had blossomed between you two, something neither of you had been brave enough to admit. And now she was discarding it like it had never meant anything at all.

She turned back to face you then, and for a brief moment, there was something else in her eyes—something softer, maybe even hesitant. But then it was gone, masked by that familiar smirk, the one she always used when she wanted to hide her vulnerability.

“Look, sweetheart, I’m doing this for you. You don’t need me holding you back. Go out there. Find yourself. It’ll be better for the both of us.”

Your chest was tight, the weight of her words suffocating. “I don’t want anyone else,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath. “I only want you.”

She scoffed, but there was no real bite to it. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but like I’ve said, you'll get over it.”

You let out a hollow, defeated scoff of your own, staring down at your feet as you willed yourself not to cry. When you finally spoke, your voice was eerily indifferent. “Okay.”

You grabbed your bag, turned on your heel, and stormed out, slamming the door behind you with a force that rattled the walls.

The moment you stepped onto the busy street, the cold air hit you like a slap in the face, but it wasn’t enough to stop the sting behind your eyes. You blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears, refusing to let the world see you like this.

But when you finally made it back to your apartment, the second the door clicked shut behind you, everything crumbled.

Your bag slipped from your shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud, but you barely noticed as your knees gave out beneath you. You collapsed onto the hardwood, your entire body shaking, the weight of it all crashing down on you at once. The tears burnt as they spilt over, hot and unstoppable, rolling down your cheeks in thick, messy trails.

It wasn’t just crying—it was full-body, gut-wrenching, ugly sobbing. The kind that left your chest aching, your throat raw, and your limbs trembling. It felt like your heart had been shattered, and now it was cutting your hands to shreds as you desperately tried to gather the pieces.

You gasped for breath, curling in on yourself, hands clutching at your arms as if you could physically hold yourself together. But nothing could stop the pain or the gaping void that Agatha had left behind.

Your fingers reached for the armrest of your couch and found the hoodie she had bought for you last month, and you clung to it like a lifeline, burying your face into the fabric that still smelt like her. Just a few weeks ago, you would have never imagined this—never imagined she’d leave you, that she’d end things so cruelly.

You thought it would never end.

But it had.

And as you lay there, curled up on the floor, crying yourself to sleep in a hoodie that smelt like the woman who just broke your heart, you failed to notice how the small velvet box she had given you had slipped from your bag and slid under the couch, out of sight.

—

The days following Agatha’s decision felt like a blur. You tried to move on, to focus on your future. The job offer you’d received was a great opportunity, and Agatha had made a valid point about your independence. You told yourself this was for the best, that you could do this, that you could build a life outside of her.

But no matter how much you tried, every minute without her felt like a slow death.

Your apartment, once a sanctuary, now felt hollow. The bed was too big and too cold without her beside you. Mornings were the worst—waking up alone, reaching instinctively for her only to be met with empty sheets. You used to wake to the scent of her perfume lingering in the air, the warmth of her body pressed against yours, her voice teasing as she coaxed you into wakefulness with slow kisses and whispered praises. Now, silence stretched endlessly, suffocating in its vastness.

You kept yourself busy, throwing yourself into the final few weeks of college life as graduation loomed closer. You accepted invitations to go out with friends and tried to lose yourself in the crowds, in the laughter, in the distractions, but it never worked. Conversations blurred together, nights out felt dull, and no matter how much you smiled or how much you laughed at someone’s joke, you felt empty. It wasn’t just loneliness. It was Agatha.

You missed her. Desperately.

You missed the sound of her laughter when she was genuinely amused—not the polite, calculated chuckle she gave in social settings, but the real one, the one that made her eyes crinkle and her entire body shake, a soft snort escaping her. You missed the way she would kiss your forehead absentmindedly, as if it were second nature, the way she’d roll her eyes at you but always, always indulge you. You missed the way she touched you, not just in the heat of passion but in the quiet moments—her hand on your lower back as she guided you through a door, her fingers tracing soothing patterns against your thigh as she read, the way she’d brush your hair back just to get a better look at you.

But most of all, you missed the way she saw you.

Because no matter how much success came your way, no matter how proud your professors were, no matter how many congratulatory messages you received, it all felt muted. Distant. Like something was missing, like a shadow had been cast over every achievement. And you knew exactly what it was.

It was Agatha.

She was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

You reckoned she had completely moved on, that she was thriving in your absence. You convinced yourself of it because what other choice did you have? The world wouldn’t let you forget her. She was too deeply woven into it.

Her name popped up in conversations—friends of friends mentioning her in passing, mutual connections keeping her name alive. And then there was social fucking media.

You didn’t follow her, of course. That would’ve been masochistic. But that didn’t stop her from appearing on all of your feeds, no matter the platform—through tagged photos, through shared articles, through snippets of interviews that made their way into your timeline.

She was back in full force, attending galas, closing deals, and commanding every room she stepped into. She was radiant, powerful, and untouchable. The world saw her as she always had been: composed. And it made you sick.

Because if she could move on so effortlessly, why couldn’t you?

—

It only got worse after graduation.

You should have been happy. You had finally done it—achieved everything you had worked so hard for. Your professors beamed with pride, and your family sent messages filled with love and admiration. Your friends celebrated you, taking you out, making toasts in your name.

And yet, through it all, the joy never felt whole.

Your graduation gown felt wrong without Agatha there to see it. The dress she had bought you clung to your body like a second skin, but instead of making you feel unstoppable, it felt wrong. Hollow. As if the fabric itself had been stripped of its magic, leaving behind nothing but an empty, uncomfortable reminder of what you had lost. What once made you feel desired now only makes you feel abandoned.

As you stood on that stage, accepting your degree, you couldn’t help but scan the crowd, your heart foolishly hoping, just for a second, that you’d see her there. That she would be watching, pride shining in her eyes, just as she had promised.

But she wasn’t there and that should have been your final sign, the last nail in the coffin.

And yet it wasn’t.

Because you still needed her.

Not for her money, not for the extravagant gifts or the lavish lifestyle. You needed her. Her wit, her sharp tongue, the way she challenged you, pushed you, believed in you even when you didn’t believe in yourself. You needed the way she made you feel—cherished, adored, hers.

But she was gone and the world just kept on turning.

—

It took a few months, but eventually, the truth hit you like a freight train.

You couldn’t move on. You couldn’t picture a future without her. Your job was exciting, sure, but it was nothing compared to what you had with Agatha. The thought of another person touching you, holding you, even kissing you—it felt wrong. You only wanted her.

You had only ever wanted her.

You were cleaning your apartment when you dropped a pen and it had rolled beneath the couch, disappearing into the shadows. With a huff, you crouched down, reaching blindly, fingers brushing against something soft. Velvet.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The box.

You pulled it out slowly, heart hammering in your chest. The moment you saw it, the memories rushed back; the dinner, the way Agatha had smiled at you with something unreadable in her eyes when she handed it over, the way she told you not to open it yet.

You swallowed hard and flipped the lid open.

Inside sat the most breathtaking ring. It was perfect. A piece so intricate and unmistakably you that it stole the air from your lungs.

Agatha had listened. She had remembered.

You had mentioned it once, maybe twice, in passing. About how you could never find anything quite right, how everything in stores always felt too impersonal, too generic. And yet, here it was. Commissioned. Designed just for you.

Your fingers trembled as you lifted it from the box, your eyes catching on the engraving along the inside.

"More than you will ever know."

Your breath hitched.

What did it mean? More than you would ever know… what? That she cared for you more than you realised? That she—

Your heart surged and shattered all over again.

How could she give you this and then break things off a day later?

It didn’t make sense.

And suddenly, you had to see her.

You barely remembered throwing on a coat, stuffing the box into your pocket, and hailing a cab. The moment you arrived at her building, you asked the concierge not to alert her. The doorman, who knew you after the countless times you came here for Agatha, hesitated before nodding, letting you up without question.

Your pulse was deafening as you knocked loudly on her door.

The seconds stretched unbearably.

And then—

The door swung open, revealing Agatha in silk loungewear, her hair in soft waves, her expression unreadable.

She was poised as always, but something was different.

Her eyes were tired. The dark circles beneath them barely concealed, her sharp features softer than you remembered. And suddenly, you wondered, had she actually moved on? Or was she just keeping up appearances?

Her lips curled into a familiar smirk, but there was no bite to it this time. No amusement.

"You look like hell, Y/N," she noted, voice unexpectedly soft.

You blinked, realising only now that fresh tears had fallen from your eyes on the way up to her apartment.

"Thanks," you replied, forcing a humourless smile. Your throat tightened. "I’ve missed you."

Agatha hesitated. Her gaze flickered over your face, searching, but for what, you weren’t sure.

"I thought I told you to move on," she said, voice quieter this time.

"I can’t," you confessed, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

She didn’t stop you.

"I’ve tried. You’re all I want, Agatha. I don’t need anyone else, and I don’t want to."

She sighed, crossing her arms, tapping her fingers against her sleeve in that way she always did when she was thinking too much. "This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be, you know."

Her voice was weary, laced with something close to regret.

"You’re supposed to live your life. You deserve someone who can give you what I can’t–"

"You give me everything," you butt in.

The words left you without hesitation, your feet carrying you closer, your heart pounding as your fingers brushed against the silk of her robe. "I don’t need anything else. I never did."

Her eyes darkened.

The breath between you was charged, heavy, thick with something you both had been suppressing for far too long.

"Y/N, don’t say things you don’t mean," she whispered, but her voice wavered. "I’m not going to–"

But she didn’t get a chance to finish. You leaned in, and the moment your lips met, the world shattered.

She gasped softly, just before her hands found your waist, pulling you flush against her. The kiss was desperate, urgent, and needy. A collision of everything unspoken between you.

Agatha responded immediately, claiming your mouth with a hunger that sent a rush of heat straight to your core.

"Fuck," she breathed against your lips before kissing you deeper, her grip tightening, pulling you impossibly close. "You’re going to be the death of me."

Your only response was a soft whimper, fingers tangling in her hair as you pressed yourself against her, already drunk on the feeling of her after so long apart.

"I missed you," you murmured between kisses, hands slipping under the robe, palms pressing against her warm, bare skin. "I missed you so much."

Agatha groaned, walking you back toward the bedroom.

"Show me how much."

The second your back hit the bed, Agatha was on top of you, mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone. She tugged impatiently at your shirt, and you helped her strip it away before her hands slid down, claiming you as if she never wanted to let go again.

Your legs wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer as she kissed down your body, teasing, tasting, until all you could do was whimper and beg.

"Mommy," you moaned, arching beneath her as her mouth found your chest, teeth grazing over sensitive skin before her tongue soothed the sting.

She groaned at the sound of the title slipping from your lips, her fingers gripping your hips, keeping you exactly where she wanted you.

"That’s right, baby," she murmured, voice dripping with want. "Let me take care of you. Let me remind you exactly who you belong to."

You gasped as her hands roamed lower, her touch setting every nerve in your body alight.

But before she could go further, your fingers curled around her wrist, stopping her.

Agatha’s brow furrowed slightly as she looked up at you, lips parted, eyes burning with desire but shadowed with something else.

"Why did you give me the ring?" You asked, your voice a whisper, fragile but demanding.

She stilled.

Her breath slowed.

For a long moment, she didn’t speak, her gaze searching yours as if trying to decide whether to run or to finally give in.

You swallowed hard and continued.

"You had it made just for me. You knew exactly what I wanted before I even knew myself. And then you gave it to me, only to leave the next day."

A crack formed in her carefully constructed mask.

"It wasn’t supposed to be like this," Agatha admitted finally, voice raw. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

"By breaking my heart?"

Her jaw tensed. "By letting you go before I ruined you. Before I kept you."

Your fingers tightened around her wrist. "I wanted to be kept."

Her eyes flickered with pain, but before she could protest, you reached into the pocket of your discarded coat and pulled out the small velvet box.

You flipped it open between you, revealing the ring—the proof that she had always known you, had always loved you, even if she had never said the words.

"Then tell me what it means," you whispered.

Her throat bobbed as she looked at the engraving.

"More than you will ever know."

Agatha exhaled sharply and sat up, running a hand through her tousled hair.

"It means..." she hesitated, then shook her head with a self-deprecating chuckle. "It means I’m a coward."

You frowned, shifting onto your side to face her fully. "Agatha–"

She cut you off with a sigh, her fingers ghosting over your wrist, like she needed to touch you to ground herself. "I was going to explain it all that night. Before I—before I convinced myself you were better off without me." She scoffed lightly, as if irritated at her own foolishness. "I thought pushing you away would make it easier for you to move on. That it would be easier for me."

Your breath caught. "And was it?"

Her gaze softened, and she gave you a small, sad smile. "No. It was hell."

Something in your chest cracked wide open. You reached for her hand, lacing your fingers together, grounding yourself in her warmth. "What does the engraving mean?" You ask again.

She let out a breath like she had been holding it for months. And then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it, she said the words you had been waiting for all along.

"It meant... it means I love you, Y/N." She shook her head, laughing bitterly. "I love you more than you will ever know. I should have said it a long time ago, but I didn’t know how. So I put it in a gift instead, hoping you’d understand without me having to say it."

Your chest ached, but this time, it wasn’t just pain. It was overwhelming, all-consuming relief.

"I love you too."

Agatha’s breath caught.

"Say it again," she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You sat up, reaching for her, cupping her face between your hands.

"I love you, Agatha. I never stopped. I never could."

The tension in her body melted as she exhaled shakily, leaning into your touch.

Then she kissed you again.

This time, it wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed or frantic.

It was slow. Intentional. Reverent.

Agatha laid you back down with deliberate care, her hands trailing over your body like she was memorising you all over again. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered "mine" against your skin was a promise.

The rest of your clothes were shed in a haze of need, the soft rustle of fabric hitting the floor drowned out by breathless moans and desperate hands mapping out familiar territory. Agatha took her time with you first, pinning you beneath her as she trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down your body, her tongue flicking over sensitive skin, her fingers following in its wake. When she finally dipped lower, parting your thighs with a knowing smirk. She took you apart with practiced ease—driving you to the brink again and again until you were a trembling, pleading mess beneath her.

But you wouldn’t let her have all the control tonight. With a sudden shift, you flipped her onto her back, straddling her hips, drinking in the sight of her flushed and breathless. You kissed like you wanted to drown in her, dragging your tongue down the column of her throat, over the swell of her breasts, sucking marks into her skin, and staking your claim the way she always had with you.

And when you finally settled between her legs, when you pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh and felt her shudder beneath you, you didn’t tease; you devoured. The taste of her, the sound of her moans, the way her fingers twisted into your hair as she cried out your name—it was everything, and you never wanted to stop.

Agatha’s hands tightened in your hair, holding you in place as she rolled her hips, grinding up against your mouth, chasing her release with unrestrained need. She was completely lost in the sensation, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps, her thighs trembling around your head.

"Just like that—fuck—don’t stop, baby," she groaned, throwing her head back as her body tensed. And then she shattered, her orgasm hitting her in waves, her grip tightening as she rode it out against your tongue, moaning your name like a prayer.

Agatha was wrecked by the time you pulled away, her chest heaving, her lips parted as she reached for you, pulling you back into a bruising kiss. "You’re insatiable," she panted, her nails raking down your back.

"And you love it," you teased, grinning against her lips.

She flipped you once more, settling herself over you with a wicked gleam in her eyes. "I do. But now it’s my turn again.” She trailed her lips down your neck, across your collarbone, then lower, nipping and sucking at your chest, your stomach, your thighs—leaving her marks all over you.

Agatha hovered over your dripping cunt, her hands trailing possessively over your thighs, making you tremble, your body taut with anticipation. She took her time, lips and tongue teasing along the sensitive skin, her breath warm as she moaned something low and indulgent against you. The first slow drag of her tongue had you gasping, fingers fisting in her hair, and she hummed in approval, pressing deeper, savouring every reaction.

Her tongue worked you over with aching precision, lapping and circling before closing around your sensitive clit, sucking with just the right amount of pressure. The pleasure was almost too much, the heat pooling in your stomach threatening to spill over as she pressed her fingers inside, curling them perfectly to have you crying out. Every movement was deliberate—slow and deep, then quick and teasing, keeping you on the edge but never quite letting you fall.

Meanwhile, you could hear the subtle, desperate rhythm of her own hips grinding down against the mattress, a quiet moan slipping from her lips as she lost herself in you, the friction bringing her closer and closer.

"You're shaking, baby," she murmured, voice thick with satisfaction as she glanced up, her chin glistening, her expression utterly wrecked. "You gonna fall apart for me?"

She didn’t wait for an answer, just sealed her mouth around you again, her fingers pressing deeper, relentlessly coaxing you toward that inevitable bliss. And then she gasped against you, her body tensing as she shuddered, her own release crashing over her from the way she had been grinding down against the bed.

The realisation that Agatha was cumming while fucking you sent you spiralling, your orgasm ripping through you with an intensity that left you gasping, back arching as a broken moan spilt from your lips. She groaned at the feeling of you coming undone, drinking in every last wave of pleasure before finally pulling away, her hands smoothing over your shaking thighs, her own body still trembling as she pressed one last lingering kiss against your oversensitive core, a satisfied smirk curving her lips.

Agatha collapsed against you, her breath warm against your skin as she buried her face in the crook of your neck. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, both too lost in the haze of pleasure and the weight of everything that had led to this—every moment spent apart, every unspoken feeling, every stubborn refusal to admit what had always been so painfully obvious.

You carded your fingers through her damp hair, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, letting the steady rhythm of your heartbeats fill the silence. Agatha exhaled slowly, her hands smoothing over your sides, grounding herself in the feel of you, as if she still wasn’t convinced this was real.

Without a word, Agatha stood, her movements graceful and purposeful as she left the room for a brief moment. You could hear the sound of water running in the distance, the soft splash of it filling the silence before she returned. She didn’t need to say anything; the warmth in her eyes, the gentle press of her lips against your temple, told you everything.

She guided you to the enormous, luxurious bath—spanning the width of the penthouse’s bathroom—an almost surreal oasis of warmth and comfort. The water was a perfect temperature, fragrant with oils and salts, designed to soothe the soul. She lowered herself into the tub first, pulling you into her arms as if you were weightless, holding you close.

The space around you was immense, but it felt like it was just the two of you in this intimate world. Her fingers traced lazy patterns along your back, soothing the tension in your muscles as she softly kissed your shoulder, your neck—anywhere her lips could find. Each tender touch seemed to speak of something deeper, an unspoken vow of care that settled around you like the warm water.

You let out a contented sigh, resting your head against her chest as she kept you in her embrace, the steady rhythm of her breathing grounding you. Your hand lazily traced over her skin, lost in the softness of her touch, the comfort of her presence.

“You’re not leaving this time,” you murmured, the words more of a gentle plea than a statement. Agatha’s voice was soft but unwavering as she kissed your forehead, her arms tightening around you, pulling you even closer.

“Never again,” she whispered back, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m exactly where I belong.”

And in that moment, with the water lapping gently against the sides of the tub and the soft warmth of her embrace surrounding you, you knew—this time, she meant it.

-----

this fic had been teetering on the edge of my imagination for a while but I got a sudden burst of inspiration after daydreaming about it all day—lemme know what y'all thought :D

-----

taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @jujuu23 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6ange19

557 notes · View notes

amphitriteswife · 3 days ago

Text

A call from God

Source: Castlevania Nocturne

Pairing: Alucard x fem Vampire! Reader

Summary: Alucard meets you during his trip to Paris. Although you got along greatly with Annette and Richter, he seems wary of you. During the night Annette went to the Spirit realm and Richter fell asleep, he questions you.

Alucard sighs, his eyes casted down onto the empty, dirty and gloomy street. His eyes sometimes taking a few glancing in the reflection of Annette in the glass of the window. Richter had been fast asleep, not that it mattered. He was a human after all, he needs all the sleep he can get. Especially since they’re oh so close to finally stopping Erzsabet. He couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of worry. They lost Sekhmet’s mummy to Drolta, a vital mistake that changed almost everything. They have no choice but to rely on Annette’s ability and hope that she’ll finds Sekhmet’s soul. Alucard glanced at Annette, her eyes were still closed yet it from her eyebrows it was obvious that she was busy. He took in another breath, the feeling of your eyes on him had been annoying him for ages. His gaze turned to you, eyes narrowed and a rather distasteful look was present on his face. It was clear that he had his guard up with you, a sign that he did not trust you. His lips parted, showing a white ray of teeth with his signature fangs much like yours. You looked calm, as if nothing was wrong. It irritated him to no end. Your smug grin and charming words didn’t work on him. His eyes met yours, red. The color of a vampire’s eyes. Although he was both human and vampire, he didn’t fit with either. It made it rather lonely, but after almost more than 300+ years you’ll get used to it. It wasn’t his intention, but he stared at you. And you stared back. How daring you are, most would avoid him or try to kill him. After all it all depends on which perspective what causes him to be a foe or friend. He was needed to stop Erzsabet from having the world caged in only night and having her turn into Sekhmet. A belmont is needed to in these cases, and a user of magic too….so what was your purpose?

‘Why did you come here?’

The question sounded rather simple, his tone was soft like usual but there was no doubt that it was more than an accusation than a question. Your eyes darted from Annette to Alucard, he wasn’t looking at you anymore, but rather onto the depressing streets of Paris.

‘My god ordered me to do so.’

Your answer caused him to hum at you. Your god? So you’re religious. Well it’s not unusual to be religious, especially im this given time where believe is one of the most important things one can have in their life. His eyes glanced at your reflection in the glass of the window, he hadn’t expected you to look at that same exact spot to make eye contact. Are you always this sharp?

‘Christian?’

‘I do not believe in the Christian god.’

‘Pagan then?’

‘Yes’

Your answers were short and to the point. Nothing less but also nothing more. You don’t believe in the Christian god, that does not narrow it down whatsoever. Ofcourse in this time not many believe in the pagan gods, feeling as if they had been abandoned by them and choosing to convert to Christianity. Not a bad choice, but the leaders of the church didn’t handle the people with grace. yet even so, if your god had spoken to you, who ways that it was a match for the goddess Sekhmet. She was after all the bringer if many good and bad things. Goddess of war and medicine. A respected warrior goddess based of Ra’s vengeance. He had sent her down to earth to destroy the mortals who conspired against him. Yet the bloodlust was too much, the goddess almost wiped out all of humanity and Ra had to trick her with beer and let her go back to him. A famous myth that was told in all of time when Hathor and Sekhmet were believed to be the same person. A terrifying yet admirable goddess….

‘Does your god stand a chance to Sekhmet?’

The sudden sound of your earrings ringing made him look towards you. Your eyes wide, a rather creepy smile plastered on your face. Had he offended you?…stop looking at him like that. Perhaps he can see why you look at him the way are. But still, he needs to know if your god can actually face Sekhmet, she’s strong, very. very. very strong. It sound logical right? You took a few steps closer to Alucard. Your red eyes looking into his golden ones. The soft sound of your snicker could be heard in the room. To Alucard it was loud, yet it hadn’t woken up Richter. How clueless he was for doubt your god. Your voice laced with pride as if you were speaking about the most glorious thing to ever exist.

‘My god is more than fit, the greatest, the best. The destroyer. The chaos, the vengeance. It’ll be all over.’

Alucard raised an eyebrow. You were speaking like a mad woman. Much like Erzsebet or Drolta. He let out a scoff. Prideful huh? But it doesn’t explain anything about your god to him. Not one bit.

‘You talk big, but can it really, realistically speaking ofcourse.’

The sound of your laughter intensified, your hand grasping his. Eyes gleaming with adoration, your red colored lips twisting into a smile.

‘There is only one god. Who can handle lady Sekhmet…the god is ruthless. He rides his chariot across the desert, the sand blowing along with the wind. Lord of the red sea. Hair painted crimson from the mortals blood. He who killed his own brother for the throne of Egypt. Who casted chaos on Egypt in his time of ruling. The mighty god who was the closest to being compared with Sekhmet …lord Seth.’

Alucard softly gasped…Seth? The ruthless god who killed his brother Osiris into pieces, threw him into the Nile, Stole his throne and caused chaos onto Egypt? That’s your god? A god many feared out the depth of their hearts, His worshippers were treated as cult members. His role as husband also faded away as his wife, Nephthys, also had a child with his brother Osiris which caused the existence of the god Anubis. Many found Seth to be evil and later on casted him aside to be a deity of the Persians.

‘Seth…an evil god that was rumored to be male Sekhmet…not a bad choice.’

‘Tch. Evil? My god is not evil, he may be a villain but he is not evil. What would someone like you know about my god?’

‘Well, the myths tell a different story. Killing, corruption, violence. Do I need to continue?’

A low growl escaped your lips. How dare one talk about Lord Seth this way? Unbelievable…yet not uncommon. Yes, it did anger you. But anger won’t help the situation. You took a few breaths. Your eyes falling closed before they opened and looked at Alucard, who found it rather amusing to see you distressed. Once again, a rather smug smirk made its way to your lips.

‘Myths can be many things Alucard. They’re not always reliable. It could be re-tellings. Or in another perspective. Perhaps even a fanfiction. But do not forget, myths are made by the mortals. Not the gods.’

Your words made Alucard think for a moment. You had a point. Myths were indeed written by mortals and not the god’s themselves. Interesting take. For the first time, a rather genuine smile formed on his face. You were smart, smarter than he thought. Although he does not trust you nor the God of the desert and chaos, Seth. You still have gained something else, his admiration. His gaze fell upon yours. Although your god had spoken to you: How will he be of help? Sensing the question Alucard had, you gave him and answer. A truthful answer.

‘I am a vessel, My body is Seth’s. He trusts me. And I trust him. If he wishes to interfere with this matter ye will posses me. And if he doesn’t then he won’t. After all, he is just a forgotten god…my forgotten god…and this god oh so is needed to kill the true evil most claimed him to be.’

#alucard #alucard tepes #castlevania nocturne #castlavania x reader #alucard x reader #alucard tepes x reader #fem reader #castlevania

244 notes · View notes

reinersredemption · 2 days ago

Text

Stay-at-home Dates | Batboys x Reader ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

masterlist

Bruce Wayne One thing about Bruce: He is a tired man, he’s days are exhausting, to say the least. With managing Wayne Enterprises to being Gotham’s dark knight — he rarely has time to relax, so when he gets the rare opportunity to be home with you, his first instinct is to rest. He’s a fan of old-school romance, and a candlelit dinner or a cozy fondue night is his idea of the perfect evening.

Dick Grayson Dick loves the intimacy of cooking together and enjoys indoor picnics. The quiet moments shared over food make for some of his best memories. He’s also all about living room karaoke, turning a simple night in into an impromptu concert.

Jason Todd You and Jason started a mini book club, just for the two of you. With you in his life, he also discovered a love for pampering himself—something he never allowed himself to do before, hiding behind tough exteriors and emotional walls. Now, you’ve dedicated entire days to treating him with the love he deserves: think robes, scented candles, face masks, foot massages, and bubble baths.

Tim Drake Tim is also a fan of naps, especially when he can curl up next to you. When he’s awake, he enjoys when the both of you watch random documentaries together. He’s also into building complex Lego sets with you, he created a collection of all the ones you finish together, and it’s become one of your favorite bonding activities.

Damian Wayne Pottery nights have become a staple in you and Damian’s date nights, and he’s (not surprisingly) skilled at it. He keeps the pieces you both create, even using them in his daily life. You often catch him sipping from a mug you made him, even if it’s a little lopsided. Painting nights have also found a soft spot in his heart—they’re a quiet way for him to enjoy his day with you.

Duke Thomas Duke is all about board and card games for a cozy night in. He also secretly loves your reality and drama TV marathons, accompanied by lots of snacks. At first, he pretended to be uninterested in it due to it being drama-filled, but now it’s your shared guilty pleasure, and he’ll get genuinely upset if you watch an episode without him.

300 notes · View notes

maretinelli · 22 hours ago

Text

SWEET DISASTERS

Lando Norris X fem!reader

Summary: All the times Y/n was so clumsy and got genuine laughs out of her boyfriend.

Words: 2.7K+

Warnings: Makeout session, broken glass, mentions of injury but very funny, disastrous and cute Lando

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. And this could EASILY happen to me, I'm a walking disaster too.

MASTERLIST

Y/n was putting her bags in the trunk of the car, already getting ready to go back to university after a long weekend at Lando's house.

He, always helpful, insisted on taking the larger suitcases from the apartment to the car, while she organized everything in the back.

"That was the last one!" Lando warned, carrying the largest suitcase with annoying ease. He gave his girlfriend a soft kiss on the shoulder.

Y/n, with her head already inside the trunk, tried to adjust each item as if it were a game of Tetris.

"Okay, just slide it in there and you're done!" She said, patting the space she'd just made. Lando put the suitcase in place, then mumbled something about getting something from the driver's seat. She just waved her hand, focused on getting everything ready.

That's when it happened.

Y/n, trying to reach a bag that had fallen to the bottom of the trunk, lost her balance.

"Ops!"

Was all he could say before he fell into the compartment with everything. The impact was enough for the lid, by pure gravity, to close with a click.

Y/n blinked a few times, processing what had just happened. She was literally trapped in the trunk.

"Lando!" She called, her voice a little muffled, but not at all desperate.

He didn't answer. He was probably still in the front seat, distracted. "Lando dear, can you come here real quick?"

Still no response, she tried something more flashy. Somehow, she managed to stretch out her leg and started tapping her foot against the back window.

Lando, hearing the muffled sound and knocking, looked up. "Y/n love, what was that?" he muttered. Getting out of the car and walking to the back, when he saw the trunk closed and Y/n's foot sticking out the side, he froze for a second.

And then he started laughing.

"Y/n, for the love of God, what are you doing in there?" He asked, almost out of breath.

"I went to pack my bags and... well, I got ready too... Now, could you open this before I turn into a statue in here?"

Still laughing, Lando opened the trunk, revealing Y/n curled up, with red cheeks and an awkward smile.

"Are you okay there or do you want me to give you a little more time to reflect on your life decisions?"

Y/n got out of the trunk, fixing her hair, while he was still trying to compose himself. "Very funny, Norris. Next time, I'll leave you stuck in there and see what it's like."

"Impossible. I'm too smart to let myself fall into a trap like that," he replied, winking at her. But still laughing.

Y/n rolled her eyes, but soon started laughing along. "Okay, but promise me one thing."

"What?"

"That you will never tell anyone about this."

Lando gave a mischievous grin. "No promises."

•••••••••••••••••••••

Winter was punishing outside, but inside the apartment, the weather was completely opposite. Y/n and Lando were on the couch, cuddled under a blanket, their cheeks flushed and not just from the heating. The kiss between the two started slowly, but it quickly intensified.

Y/n was sitting on Lando's lap, with her legs on either side of him, while their hands explored every inch of the other. Despite the cold outside, the warmth of the moment made them both forget that it was winter.

Y/n laughed between kisses, Lando's fingers wandering around her waist and up her back, leaving goosebumps along the way. She, in turn, began to run her hands over her own skin, pushing the fabric of her sweatshirt up, wanting to take it off.

But that's when disaster struck.

In her haste and in the heat of the moment, she pulled her sweatshirt over her head, but somehow the fabric got caught.

The shirt got tangled in her hair and completely covered her face, leaving only her arms raised and uselessly trapped. She started to laugh, but the sound was muffled by the sweatshirt that was still on her head.

"Lando... I think I need some help here!" She said, between muffled giggles.

Lando, who was already trying to hold back his laughter, couldn't hold it in any longer. He collapsed on the couch, laughing so loudly that his cheeks turned redder. "My God, you look like a ghost in the hoodie!" He said, his voice cracking with laughter.

Y/n crossed her arms, clearly giving up on trying to take off the piece of clothing herself. Now she looked even funnier, with her face covered and her arms crossed in frustration.

"If you don't stop laughing, I'll be here forever!" Y/n complained, but the playful tone in her voice revealed that she was having as much fun as he was.

"Sorry, sorry," Lando said, still struggling to contain his laughter. He finally leaned over to help her, pulling her sweatshirt down and tugging it back onto her body.

When her face became visible again, it was as red as his.

She got off his lap, adjusting her sweatshirt as she rolled her eyes. "Great. Now all the warm weather between us is gone to the universe." She said, trying to look serious but failing as a smile escaped at the end.

Lando, still laughing, leaned back against the couch and looked at her. "I can't deal with you sometimes. You're the most adorable disaster I've ever met."

Y/n giggled and threw a pillow at him. "Okay, okay. I'll make you some hot chocolate. Do you want some?"

"I do" Norris replied, still smiling. "But please try not to spill anything. The sweatshirt was stuck enough."

She laughed, shaking her head, and went into the kitchen while Lando stayed on the couch, the scene etched in his memory as just another of the many funny stories they would share.

•••••••••••••••••••••••

The night was special. After so much dedication, love and trust, they finally had something huge to celebrate their engagement.

Y/n, with her contagious energy, said that the moment deserved champagne, and Lando agreed, smiling when he saw the excitement in her eyes.

She smiled, her eyes flicking between her future husband and the ring she had received a few hours earlier.

"Today is our day! I insist on popping the champagne!" She declared, as Lando followed her to the kitchen with a smile on his face, taking the opportunity to leave little kisses on his bride's face along the way.

In the kitchen, Lando leaned casually on the marble counter, watching Y/n grab a bottle of champagne from the small wine cellar they had in the apartment.

"Are you sure you want to do this? Remember the last time you tried to open a bottle of bubbly?" He teased with a mischievous smile.

"I'm absolutely prepared!" Y/n replied confidently. While she adjusted the bottle, Lando took two crystal glasses from the cabinet and carefully placed them on the counter, a few inches away.

"Alright, Miss Confident Norris. Do the honors," Lando said, crossing his arms, smiling and watching.

Y/n held the bottle with determination and looked at Lando. "To all the amazing moments that are yet to come." She said with a wide smile.

And then it happened.

The sound of the cork popping echoed through the kitchen. But to Y/n's horror, the cap flew like a missile, hitting the cabinet hard. The impact was so strong that it bounced directly off the glasses hanging on the counter. The sound of breaking glass was immediate - three glasses fell into the sink and shattered.

"OH MY GOD!" Y/n screamed, cowering close to the pilot as the sound of shards echoed through the kitchen. Lando also jumped a little, hugging her from the side, but soon began to laugh.

"I can't believe this happened..." Y/n said, her hand over her mouth, looking at the broken pieces in the sink. Her eyes were slightly watery, and she made a face like she was about to cry. "I broke everything..."

Lando, on the other hand, couldn't hold it in. He was laughing so hard he could barely speak, tears streaming down his eyes as he held the two glasses he managed to save.

"You're... amazing! Who else can turn an engagement celebration into a glass battlefield?!"

"Lando, stop laughing, this is serious!" Y/n complained, but his amused expression was so contagious that she couldn't help but smile a little.

Still laughing, he walked over to her, set their glasses down on the counter, and pulled her in for a quick kiss on the cheek. "You definitely made it even more memorable. I'll never forget our killer champagne."

Y/n let out a laugh, shaking her head. "Next time, I'll leave it to you. You're more used to popping champagne."

"Good idea" he replied, still smiling. "But you have to admit, this was a lot more fun."

They both laughed together as they began to clean up the pieces of glass, turning the disaster into yet another fun memory that they would always carry with them.

••••••••••••••••••••••

Lando was sitting on the couch, his arms resting on the back as he watched Y/n walk around the room, gesturing excitedly. She was telling him about the visit she made to her family while he was out running. His smile was impossible to hide, the passion with which she talked about anything always left him enchanted. seeing her

"And then my little brother...you know how energetic he is, he started teaching me some karate moves," Y/n said, laughing as she imitated the 15-year-old's serious tone. "He said I needed to learn how to defend myself, you know? Because according to him: 'You never know when you're going to need a spinning kick.'"

Lando let out a low chuckle, "Well, that sounds pretty useful. Just in case one of my adversaries decides to show up on the street."

"Exactly!" Y/n agreed, still laughing, as she stopped in the middle of the room and looked at him. "Want to see what the move looks like? It's pretty cool."

He crossed his arms, leaning forward slightly with a fond, amused smile. "Sure thing, love. Show me, Karate Champion."

She laughed, excited that he was interested, and positioned herself in the center of the room, adjusting her feet as her brother had taught her.

"See? First you prepare like this..." She showed the starting position, with her hands raised in guard. "And then you spin and-"

Before I could finish explaining, Y/n did the spin, but her foot didn't meet the air like she planned. The kick hit the side of the TV with a loud THUD, and the force of the impact was enough to knock it to the ground.

"Oh...my...God!" She screamed, her eyes widening as she clapped her hand over her mouth. She looked up to see the TV screen with a huge diagonal crack in it.

Lando froze for a second, but soon burst out laughing, holding his stomach as he fell back against the couch. "You... you just... knocked out the TV!" He said, struggling between laughs.

Y/n was still on the floor, a little scared by the situation with the TV, but also starting to find it funny. "I'm fine, before you ask. But I don't think the TV is." She said, looking at the destroyed screen with an expression of pure guilt.

Lando approached her, kneeling beside her while still laughing. "Are you okay? Didn't you sprain anything in your big epic stunt?"

"No, just my dignity," she replied, rolling her eyes but smiling. "And of course, the poor electronic device..."

He let out another laugh and ran his hand through her hair. "Well, at least the TV was the only casualty. Who knew my couch was a war zone?"

"Oh, shut up" Y/n said, still laughing, as she threw herself onto his chest, pushing him lightly. The two ended up lying on the living room floor, laughing together.

Lando took advantage of the proximity to start giving her little kisses on the face. "My love, you are the sweetest disaster I've ever seen" He murmured between kisses, drawing a smile from her. "And next time, I think it's better not to mix karate and electronics" He finished, laughing, while Y/n shook her head and promised to stay away from the TV.

"Damn, we're going to have to go out and buy a new TV."

Lando laughs and caresses her face. "That's the least of it."

•••••••••••••••••••••••

The end of year holidays were peaceful and full of special moments. Y/n and Lando had decided to spend them with her family, in the cozy country house that her mother loved. The weather was perfect - cold enough to remind her of winter, but sunny enough for outdoor games.

Lando was on the deck, sitting in one of the comfortable chairs and chatting with Y/n's father, her brothers and some of her brothers-in-law. They were laughing and exchanging stories while, on the lawn, Y/n played baseball with her nephews, trying to keep up with the children's boundless energy.

One of Y/n's brothers, laughing, commented as he looked at her on the lawn. "So, Lando, how many disasters has my sister caused since they got here?"

The family knew what a disastrous and energetic person Y/n was. This had been the case since the day she was born.

Lando chuckled, leaning his elbow on the arm of the chair and watching Y/n excitedly, holding the baseball bat with an almost childish enthusiasm.

"Oh, more than I can count. But honestly, it's part of her charm, isn't it?" He gave a knowing smile, drawing laughter from the others. "It's one of the things I fell in love with her for..." He whispers, smiling fondly.

Everyone on the deck looked in her direction, just in time to see Y/n positioning herself to hit the ball that one of her nephews threw.

She took confident aim and swung the cue, but instead of hitting the ball, she ended up swinging awkwardly and hitting herself hard in the back.

"AH!" Her scream echoed, and Y/n immediately dropped the bat, leaning over and falling backwards onto the grass.

Lando stood up quickly, as he saw the children run to her, surrounding her with worried expressions. He hurriedly got down from the deck, startled by the scream, but slowed down when he saw Y/n lying on the grass, laughing.

"Are you laughing?" He asked in disbelief as he knelt down beside her.

"I just hit myself with a bat, Lan! What else can I do but laugh?!" Y/n replied, holding her stomach from laughing so hard, even with the discomfort in her back.

Lando started laughing along, relieved that it wasn't anything more serious. He helped her sit on the grass, and Y/n, still laughing, handed the bat to one of her nephews.

"Okay, Auntie's sweet children. Please continue playing without Auntie this time." She smiled. And even though they were scared and reluctant, the little ones started playing again.

Even though his mood was light, Lando ran his hand gently down her back. "Let me see. Does it hurt a lot?"

"Oh, just a little." Lando looks at her. "Okay, maybe a lot." She admitted, grimacing.

"Excuse me, honey," he asked, lifting her shirt a little at the back. A red mark was beginning to form, indicating the bruise that would come. Lando sighed, gently rubbing his hand. "This is going to turn purple... you really are talented at getting hurt, you know that?"

Y/n held back a slight cry of pain, but soon rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the affection. "And you're talented at taking care of me. I think we make a perfect team."

He chuckled and kissed the side of her head. "My clumsy wonder woman. You are one of a kind."

Lando helped Y/n up, walking with her back to the deck.

Once they arrived, her father laughed, shaking his head. "Lando, I'm sure she does these things just to make sure you never lose the habit of taking care of her."

She rolls her eyes to try to hide the shy smile on her lips.

"Maybe" Lando replied with a smile, pulling Y/n closer. "But I wouldn't change a thing. She makes my days much more interesting."

Y/n laughed, shaking her head and leaning against her fiancé. Even with her clumsy tendencies, she knew that with Lando by her side, she would always have someone to laugh with her and love her unconditionally.

To him, his bride was nothing less than a true wonder woman.

#fanfiction #y/n #romance #imagines #one shot #formula 1 #formula one #fem reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #lando norris

239 notes · View notes

457gf · 2 days ago

Text

thanos x fem reader sneak peak . .

cw : age gap, infantilization, use of the nickname “daddy”, reader in subspace

a/n : dropping a little sneak peak to excuse my inactivity ! so sorry everyone, please forgive me 🙇‍♀️

thanos whos heart flutters as you try and scoot closer to him, seeking his affection though his focus was already solely on you. “such a pretty girl,” he hummed, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. there was something different about you at night that he couldn’t quite place his hands on. you were much more gentle and tender-hearted, and acting almost as if his attention was something you’d die without. the breaking point was when you had called him a particular nickname, though. “daddy ᯇ ‘m so sleepy..”

thanos can’t help but focus on his cock twitching at the nickname, not expecting that at all. your eyes were incredibly heavy and full of sleep, it was like you didn’t even understand what was coming out of your mouth. thanos noticed that you were always biting on your bottom lip out of pure stress from the chaotic games, causing it to bleed, and he didn’t like that. taking a finger, he gently pushed it between your lips and groaned as you eagerly took it in, sucking on it instantly. “shit. you’re so cute, huh, baby?”

#squid game x reader #squid game season 2 #squid game smut #fem reader #female reader #squid game s2 #thanos x reader smut #thanos #thanos x reader #thanos squid game #thanos smut #squid game thanos #squid game x reader smut #sneak peak ♡

337 notes · View notes

thefrontmanscockwarmer · 2 days ago

Text

Obsession (Part 2)

Player 001 x reader

Masterlist <- Comment on this post to be added to the tag list

Part 1

Tw: stalker!In Ho

Note: (c/n) stand for cat name

5 years had gone by and all In Ho had to go off of were bank statements and transactions to know where you were and if you were still alive. He knew where you lived, your favorite places to eat, to watch movies, and where your favorite shop was. He also knows you have new kitten, but not his name, probably something like (c/n).

No new lover. Nothing since you left. You picked up a job as a (whatever you wanna be), and were living. He knew in his mind the reason you couldn’t move on was because of him and he knew it.

He snuck around and watched you through plain view. Sometimes he sent people to watch you and report back to him. Other times, he’d travel to where you were and stalk you, follow you to the market, ducking you between isles, or on the train, watching you through a crowd of people.

He would stand in front of the cottage you bought on the edge of town, how easy it’d be to take you. You had a bad habit of leaving your windows open. Leaving your life open for all to see. He’s watched you masturbate more times than he can count. He has videos of you throwing your head back as you cum. Your moans quietly seeping through the window. He would jerk off at the same time, cumming in the darkness as he watched you, leaving his cum on the flowers that you planted along the walls of your house.

He hated to admit to himself but he was jerking off to you almost every right, smelling your jacket like a sick man. I am sick he admitted.

So many days and nights he was grabbing onto his bed sheets, pressed up against his shower wall or even in his chair by the big screen, he was cumming for you, with you in mind, he missed you. But he missed your pussy more. Today, he was determined to get it. He approached you as you drank a coffee, typing on your laptop.

“Hello ma’am” he bowed “would you like to hear about your lord and savior Jesus Christ?”

“No, not right n-“ you stopped. “What’re you doing here, In Ho? It’s been 5 years, do you think what I said changed?” You say coldly.

“I know it hasn’t.” He sat before you can continue speaking. “I miss you (y/n). I mean, really fucking miss you. It’s been a lonely 5 years, I miss your smell, your touch, your hair. I miss the way you talk and your smile. I just miss you”

“You know, for a very intelligent man, you’re acting and sounding really fucking stupid.” You scoff rolling your eyes at him. “I mean, you miss me. So what? I miss Young il, but I’m never getting him back, am I?”

“But I’m right here?”

“No… you aren’t young il… I don’t know you”

“And what, you think I lied?!” You nodded. “About what? Huh? What would I possibly lie to you about?”

“Everything, that whole relationship we developed, that sex we had, that love.” You say. “As far as I’m concerned, Young il was an angel and you don’t even exist.”

“But my wallet does?”

“Honestly, you can have your card back.” You shake your head. “I don’t need dirty money”

“It’s clean. It comes from the stocks i invest in. Really (y/n), do you honestly think I’d give you game money?” He looks at you intensely. He wanted to tell you how attracted to you he still was. How his cock still aches for you. How he just wishes to fuck you. It was sitting across from you that he realized he was going to fuck you… whether you liked it or not.

“What do you want?” You sighed finally.

“One date with you. Please.” He stated. He knew deep in his heart that you still wanted him, you yearned for him. He needed you.

“No” you say and stand up.

“Look, one date, to show you who I really am as a person.” He argued. “Who I am outside of those damned games that ruined us. If after that you still decide you hate me, that’ll be all. You can live your life and I can live mine knowing at least I tried to make it better” he pleaded. His eyes pulling at your heart strings as they once did. You saw Young il for a brief moment, before seeing In Ho. You saw the man that was so sweet and gentle.

“Fine. One.” you conceded. You traded numbers and you left. Not knowing that In Ho could now tap your phone, could ruin your whole life. But truly the only thing he wanted to ruin was you.

You made it to your little cottage. It stood on the edge of the city with a small village of cottage farmers surrounding it. Fluffy baby cows and little lambs screamed at you from your neighbors house. Horses neighbors and goats cried. Your life was perfect, this place was perfect. Young il would have loved it… In Ho obviously prefers different style of life. Black and gold, power, money.

“Hi (c/n)” you say as he purred at you. He looped around you as you walked further into your house. You placed your items on your kitchen table. It was already 6. You cooked some dinner and watched an American drama you found on Netflix. Laughing along with the characters.

In Ho made it to his own home. The black and gold now insulted his eyes, it had ever since he saw the disgust on your face while you spoke angry and heartbroken. He sat at his computer, plugging in his phone. He stayed up for hours, deep into the night, hacking into your phone.

“Photos” he said aloud as he clicked it. He found a treasure trove of pictures. You with some friends, with family, birthdays, dinners, then he found your private photos.

“Let’s see (y/n), what do you do all alone” he whispered opening it. Pictures and videos of yourself floated into view, things other men should never see. Disgusting men like him should never see. He quickly searched through your sent and deleted messages, as far back as he could go, they’d never been sent. He returned back to the photos and stared at each on individually, videos playing, hardening his cock.

In Ho began to touch himself as he watched, his hand moving in sync with yours on the screen. He felt like he was participating in your intimate moment, like an invisible partner who you couldn't see or feel but was there nonetheless. He couldn’t help but freely moan into the emptiness of his room.

As the video played on, In Ho's movements became faster and more urgent. He could feel himself getting closer to climax, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt like a teenager again, watching porn, anxious that his parents may walk in. The thought that these were moments meant for no one else's eyes but yours made it even more exhilarating for him.

“I’m gonna cum” you said on camera. To him. “Oh my god, I’m gonna fucking cum” In Ho was getting sent into overdrive heavy sighs coursing through his lungs. “Oh god, Young il, I’m gonna cum on your fingers” he lost it. You were pleasuring to the thought of him, maybe his over persona, but still him nonetheless.

With one final stroke from you on screen and a simultaneous motion from In Ho's own hand came the peak of pleasure for him followed closely by release. His orgasm washed over him so strongly it left him gasping loudly within seconds all over both his keyboard and along edges near the monitor until reaching very tip top edge finally. He was panting, falling backwards, sinking deep into his chair. Cum heavily covered his desk space, now stained forevermore, a mess entirely due to a solely singular sickening act alone performed freely without fear. Through his sinful act.

If you knew would you forgive him?

180 notes · View notes

piixcelz · 1 day ago

Text

꒰ .` NEEDY

prompt: in which you're feeling very needy and need them desperately

feat. xavier , zayne , rafayel , sylus

tw. SUGGESTIVE MINORS / AGELESS BLOGS DNI! , fem!reader

note: the next boyfriend headcannon for the jjk men is coming out tdy i promise, if not tdy then tmr 😭

168 notes · View notes

7timesfordaddyissues · 2 days ago

Text

I don't have words to descrive this 😭❤️

Mute: O1. Flowers

─Tendou Satori x fem!reader

─Sinopsis: where Tendou seems to perfectly understand a girl who is mute without the need to make gestures.

─Warnings: none

O1. Flowers / O2. Friends! / O3. Study / O4. Ice-cream / O5. Sick / O6. Locked up / O7. Fight / O8. Friends? / O9. Grateful / 1O. Wishes

The whistling of the birds relaxed you as you walked around the Shiratorizawa campus, you were drowning in your thoughts and you had only been there a week. But it was normal, in just seven miserable days you had already earned those looks; pity, intrigue, fear...

Thanks to?

You are mute, you do not have the ability to speak and that causes many problems when it comes to relating to people, you should always carry your charged phone or a small notebook; without that you were totally out of it, although you certainly mostly wandered alone, were it not for the two girls who desperately offered you to be part of the gardening club. They were the only ones who treated you as if you were a normal girl and not the most delicate person in the world, as if you were going to break at any moment.

But now none of that mattered, with the battery dead and without your notebook you were really lost, you only had one mission, to buy fertilizer at the store near the campus. Being you, nothing could go well for you and you confused the directions they gave you, you were still close to Shiratorizawa but you shouldn't come back without your purchases, you didn't want to disappoint the two girls and have them look at you with pity like everyone else.

So you saw them.

Your last resort, there were a couple of guys wearing the school uniform, hopefully they could understand some gestures so you could communicate. When you caught his eye your mouth dropped slightly at his height, one was quite muscular while the other was slimmer and walked a bit hunched over. They were both like giants. You stayed a few long seconds looking without doing anything, until you realized that you were making a fool of yourself as usual.

"Do you need something?"

Awkwardly you nodded, you made a couple of simple signs not very complicated but when you saw the boy's stoic face you sighed pulling some of your locks back. You looked at his redheaded companion, he was so quiet looking at you that it scared you a little; his eyes with slightly closed eyelids watched you as if he were seeing your soul.

��They really don't understand me»

"Yes, I understand you, I can go with you to buy, I also go there."

You widened your eyes in surprise, thinking that he had read your mind or maybe he understood your signs, but you were grateful so you nodded, excited to be able to fulfill your task.

"Tendou, we have to go back to the gym."

The redhead sweated, he really didn't have to go to a flower shop but you made him curious.

"Yeah, well, you know Ushiwaka, I have to go buy something."

"Okay, don't be late."

Relieved he looked where you were only to see how you looked at him with admiration? Yes, it may have been a coincidence that he could have understood you but he said exactly what you thought and you thought it was amazing.

"Come on."

He began to walk with great strides leaving you behind, you had to jog a little to be able to look him directly in the eye

«Can you understand me?»

"What kind of question is that? Obvious."

You opened your eyes even more, you hadn't even made a gesture. How could he understand you?

"Although it may not seem like it, the way you move or how you look at people are gestures that speak for themselves."

Your mouth opened when you heard him, he really was someone strange, however you liked 'talking' with him on the way to the store, you thought it was funny because of the expressions he made when he commented on something he didn't like.

«So what do you need to buy?»

You noticed how he got nervous, he smiled saying that he needed some flowers for his mother's birthday. You nodded at his message, clarifying that you were going to look after yourself while he chose the flowers. You caught him glancing at you nervously, he went back to looking at some random flowers not knowing what to buy because it definitely wasn't his mom's birthday and he didn't need those flowers. You approached lightly hitting his shoulder making him shudder at your touch.

«A yellow poppy will be fine»

Despite not understanding much about that language of plants that they told you about, you learned enough to know that those poppies meant success and health, something suitable for a mother. When you two paid you arrived at the main entrance where you said goodbye, with a feeling of happiness in the chest, you felt that you had met someone different.

#Mute fanfic #tendou satori #tendou #tendou satori x reader #shiratorizawa #shiratorizawa x reader #fem reader #haikyuu

400 notes · View notes

crookedteethed · 3 hours ago

Text

ᡣ𐭩 Positive • ° 　 .　 *　: r. cameron

synopsis -- There are three things you know for certain right now:

You're pregnant.

The father currently has his hands all over some blonde at The Wreck.

According to Topper, you're Rafe Cameron's favorite topic during locker room talk.

warnings -- 18+-mdni, unplanned pregnancy, cursing, angst no happy ending, readers a pouge, fuckboy!rafe (?) toppers a dickhead frl, mention of abortions (once)

main masterlist(s) | taglist | wc: 2.2k

"Fuck." You stare at the positive pregnancy test between your trembling fingers.

"Fuck," you curse again, realizing you're alone in your apartment with this life-changing news.

Of course this would happen.

After months of sneaking around, of heated encounters and promises to keep things casual, one reckless night was all it took. One moment where passion overrode common sense, where neither of you cared about consequences.

A hushed "I want to feel you, all of you," slipped from Rafe's lips as he paused, the condom still on, but his desire for you raw, uninhibited, consuming him. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours, silently asking if you trusted him enough to let go..

How naive you'd been, thinking you could trust Rafe Cameron with something so intimate. The golden boy of the OBX, known for his volatile temper and reckless abandon. The type of man who treats both relationships and speed limits as mere suggestions.

And you'd fallen for those dark cerulean eyes and heated whispers like every other girl before you. Only difference was, you were now staring at the consequences of that trust, watching it turn into two pink lines that would complicate everything.

Your secret hookup.

The trust fund bad boy of the OBX. The same Rafe Cameron who's probably at some country club event right now, charming his way through a crowd of socialites, completely unaware that he's about to become a father.

You can already hear the whispers at the yacht club – the Camerons' golden boy and his latest pouge conquest.

As if sleeping with Rafe Cameron wasn't scandalous enough, now you're carrying the next heir to his family's empire.

"Have you seen Rafe?" you shout at Topper over the pulsing bass of The Wreck's speakers. Your hand instinctively rests on your still-flat stomach – a new nervous habit you've developed since seeing those two pink lines.

Topper takes a swig of his whiskey, looking entirely too amused--and drunk, "Lost track of your boyfriend already?"

"He's not my—"

"Yeah, yeah." He smirked, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Just his favorite little Pogue to fuck behind closed doors, right? You know, he tells us everything in the locker room." He leaned closer, whiskey breath hot against your ear. "About how eager you are, how you beg for it. Though I gotta say, for someone from the cut, you've got quite the reputation among the trust fund crowd now."

Your cheeks burned with humiliation and anger. Of course Rafe would brag about all the girls he's had to his Kook friends. Of course you were just another story for their country club gossip.

"Go fuck yourself, Topper. Where's Rafe?"

"Aw, don't be like that, sweetheart. We all know you've got a thing for rich boys. Though usually we don't keep Pogues around this long – Rafe must really like something about you." His eyes raked over you suggestively. "Or some things."

The way he says it makes your skin crawl – it's pure Rafe Cameron coming out of Topper's mouth. That same calculated charm, that practiced way of making someone feel simultaneously special and worthless.

You wonder how many hours he spent watching Rafe work his magic at bars, memorizing the exact tone needed to make "sweetheart" sound like an insult. Rich boys and their fucked-up everything.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. "Hey, I'm just messing with you. No need to get your discount panties in a twist." He gestures toward the bar with his glass.

"Last I saw him, he was chatting up some blonde by the bar." Topper continued, "Though, something tells me you've got more on your mind than just another quick fuck in the coat closet."

"You're a real piece of shit, you know that?" you snap at him, hands clenching into fists.

Your head whips around, scanning the crowded bar area, but there's no sign of Rafe's familiar frame among the sea of drunk socialites.

"He's not there," you mutter, frustration building in your chest.

"What's wrong? Don't have your Kook King on a leash?" Topper calls after you as you push past him toward the exit. "Better hurry – you know how fast Rafe moves on to the next thing!"

You storm out of The Wreck, the humid night air doing nothing to cool your rising anger.

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

Here you are, pregnant with his kid, and Rafe Cameron can't even stay in one place long enough to hear the news.

Slumping into your car, you grab your phone, fingers trembling as you pull up his contact. Three rings, voicemail. Again. Four rings, voicemail. Your frustration builds with each failed attempt.

hey, we need to talk

rafe, answer your fucking phone

where are you?

this is important

You watch the messages turn from "delivered" to "read" with no response. Of course he's seeing them. He's probably looking at his phone right now, some blonde draped over his shoulder, both of them laughing at your desperate attempts to reach him.

seriously rafe, this isn't about us. something happened

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. You could just text it. Three simple words: I'm pregnant, asshole. But somehow, dropping that bomb over text feels wrong, even for whatever this is between you.

After the tenth unanswered call, you throw your phone onto the passenger seat, fighting back angry tears.

You should have known better than to expect anything different from Rafe Cameron, who treats Pogues like they're as disposable as his designer clothes.

To him, girls from the Cut are just temporary entertainment – something to play with until a more suitable option from his tax bracket comes along.

Your phone buzzes. For a moment, your heart leaps – but it's just another notification that he's read your messages.

"Fuck you, Rafe," you mutter, starting your car with more force than necessary. The engine roars to life, matching your mood.

You consider driving to his place – you know he'll end up there eventually, probably with tonight's blonde in tow. But the thought of waiting outside his house like some desperate ex makes bile rise in your throat.

Your phone buzzes again. This time it's a text:

busy rn. talk tomorrow?

A laugh escapes you, bitter and hollow. Busy. Of course he's busy. He's always busy when it doesn't involve getting into your pants. Your fingers fly across the keyboard before you can stop yourself:

hope she's worth it. btw, might want to start setting aside some trust fund money for child support

You hit send before you can think better of it, immediately regretting it. Your phone explodes with incoming calls – now he wants to talk. But you're already pulling out of the parking lot, vision blurry with unshed tears.

Let him panic for a while. Let him feel a fraction of the anxiety that's been eating at you since you saw those two pink lines.

Besides, if he can't be bothered to give you five minutes when you need him, he can wait until tomorrow to hear how he managed to knock up his favorite Pogue.

You wake up to the sound of coffee brewing – which is impossible because you live alone and definitely didn't set the timer last night. Stumbling out of your bedroom, you freeze in the doorway.

There's Rafe Cameron, looking unfairly good for someone who should be hungover, sitting on your beaten-up futon. His expensive clothes are a stark contrast to your shabby apartment furniture, but somehow he looks like he belongs there.

Between his fingers, he's holding the pregnancy test you'd forgotten to hide in your emotional spiral last night.

"Breaking and entering now?" Your voice comes out shakier than you'd like. "That's low, even for you."

He doesn't look up from the test, but you catch the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "It's not breaking in when I have a key." He finally meets your eyes, holding up the small silver key you'd given him three months ago after that night he'd brought you soup when you were sick. "You know, the one you said was 'just for emergencies'?"

The unspoken truth hangs heavy between you. This thing between you had stopped being just hookups somewhere between the late-night conversations and the drawer of his clothes in your dresser. Between him knowing how you take your coffee and you knowing which side of the bed he prefers.

"That's not—" you start, but he cuts you off.

"Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to text it and disappear like you did last night?"

"Oh, like how you disappeared with that blonde? Or should we talk about how you disappear every time after you're done with me, just to go brag to Topper about your latest fuck?"

His face darkens. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Rafe. Your locker room talk is apparently quite entertaining. 'Eager.' 'Begging for it.' Ring any bells?" You wrap your arms around yourself, hating how your voice shakes. "Tell me, do all your Kook friends know how I sound in bed, or is that a special story just for Topper?"

"That's not—"

"Not what? Not what you meant? Not what happened? Because Topper seemed pretty clear about exactly what kind of reputation I have among your trust fund crowd now."

"You really think that's what this is?" He gestures between you. "That I could think of you as just another hookup?"

"Isn't it? I mean, god forbid the Kook King actually care about the Pogue he's fucking—"

"Jesus Christ," he runs his hands through his buzzed hair in frustration. "If this was just about sex, would I have a key? Would I know your coffee order or—"

"You can't use that as some kind of proof you care! Having a key doesn't mean shit when you're out there treating me like your dirty little secret!"

The silence that follows is heavy, charged with months of unspoken hurt. When Rafe finally speaks, his voice is low, controlled: "Is it mine?"

The question hits you like a slap. "Are you seriously—"

"Just answer the question." His eyes are intense, searching yours. "Is it mine?"

The unspoken truth hangs heavy between you. He already knows the answer – can read it in the way you can't quite meet his eyes, in how your hand unconsciously drifts to your stomach.

That night without protection wasn't your first together, but it was the first time he'd looked at you like you were something more than just a good time.

Like maybe you could be everything. Now that look is back, mixed with something like fear as the reality of what you're not saying sinks in.

"Those tests—" he starts pacing, running his hands through his hair. "They're not always accurate, you know? Maybe you should take another one. Or three. Fuck, how do you even know for sure?" His voice takes on a desperate edge. "There are… options. I know a clinic in Chapel Hill. Discrete. I could make some calls—"

"You know what?" Your voice comes out quiet, defeated. "Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe this is exactly what I need to finally stop pretending this—" you gesture between you, "—could ever be anything real."

"I'm just saying we need to think about this logically—"

"No," you snap, your voice rising until it bounces off the walls of your tiny apartment. "You're trying to make this disappear, just like everything else that threatens your perfect Figure Eight lifestyle!"

You watch something crack in his expression, that carefully maintained Kook King facade finally showing a glimpse of real emotion. His hand reaches for you, then drops. "Don't—"

"I think you should go." You turn away, unable to look at him anymore. "Use that key one last time to lock up behind you."

You don't need to see his face to know he's struggling with what to say. The perfect Rafe Cameron, for once at a loss for words. It would be funny if it wasn't breaking your heart.

You don't turn around to watch him leave, but you hear the way he hesitates at the door. The silence stretches, filled with all the words neither of you are brave enough to say. Finally, the door clicks shut, and you're alone again.

Your hand drifts to your stomach, and you let out a bitter laugh. You can do this alone.

You'll move out of the OBX, maybe up to Wilmington where no one knows your name or that you're carrying a Cameron heir. You'll work extra shifts at the restaurant, save every penny.

Your kid won't need trust fund money or a father who treats relationships like they're disposable. Your child won't grow up feeling like some dirty secret.

Somewhere across town, Topper's probably already hearing about how the Pogue girl tried to trap Rafe Cameron with a baby. You can almost hear the yacht club whispers starting. But let them talk – you've survived worse than country club gossip.

(What no one would ever know: how your hands shook as you slid his key under his door later that night, or how he sat in his car outside your apartment for hours, staring at a small velvet box he'd been carrying in his pocket since before you ever said the word "pregnant."

Some love stories aren't meant to have happy endings, and some babies are meant to have just one parent who actually wants them.)

a/n -- thanks for reading, as always all likes comments, and reblogs keeps me motivated! 💕🫶🏾

taglist --

@rafestoothbrush @alexxavicry @trapistani @Hejsj @neslayuh @hotvampdragon @alyisdead @jelybely @elmolovesw33d @littlelamy @futuremrscameron @percysley @rrafeswhore @madzig @thatdesigirl17 @drewstarkeysrightarm @seqhyvnz @romantasyreader2024 @luizaelias @rafe-cameronswife @emmavzlsblog @aileenunfiltered @swe3theart-succubus @511rkive @morrrrphin @xcinnamonmalfoyx @obxrafeandjj @rafegf-real @theeternaloptimistt

176 notes · View notes

et6rnalsun · 23 hours ago

Text

introducing … matt & chris: THE GHOSTFACE DUO 𓂂໋𓈒 ᯙ̷ best paired with YOU, unfortunately.

NO, PLEASE DONT KILL ME MR. GHOST FACE, — I WANNA BE IN THE SEQUEL !

[ BOSTON KILLERS ON THE LOOSE, you read as you lock all the doors. who would have ever thought that the killers in question were sitting on your couch, tho? ]

⠀⠀ⓘ⠀⠀ I. CHRIS / the possessive one. mind games by sicksick. i’m not a violent dog. cigarettes & weed. twenty— two night stands. touchy in a suggestive way. ‘i kiss you like i bite into an apple’. death; the ultimate orgasm. captivating eyes. warm, addicting touch. manipulation skills are top tier. bestfriend or something more. II. MATT / the stalker. in the night by the weeknd. she tastes like every dark thought i’ve ever had. n1 pervert. personality: cruel, sadist, and selfish. commit a sin twice. diabolically angel looking. aching to touch her. obsessive. tattoos like a second skin. love kinda gory.

A/N: this is obviously all fake. it’s an AU, alternative universe, so please keep this in mind! every fic will prolly contain problematic shit like a bit of gore, blood, violence, toxic behaviors and clear manipulation, stalking, knife & weapon uses, etc. but we can say i’ve been out there cooking 🧑‍🍳 i’m veeeery excited to write these 2 crazy asses cuz they good, trust. ( NOT ROMANTICIZING ANYTHING. )

also, credits to whoever created this kind of au first !! i have no idea 😕

tags. @secretlocket @zweigsangel @waitforyrlove @sirenedeslily @rafespreciosa @zebonos @sosasturns @freshloveee @sturn777 @sweetestpoetic @jetaimevous @sturniolossss @ilovedanielcaesar @fallbhind @carvedtits

#𓏸𓈒 ⠀⠀✶⠀⠀ghostface! chris ෧ #𓏸𓈒 ⠀⠀✶⠀⠀ghostface! matt ෧ #ghostface au #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #fem reader #mdni #18 content #matthew sturniolo #christopher sturniolo

149 notes · View notes

fangdokja · 1 day ago

Text

Some truths are better left buried.

❤︎ Synopsis. A charming façade hides a mind unraveling, as jealousy sinks its claws into a man obsessed with the untouchable "Ice Queen," her mysterious past igniting a sinister need to claim what was never his to own.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Ex-Boyfriend x Reader

♡ Novella. Friction & Fire - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 8,000

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con + manipulation, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances

♡ A/N. Not me only realizing recently that this was a FINISHED work that I never posted. My drafts in Tumblr are a mess I tell you. It's like the various requests, fandoms, and works in general are mixing wahaha. YOU KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE???? It's like I'm universe hopping in the multiverse, going to different fandoms and worlds to bring the content you all want. And, just like someone with multiple jobs and side hustles; if it's not recorded or arranged right, it gets lost to the void I tell you. wahhhhh

The office was silent except for the rhythmic tapping of your keyboard and the faint hum of the air conditioning. The morning sun bled through the blinds in fractured slivers, painting your desk in a dull, sterile glow. You sat across from him, your shoulders squared, your focus unyielding as you combed through line after line of data.

And yet, despite the quiet, he could feel the tension lingering between you like a living thing.

It was still on his mind.

He wasn’t the type to fixate—hell, he prided himself on letting things roll off his back—but this? The thought of your first kiss, of the strange, detached way you spoke about it last night, had lodged itself in his brain like a splinter.

He leaned back in his chair, one leg lazily draped over the other as he watched you with sharp, predatory focus. On the surface, he looked relaxed, his usual cocky nonchalance on full display. But beneath it, his mind was a storm.

“You know,” he began, his voice cutting through the stillness like a knife, “last night got me thinking.”

You didn’t respond, didn’t even look up. Your fingers danced across the keys, swift and precise, as though you hadn’t heard him at all.

He smiled, leaning forward just enough to rest his elbows on the table. “For someone who’s so good at everything, you sure don’t like talking about yourself, do you?”

Still, you gave him nothing. Not a word. Not a glance.

He didn’t let it deter him. If anything, your silence only spurred him on.

“So, first kiss,” he said, his tone as light as a feather, casual enough to sound innocent. “When was it? And don’t give me that ‘transaction’ excuse. I want details.”

Your fingers paused for half a second—so brief it was barely noticeable—but it was enough to make his grin widen.

“I’m working,” you said flatly, your voice like steel.

“And I’m curious,” he shot back smoothly, his grin taking on a sharper edge. “Come on, indulge me a little. Was it some rich heir your parents set you up with? Or…” He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Was it someone you actually liked?”

You exhaled slowly, your gaze still fixed on your screen. “Drop it.”

“Oh, I would,” he said, his voice dropping into a softer, more insidious tone. “But it’s kind of hard to stop wondering when you’re so damn mysterious about everything. I mean, it’s not like I’m asking for state secrets here. Just a name. Or a story. Something.”

Your fingers hit the keys a little harder now, your movements growing sharper, but you still refused to look at him.

He leaned back again, tapping his pen idly against the table, his expression deceptively calm. “Okay, fine. Let’s broaden the topic. Ever had any other boyfriends? Or am I the only one lucky enough to deal with your charming personality?”

The sarcasm in his tone was sharp, but it wasn’t enough to mask the strange, simmering edge beneath it.

“Work,” you said simply, not bothering to look at him.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about!” He leaned forward again, his voice growing louder, though his grin remained firmly in place. “You’re like a damn iron wall. It’s impressive, really. But also kind of annoying.”

You finally paused, your hands hovering above the keyboard as you turned to meet his gaze. Your expression was calm, cold, and utterly unreadable. “If I don’t answer,” you said, your voice low and measured, “will you stop asking?”

“Not a chance,” he said, his grin widening into something wolfish.

You sighed, turning back to your screen. “Then keep asking. It won’t change anything.”

He let out a soft laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something else there now, something darker and more insistent, coiling tightly in his chest.

He didn’t know why this mattered so much. Why the thought of someone else—someone before him—made his jaw clench and his stomach churn. But the idea wouldn’t let him go.

“Fair enough,” he said finally, his voice dropping into a softer, almost dangerous tone. “But don’t think I’m letting this go. Sooner or later, princess, I’ll get you to crack.”

Your silence was answer enough. But the faint flicker of annoyance in your eyes as you typed? That was all the encouragement he needed.

———

The late afternoon sun filtered through the office windows, casting long, golden streaks across the sterile desks. Papers and coffee cups littered the space, evidence of a day stretched too long. You sat at your desk, immersed in another report, your brow furrowed in concentration. The tension that had gripped you for days had finally loosened, and though your posture remained rigid, there was an air of calm about you now.

It was a calm he intended to disrupt.

He stretched lazily from his chair, a satisfied smirk curling his lips as he sauntered over to your side. His steps were slow, deliberate, the kind of gait that was both casual and predatory. Leaning down just slightly, he peered over your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck.

"Still working, huh? You're really setting a new standard for the term 'workaholic.' Should I be worried you're cheating on me with a spreadsheet?" His voice was light, teasing, but there was a flicker of something sharper beneath it.

You didn’t even glance his way. "Your jokes are terrible."

"Terrible? Wow, you wound me," he said, clutching at his chest as if your words had pierced his heart. But his grin didn’t waver. Instead, he slid closer, resting a hand casually on the back of your chair. "Seriously, though. You’re in a much better mood now. My charm’s working, isn’t it?"

"Or maybe I’m just ignoring you," you replied dryly, typing without pause.

He chuckled, his laughter rich and low. "Ignoring me? Oh, sweetheart, if you were ignoring me, you wouldn’t have responded at all."

You sighed, still refusing to meet his gaze. He watched you intently, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, the subtle movements of your lips as you murmured something under your breath. For a moment, he was silent, caught in the strange, unfamiliar pull of wanting to touch you—not for show, not as part of this ridiculous transactional arrangement, but because he wanted to feel the solidity of you beneath his hands.

So, he acted.

Before you could react, his arms were around you, pulling you into a firm, almost possessive embrace. He buried his face against your hair, his lips brushing against your temple in a gesture that was disarmingly tender.

You stiffened but didn’t pull away. Not yet.

"Not in public," you said flatly, your tone devoid of emotion.

He laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest. "We’re in an office. No one’s here but us. Doesn’t count."

You sighed, finally turning your head just enough to give him a withering look. "Still. Stop."

"Stop what?" he teased, his grin widening. He tilted his head, pressing his lips to your cheek in a playful kiss, lingering just enough to make your expression harden. "I’m just fulfilling my boyfriend duties. What, you don’t want me to be affectionate?"

"This isn’t affection. It’s a distraction," you retorted, your voice sharp but your body strangely still in his hold.

"Oh, so you do know what affection is. I was beginning to think you were allergic to it," he quipped, his arms tightening slightly as if daring you to push him away.

But you didn’t. Not yet.

His gaze drifted down to your lips again, unbidden memories of last night creeping into his mind. The way you’d slapped him, the way you’d rubbed at your mouth as if scrubbing him off—it had stung. More than he wanted to admit. And then you’d dropped that bomb about it not being your first kiss. That knowledge sat heavy in his chest now, simmering with something dark and ugly.

Jealousy.

He hated the word, hated the feeling even more. But there it was, coiled tight around his thoughts, tainting everything.

"Hey," he said suddenly, his voice softer, almost coaxing. "You never did tell me about your first kiss."

"Drop it," you said firmly, shifting in his hold.

"Come on," he pressed, his tone still light but his grip on you unyielding. "It’s not like I’m going to judge. I’m just… curious."

"I said drop it." This time, your voice had an edge to it, and you finally moved to shrug him off.

But he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression carefully masked with that infuriating grin. "Alright, alright. I’ll drop it. For now."

You narrowed your eyes at him but said nothing, turning back to your work.

Still, his hands lingered, his fingers brushing over your arm in a way that felt deliberate. He smiled to himself, his mind churning with thoughts he didn’t want to dissect too closely.

Transactional or not, he was still your boyfriend. Your first boyfriend. The only one you had now.

And that? That was enough. For now.

────────────

The garage hummed with a low din: the scrape of pool cues against felt, the occasional clink of beer bottles, and the raucous laughter of his friends echoing off the cement walls. The air reeked of oil, sweat, and cheap cologne, a heady cocktail that somehow felt like home. He leaned against the pool table, a cue stick balanced lazily in one hand as his gaze drifted—unfocused, distant, and entirely unlike him.

“You good, man?” One of the guys leaned in, squinting at him. “You’ve been off all night. Usually, you’re the one running your mouth the loudest. What gives?”

He blinked, snapping out of his trance, and a lazy grin slid across his face. “What? I’m just letting you losers have your moment. Can’t have me wiping the floor with you every game.”

The group laughed, though the scrutiny didn’t ease. Someone else chimed in, gesturing toward him with a beer bottle. “Nah, nah, there’s something going on. You’ve been staring off into space like you’re in some indie movie montage. What’s eating you?”

He rolled his eyes, straightening up and spinning the cue stick in his hand. “Nothing’s eating me. You guys are just too boring to hold my attention.”

The teasing jabs came quick after that, each more ridiculous than the last. “Oh, I know what it is,” one of the guys said, smirking. “It’s that ice queen of his. What’s her name again? Miss ‘I’m too good for this world’?”

A chorus of laughter erupted, and he smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You mean my girlfriend?” he shot back, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, you wish you could land someone like her. Don’t be jealous just ’cause I’ve got taste.”

“Girlfriend, huh?” Another guy leaned in, grinning. “Man, you’ve never been serious about anyone in your life. What’s the deal? She finally melt that big ‘I don’t care about anything’ heart of yours?”

He snorted, the sound sharp and dismissive. “As if. It’s a transactional thing, remember? Don’t go reading any Nicholas Sparks nonsense into it.” He paused, spinning the cue stick once more before adding, almost offhandedly, “Though she did mention something interesting.”

That got their attention. “Oh?” one of them said, his tone dripping with curiosity. “What’s that?”

“She’s got a past,” he said, feigning nonchalance. “Romantic history or whatever.”

There was a beat of stunned silence before the room erupted into laughter again.

“Her? No way!” one of them wheezed, slapping his knee. “You’re telling me the Ice Queen actually let someone get close to her? Hell, I thought she’d freeze anyone who tried.”

“Right? She barely tolerates him,” another joked, pointing at him with a pool cue. “And he’s the boyfriend! Can you imagine anyone else even standing a chance?”

He shrugged, the grin on his face sharp and self-assured, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. “Hey, I’m just as shocked as you guys. But yeah, apparently she’s kissed someone before. Wild, right?”

“Pfft, no way,” someone scoffed. “She’s probably messing with you. Bet she said it just to get under your skin.”

“Yeah, no offense, but she doesn’t exactly scream ‘romantic whirlwind.’ What, did she date a robot?”

The laughter rolled on, but he didn’t join in. Instead, he leaned back against the pool table, his grip tightening on the cue stick. He kept his expression light, easygoing, but inside, something coiled tighter and tighter, a venomous knot of jealousy and something he couldn’t quite name.

“Maybe she did,” he said finally, his voice smooth but edged with something razor-thin. “Or maybe she just has good taste and doesn’t fall for losers like you.”

The guys hooted and hollered, taking his words as another well-timed joke, but he didn’t laugh. Instead, his mind lingered on the thought of her—her cool, distant demeanor, the way she brushed him off like he was nothing. And yet… someone else had touched her first.

The idea churned in his gut, hot and nauseating.

Transactional or not, she was his now. Wasn’t she?

———

The laughter around him ebbed and flowed, but it barely registered. He leaned against the edge of the pool table, staring blankly at the neon beer sign on the wall. The buzz of their voices blurred into a distant hum, and his mind gnawed at the frayed edges of the conversation like a dog with a bone.

“Yo, you’re spacing out again,” one of the guys said, snapping his fingers in front of his face. “What’s the deal, man? You look like someone ran over your dog.”

He smirked, forcing himself back into the moment. “Please, like I’d ever let that happen. You guys know me—cool as a cucumber.”

“Cucumber, my ass,” someone quipped. “You’ve been weird ever since you brought up her romantic history. What’s the matter, hotshot? Jealous someone else got to her first?”

The words hit like a sucker punch. Jealous? Him? Of course not. He was the picture of casual detachment, the poster boy for not giving a damn. It wasn’t like they were in love. The relationship was an agreement, a mutually beneficial arrangement. It wasn’t supposed to be messy. It wasn’t supposed to matter.

But it did.

“Jealous? Me?” He barked out a laugh, the sound a little too sharp. “C’mon, you think I care about some guy who’s probably ancient history? If anything, I’m curious. What kind of guy would even catch her eye? She’s not exactly handing out free passes.”

“Curious, huh?” One of the guys grinned, leaning against his pool cue. “Sure, let’s call it that. I mean, it’s not like you’ve ever been the possessive type.”

The comment was met with a wave of snickers, and he rolled his eyes, his grin widening. “Exactly. I’m chill. Relaxed. Totally unbothered.” He emphasized the last word, slapping the pool table for effect, but the laughter around him only grew louder.

“Yeah, sure you are,” another guy chimed in, taking a swig from his beer. “That’s why you’ve been stewing over this for, what, ten minutes now?”

He forced another laugh, but inside, the knot in his chest tightened. What was wrong with him? This wasn’t like him. He’d had plenty of relationships—flings, hookups, even a couple that could loosely be called serious—and he’d never felt like this. Never felt this gnawing, restless ache that made him want to punch a wall and pull her closer at the same time.

It wasn’t even logical. So what if she’d had someone before him? It wasn’t like he owned her. She was her own person, icy and untouchable as she was. And yet…

And yet.

The image of her brushing off his kiss the night before crept into his mind, unbidden and unwelcome. The way she’d wiped her sleeve across her mouth, the way her voice had been sharp, cutting, when she’d told him it wasn’t her first kiss.

The thought burned.

He clenched his jaw, spinning his pool cue in his hands like a restless fidget. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. He wasn’t the jealous type. He wasn’t the possessive type. He was laid-back, easygoing, always ready with a joke or a grin. That was who he was. That was what made him so good at this kind of thing.

So why did the thought of her with someone else make him feel like he was coming apart at the seams?

“Alright, spill it,” one of the guys said, breaking through his spiraling thoughts. “Who was it, huh? Some prince charming? Some straight-laced business major who knows how to schmooze parents?”

He scoffed, the sound automatic. “Please. Like I’d even know. She didn’t exactly give me a play-by-play.”

“Bet it was some boring, pencil-pushing nerd,” another guy chimed in. “She seems like the type to go for someone... predictable.”

Predictable. The word grated against his nerves. Predictable wasn’t him. It wasn’t them. Their relationship, transactional as it was, wasn’t supposed to fit into neat little boxes. It was supposed to be different.

He was supposed to be different.

But here he was, sitting in a dingy garage with his friends, trying to rationalize the irrational. Trying to figure out why he cared so much about a past that wasn’t supposed to matter.

“You guys are way off,” he said finally, his tone light but his grip on the cue stick betraying him. “If she did have someone before me, they weren’t memorable. She’s with me now, isn’t she? That’s all that counts.”

“Spoken like a true charmer,” one of them teased, and he smirked, though the weight in his chest didn’t lift.

Yeah, she was with him now. That was all that mattered.

So why didn’t it feel like enough?

———

The ribbing didn’t stop. If anything, it picked up speed like a train without brakes, and he was tied to the tracks.

“You’re really off your game tonight, man,” one of them said, chalking the tip of his cue stick. “You keep spacing out, missing shots, and letting us win? That’s not you. You’re usually the one handing us our asses.”

Another chimed in, leaning against the edge of the table with a sly grin. “Seriously, you’ve got this whole garage thinking. Is the great charmer finally losing his touch? That what’s bugging you?”

He twirled his cue with exaggerated nonchalance, plastering a smirk across his face even as his grip tightened enough to whiten his knuckles. “Please. Like I’d ever lose my touch. I could charm the rust off a bolt if I wanted to. I’m just... keeping things interesting. Letting you guys feel like you’ve got a shot for once.”

The laughter was immediate, loud, and thoroughly unconvinced. One of them even doubled over, clutching his stomach.

“Yeah, right. You’ve been distracted all night. And don’t think we didn’t catch the little bombshell you dropped earlier. The Ice Queen has a romantic history?”

“Shocking, right?” another piped up, voice dripping with mock astonishment. “I mean, no offense, but she doesn’t seem like the type to go for you. Or anyone, really.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t interrupt, knowing that trying to stop them would only make it worse. He’d been here before—well, not exactly here, but close enough to know the best way out was to wait until they got bored.

Too bad that wasn’t happening anytime soon.

“I mean, think about it,” one of them continued, his tone growing more amused by the second. “She’s this cold, untouchable, straight-laced type. Always looks like she’s got a stick up her—”

“Careful,” he interrupted, his tone light but the edge unmistakable. The shift in the air was subtle but palpable, like the faint scent of ozone before a storm.

The guy raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. My bad. I was just saying—she’s not exactly your usual type. And you’re definitely not hers.”

“Yeah,” another added with a smirk. “She probably goes for, like, bookworm types. You know, the quiet, nerdy guys who read poetry and bring her tea while she’s working. The ones who wouldn’t dare try anything until they’ve written a formal letter asking for permission.”

That earned a round of chuckles, and his smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. Not that anyone else noticed—they were too busy piling on.

“Yeah, man, face it. You’re too loud, too flashy. She probably thinks you’re just a walking ego trip. All charm, no substance.”

“Exactly,” someone else added. “It’s probably why your charm doesn’t work on her. She’s immune. Bet she’s only with you because it’s convenient or something.”

The words hit harder than they should have, slipping under his skin and sticking there like splinters. He forced out a laugh, sharp and just a little too loud. “Convenient? Yeah, right. She’s lucky to have me. I’m the full package: brains, brawn, and a personality that makes life interesting.”

“Interesting, huh?” another guy said, raising an eyebrow. “Or annoying? Pretty sure those are interchangeable in your case.”

“Hey, she hasn’t dumped me yet,” he shot back, deflecting with practiced ease. “That’s gotta count for something.”

But even as he spoke, the words rang hollow. His usual bravado felt like a thin shell, barely holding together under the weight of something he didn’t want to name. Something ugly, and burning, and clawing at the edges of his chest.

Jealousy.

He hated admitting it, even to himself. But the idea of her with some quiet, bookish type—the kind of guy who might actually understand her silences and match her calm, reclusive nature—was like sandpaper against his nerves.

And worse, the idea that she might prefer someone like that...

He clenched his jaw, his smirk freezing into something sharper.

“You know,” one of them said, breaking into his thoughts, “it’s kinda funny. For all your talk, you’re acting a lot like a guy who’s got something to prove. Like you actually care what she thinks.”

“I don’t,” he lied smoothly, his voice as light as air. “Why would I? It’s not like this is anything serious.”

The words tasted bitter, but he swallowed them down, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Whatever you say, man,” someone said, shaking their head. “But you might want to figure it out before she realizes you’re not as cool as you think you are.”

The garage erupted into laughter again, and he joined in, the sound loud and hollow.

But later, when he was alone, the laughter would fade, leaving only the burning question that wouldn’t let him rest:

Why did it matter so damn much?

────────────

The stars above the city burned cold, distant, and sharp as needles. The private balcony was far enough from the glittering chaos of the gala to offer a semblance of quiet, though the muffled hum of music and laughter still seeped through the glass doors. The cold air bit at your skin, but it was a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat of the crowd.

He leaned against the balustrade, a champagne flute dangling from his fingers, the liquid untouched and shimmering like pale gold in the faint light. His tailored suit clung to his frame, the picture of nonchalance, but his eyes betrayed him—glinting with something predatory, something calculating.

“So,” he began, his voice smooth and edged with a teasing lilt. “I was thinking.”

You didn’t bother to turn from the view of the sprawling city below. “That’s dangerous.”

He chuckled, soft and low, but there was a weight to it that made your spine stiffen. He tilted his head, watching you like a hawk sizing up its prey. “Funny. No, really, I’ve been thinking about us.”

“Us,” you echoed flatly. “The contract is clear. There’s nothing to think about.”

“Sure,” he said, pushing off the railing and stepping closer. His presence was like a shadow swallowing light, oppressive and impossible to ignore. “But I’ve been reviewing it, and I think we’ve overlooked some... fine print.”

“Fine print,” you repeated, finally turning to face him, your expression impassive. “There is no fine print. You drafted it yourself, remember?”

“Exactly,” he said, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Which means I have the right to amend it if I see fit. And I’ve noticed a few areas that could use... adjustment.”

You crossed your arms, your gaze narrowing. “Such as?”

He stepped closer, close enough that the faint scent of his cologne mingled with the crisp night air. His tone was light, almost playful, but there was an undercurrent of something darker, something that coiled around his words like smoke.

“For one,” he began, “I think we need to establish clearer boundaries about third-party interactions. You know, to avoid misunderstandings.”

Your brow twitched. “There haven’t been any misunderstandings.”

“Not yet,” he agreed, his voice soft and coaxing, like a blade hidden in velvet. “But let’s be proactive. For instance, we should clarify what kind of behavior is acceptable when interacting with... other men.”

You stared at him, your expression as unyielding as stone. “That’s unnecessary.”

“Is it?” he countered, his grin sharpening. “You don’t think it’s wise to define expectations? After all, appearances are everything. Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about us.”

“People already know what this is,” you said coolly. “A performance. There’s no need to complicate it.”

“But isn’t the whole point of a performance to make it convincing?” he asked, his tone dripping with feigned innocence. “And for that, we need consistency. Unity. Which is why I propose we add a clause about exclusive proximity.”

“Exclusive proximity,” you echoed, your voice flat. “That’s absurd.”

“Is it?” he asked, tilting his head. “Think about it. If we’re seen with too many... distractions, it undermines the whole charade. It’s just common sense.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already pressing on, his words smooth and relentless.

———

The air seemed to thin as his words settled between you, the kind of silence that carried a weight far heavier than sound. He leaned closer, bracing himself against the railing with the kind of ease that betrayed the sharpness lurking beneath his carefully curated mask of charm. The city glittered below, but its brilliance felt muted compared to the fire smoldering in his gaze.

“Let me break it down,” he said, his voice silken, the edges just sharp enough to catch. “Exclusivity isn’t just about proximity. It’s about cohesion. A story without holes. Every moment you’re with someone else—a colleague, a stranger, hell, even a waiter—it opens a crack in the facade.”

Your eyes flicked to him, narrowing. “You’re reaching.”

He smiled—a wolfish, predatory thing. “Am I? Think about it. Someone catches sight of you laughing with some random nobody, and suddenly, the gossip mill is running wild. The illusion cracks. We lose credibility. And if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s losing.”

The venomous certainty in his tone made your stomach twist, though your face remained unreadable. “So what exactly are you proposing?”

He straightened, his shadow looming over you as if it carried a weight beyond the physical. “Ground rules. For both of us. Simple ones. For example…” He tapped a finger against the champagne flute, the ring of the glass echoing faintly. “No private conversations with anyone of interest. No one-on-one meetings without prior notice. And no touching—intentional or otherwise—unless absolutely necessary.”

Your brow arched, your lips tightening. “No touching. That’s… excessive.”

“Is it?” he shot back smoothly, tilting his head as if genuinely curious. “Think about it. Even the smallest gesture—a hand on the shoulder, a brush of fingers—can be misconstrued. Especially when it’s you.” His gaze flickered, a flash of something unspoken. “People notice you. They watch. And they talk.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back slightly against the balcony rail. “Fine. But if we’re establishing rules, they go both ways. You don’t exactly have a reputation for restraint.”

His grin widened, amusement flickering in the depths of his eyes. “Touché. Consider it mutual, then. No unnecessary interaction, no inappropriate proximity. Strictly business.”

“And why now?” you asked, your voice measured, almost detached. “Why bring this up tonight?”

For a moment, something flickered across his face—an almost imperceptible crack in the facade. But he recovered quickly, his grin sharpening. “Call it foresight. With the families involved, things get messier. More eyes, more pressure. We can’t afford to slip.”

You studied him, your silence stretching just long enough to make his fingers twitch against the railing. Finally, you inclined your head. “Fine. If that’s what it takes to keep this convincing, I’ll play along.”

He exhaled, a sound that was almost a laugh but carried none of the humor. “Good. I knew you’d see reason.” He lifted his champagne glass in a mock toast, the liquid catching the starlight like liquid fire. “To flawless performances.”

You didn’t respond, turning back to the city below. The cold bit deeper now, but you didn’t shiver. Behind you, his gaze lingered, heavy and unrelenting.

The ground rules were set, the game clearly defined. But as the night pressed on, the sense of control he so carefully clung to felt like it was unraveling thread by thread.

And it wasn’t the rules that haunted him—it was why he felt the need to create them in the first place.

———

He leaned casually against the railing, but his posture was deceptively loose, the sharp intelligence in his eyes betraying his calculated intent. The champagne glass in his hand caught the faint glow of the city below, though he hadn’t touched a drop.

“So,” he began, his tone laced with a playful edge, “while we’re ironing out the details, there’s another area I think we should revisit. Physical affection.”

Your eyes snapped to his, cold and narrowed. “What about it?”

He smirked, tilting his head slightly as though considering his words carefully. “Let’s be honest. Right now, the way things are? We’re convincing, sure—but just barely. The hand-holding, the occasional arm around the waist? It’s surface-level. Anyone with half a brain can see through it.”

“That’s the point,” you replied, your voice calm but firm. “It’s enough to maintain appearances without crossing unnecessary lines.”

His grin widened, but there was an almost imperceptible edge to it, a flicker of something darker in his expression. “Enough for who? The nosy old ladies at brunch? Sure. But for the vultures at this level? Not a chance. They smell weakness. And right now, what they see screams ‘contractual convenience,’ not passion. We need to up our game.”

You folded your arms across your chest, your stance unmoving. “Define ‘up our game.’”

“Well,” he said smoothly, setting the untouched glass on the railing, “kisses, for one. Not just the casual kind. Something real. Convincing. Hell, even a few heated moments in public wouldn’t hurt. And behind closed doors?” He gave a mock shrug, his grin turning teasing. “Who knows? Maybe even a little noise for the sake of appearances.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall from your skull. “You’re joking.”

“Am I?” he replied, his tone maddeningly reasonable. “Think about it. The way things are now, people will start talking. Rumors of a weak marriage. Arranged out of convenience, not love. And with you being... well, you—” his gaze flicked over you, deliberate and lingering— “it won’t take long for people to start circling. People like to test boundaries when they think they can get away with it.”

“People already talk,” you shot back. “That’s inevitable. But none of this changes the fact that this is fake. I’m not pretending that far.”

“Why not?” he countered, his grin sharpening. “You’ve already agreed to exclusivity. This is just the logical next step.”

“It’s unnecessary,” you said flatly. “The exclusivity rules make sense. This? This is overreach.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, almost coaxing tone. “Is it, though? Think about it. If we don’t convince them, it undermines everything we’ve built. You don’t want to spend the rest of this arrangement fending off speculation and propositions, do you?”

“Speculation is manageable,” you said, your voice cool and steady. “And propositions are irrelevant. I can handle myself.”

“Of course you can,” he said, his tone light but his gaze intense. “But why should you have to? Why not just nip it in the bud? Make it clear to everyone that you’re untouchable.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, your patience fraying. “I already am untouchable.”

His grin didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something else beneath it—jealousy, sharp and bitter. “Sure. But people don’t see that. What they see is opportunity. The kind that comes from a woman who’s too beautiful, too brilliant, and too unattainable for her own good.”

The words were teasing, but the way he said them made your skin prickle. There was something possessive lurking beneath the surface, something he tried to bury beneath layers of logic and charm but couldn’t entirely hide.

“This isn’t about logic,” you said, your voice steady but edged with steel. “It’s about control. And I’m not giving you that.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin turning mischievous. “Touché. But hey, I’m just saying—when the rumors start flying and the vultures start circling, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You turned back to the city, dismissing him with a sharp glance. “Noted. But the answer is still no.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and dangerous. “Fair enough. For now.”

———

The cold of the night pressed against your skin, biting and relentless, but his body, wrapped tightly around yours, was an oppressive heat you couldn’t shake. The weight of his arms on your shoulders felt heavier than it should, his fingers grazing your arms with a possessive slowness. He leaned into you, his chest firm against your back, his breath warm and invasive against your ear.

“You know,” he murmured, his tone as smooth as the glassy city lights below, “this hesitation of yours—it’s fascinating. Almost charming, in its own way. But... I can’t help but wonder.” His voice dipped lower, a silken purr laced with something darker. “What’s got you so hesitant? People do this all the time, don’t they? Even when it doesn’t mean anything.”

You stiffened, your gaze locked on the sprawling cityscape, refusing to turn. Your neutrality was a fortress, built brick by brick to withstand his probing. But his persistence was a battering ram. Slowly, deliberately, he dipped his head closer, inhaling deeply near the curve of your neck, the action intimate enough to send a shiver rippling through your body.

“Unless,” he mused, his lips curving into a smirk you couldn’t see but could feel like a knife at your throat, “it’s because of them. You know, the one who got that first kiss of yours. Was it them?”

The question hung in the air, venomous and cutting. For a fraction of a second, the apathy on your face cracked—a millisecond’s slip in the armor you wore so flawlessly. Your hand twitched, and your lips parted as though to respond, but no words came. Instead, your expression hardened once more, a glacial mask snapping back into place. Silent. Untouchable.

But he had seen it.

That brief, fleeting moment of vulnerability had told him more than you ever could. And though his smile remained, it was stretched too tight, his teeth bared in something that wasn’t amusement. His fingers dug into your shoulders, just a little too hard, before softening as if to mask the momentary lapse in control.

“Ah,” he said, the word slipping out in a low exhale, almost inaudible. He pressed closer, the air between you suffocating. “So it was them. That explains so much.”

His tone was still light, teasing, but the undercurrent of tension was unmistakable, coiling tighter and tighter beneath his practiced facade. His lips ghosted near your temple, the proximity a calculated weapon, and his fingers trailed down your arms, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

“You know,” he continued, his voice honeyed but sickly sweet, “whoever they were... they must have left quite the impression to make you this way. But I’m curious—did it mean anything to you? Or was it just... a moment?”

Your silence was deafening, a dagger plunged into the space between you.

He chuckled softly, though the sound was hollow. “Not that it matters, of course. You’re here now, with me. That’s all that really counts, isn’t it?”

But his grip tightened imperceptibly, his smile curving into something dangerous, something that betrayed the storm raging just beneath the surface. He didn’t let go. If anything, his hold on you became stronger, his presence more invasive.

And though he kept his composure, the truth was a venomous whisper in his mind, sinking its fangs deep and twisting.

Not fucking happy at all.

────────────

He didn't bring it up again. Any of it, anymore.

But, the room still felt colder than it should have. The air conditioning hummed low, but the chill that seeped into your skin wasn’t mechanical. It was the kind of cold that came from within, from the way your fingers gripped the edge of the desk too tightly, from the rigidity in your spine as you pretended not to notice the man leaning against the corner with the practiced ease of someone who could read you too well.

He’d been watching you for too long now, his gaze like a scalpel, peeling away layers you’d tried so hard to keep intact. He shifted, breaking the stillness with a deliberate, exaggerated sigh.

“You know,” he began, his voice carrying that maddeningly playful lilt, “if looks could kill, that desk would be in pieces by now. What’d it ever do to you, baby?”

You didn’t answer. Of course, you didn’t.

He moved closer, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the sterile air. The sound of his footsteps was soft but deliberate, a hunter’s tread. “Still giving me the silent treatment? Harsh. I’m starting to think you don’t appreciate my charming company.”

“Go away,” you said, your voice clipped, devoid of emotion. Your fingers tightened on the desk, a small tell he didn’t miss.

“Aw, come on,” he said, his grin audible in his voice. “Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to help. You know, as your incredibly dedicated, selfless boyfriend.” He leaned closer, his hand resting on the back of your chair. “And let’s face it, I’m the only person who’d put up with you when you’re like this.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t look at him. It was exactly the reaction he wanted.

“Seriously,” he continued, his tone shifting to something softer but no less teasing. “What’s going on? You’re more wound up than usual, and that’s saying something.”

“I’m fine,” you said, the words flat, a wall slamming down between you.

“Sure you are,” he said, circling around to lean on the desk beside you. He crossed his arms, his smirk unwavering. “You know, for someone so icy, you’re terrible at hiding when something’s bothering you.”

“I said I’m fine,” you repeated, your tone sharper now.

“And I said I don’t believe you,” he shot back, his voice light but with an edge of persistence. “C’mon, Ice Queen. What’s eating at you? Work? Family? Or did someone finally dare to make eye contact for more than three seconds?”

You ignored him, your focus locked on the papers in front of you, but he wasn’t deterred. He crouched slightly, putting himself in your line of sight.

“Look, I get it,” he said, his tone almost mockingly serious. “You’re all about the whole ‘strong, independent, untouchable’ thing. Very admirable. But newsflash, sweetheart: nobody’s that stoic all the time. Except maybe statues. And even they crack eventually.”

You pushed back from the desk abruptly, rising to your feet, but he didn’t give you space. Instead, he moved closer, his hand brushing your arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re really not gonna tell me, huh?” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “Not even a hint? A clue? C’mon, I’m dying here.”

You stiffened, stepping away, but he followed, his persistence like a shadow clinging to your every move. His hand caught yours this time, his grip firm but not forceful.

“You know,” he said, tilting his head with a smirk that was all sharp edges, “this whole ‘bottling it up’ thing you do? It’s kinda cute. Annoying, but cute. But it’s also not healthy. So spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill,” you snapped, finally turning to face him. Your eyes were cold, your voice even colder, but he wasn’t fazed.

“Liar,” he said simply, his grin widening. “You’re terrible at it, by the way. And you know I’m not going anywhere until you give me something.”

You glared at him, your jaw tightening, but he just leaned closer, his fingers brushing against your arm. “Is it work? Someone bothering you? Or—” His tone shifted, sly and teasing now. “Wait, don’t tell me. Is it me? Did I finally get under your skin?”

“Always,” you muttered, pulling your hand free and turning away.

He laughed, the sound warm but with a sharpness that didn’t quite match. “Good. Means I’m doing my job right. But seriously, baby girl, if someone’s bothering you—besides me, obviously—you’d tell me, right?”

You didn’t answer, and for a moment, the teasing dropped from his voice entirely. He straightened, his gaze darkening as he watched you retreat to the far side of the room.

“You don’t tell anyone anything, do you?” he said softly, almost to himself. The words weren’t a question; they were a statement, heavy with an emotion he refused to name.

You paused, your back to him, but didn’t turn.

“Fine,” he said after a moment, his usual bravado snapping back into place like armor. He grinned, stepping toward you again. “Keep your secrets. But just so you know, sweetheart, I’m very good at getting what I want. And you? You’re not as unreadable as you think.”

The way he said it—soft, teasing, but with an undercurrent of something darker—sent a shiver down your spine. But you didn’t respond, and he didn’t push further. Not yet.

────────────

The glow of his laptop bathed the dim room in cold, blue light. The muffled sounds of the city filtered through the cracked window—a distant hum of engines, the occasional wail of a siren. But none of it reached him. His focus was absolute, his fingers ghosting over the keyboard with a precision that bordered on surgical.

Lines of text blurred and refreshed, tabs multiplied, searches refined. It was nothing. It was nothing. Just... research. A precaution, really. Something any diligent professional would do in his field.

"Due diligence." The phrase rolled through his mind like a soothing mantra as he adjusted his search parameters. Business students did this all the time, didn’t they? Gathering information on potential clients, tracking leads. It wasn’t unethical—it was smart. Practical. Just like he was.

His brow furrowed as the screen refreshed again, yielding nothing new. No personal social media accounts. No tagged photos. Everything you had out there was airtight—pristine. Your LinkedIn was polished to perfection, clinical and devoid of any personal flair. Your work email was meticulously professional. No footprints, no cracks.

You were a fortress, an enigma wrapped in ice, and it was maddening.

"Not even a stupid Instagram," he muttered under his breath, leaning back in his chair and scrubbing a hand through his hair. His other hand hovered over the touchpad, fingers twitching with a restless energy he couldn’t quite contain. He hated how good you were at this, at keeping the world at arm's length. It was infuriating.

And yet, it only made him more determined.

Because how else was he supposed to help you? Protect you? It wasn’t like you’d talk to him, let alone open up. You were a steel door slammed shut, your apathy the lock, and your sharp, biting tongue the key he could never quite reach.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t stalking,” he murmured, as if saying it aloud could make it true. “This is... protecting my investment.”

He winced at the word. It felt wrong somehow, but logical. The contract between you two was the foundation of your relationship, after all. If you didn’t want to share your problems with him, fine—but he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. That wasn’t who he was.

“People research celebrities all the time,” he reasoned, his voice low and even, the rhythm of his own words calming. “Background checks, public records... It’s normal. It’s not like I’m invading her privacy. This is just... strategy.”

But even as he said it, a part of him bristled.

It wasn’t just strategy. And he knew it.

The truth was, it gnawed at him—the not knowing. The mystery of you was a drug he couldn’t quit, the unanswered questions keeping him awake at night. Who was the person who kissed you first? Why did your walls feel so much higher, so much thicker, lately? What the hell was going on in that brilliant, maddening head of yours?

He leaned forward again, fingers flying across the keyboard with renewed purpose. If he couldn’t ask you, he’d find out on his own. He told himself it wasn’t because he needed to know, wasn’t because the thought of anyone else touching you—or knowing you—made his stomach twist with something cold and acidic.

No, it wasn’t jealousy again. It was logic. Rationality.

But as the hours ticked by and the search grew colder, that logic began to crack.

His phone buzzed, breaking the silence. He glanced at the screen—one of the boys from the garage had sent a message, probably another joke about his “domestication.” He ignored it, returning his gaze to the screen.

Nothing. Again.

“Damn it,” he hissed, slamming the laptop shut with more force than necessary. He sat back, running both hands through his hair, staring up at the cracked ceiling.

You were impossible. And that impossibility—it thrilled him. Infuriated him. Tore at him like a splinter buried too deep to pull out.

But he wouldn’t stop. Not until he had answers.

Because protecting you wasn’t just part of the job anymore.

It was everything.

────────────

♡ Masterlist. If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology. Thank you.

♡ Tag List. “A Heart Devoured”: @definetlythinkimanalien , @floooring , @lilyalone , @theogborjie , @ne7zach , @songbirdgardensworld

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

149 notes · View notes

starmatzz · 2 days ago

Text

Perv!Yunho, watching you through two-way mirror🩰

Jeong Yunho was the quiet, mysterious pianist at the ballet school. Tall and always dressed in a sharp black suit, his glasses added to his composed and intellectual air. He rarely spoke, fueling whispers among the dancers, but when he played, his music spoke volumes. Each note carried a depth of emotion, seamlessly guiding the dancers and filling the room with an unspoken connection. Despite his reserved nature, his presence was magnetic, leaving an impression without a single word.

Whenever you performed a solo, you couldn’t help but notice something unusual—Yunho’s eyes weren’t fixed on the piano keys, as they normally were. Instead, his gaze rested on you. His focus was steady, intense, and unshaken, as if he were committing every movement you made to memory. It was subtle, but unmistakable, and it left your heart racing in ways you didn’t quite understand.

What no one knew—what you didn’t know—was that the mirror in your changing room wasn’t just a mirror. On the other side of it was Yunho’s office, and the glass was two-way. Every time you undressed there, unaware, Yunho was seated in his office, silently watching you. His quiet demeanor hid more than anyone could have guessed, and the thought of his gaze lingering on you in those private moments would have sent shivers down your spine—if only you had known.

Yunho watched your every move, his gaze tracing the slow, deliberate removal of each piece of clothing. His eyes lingered on every detail, an intensity in his stare that felt both possessive and reverent.

He was watching your delicate features, the cute pink skirt, and the graceful way your hair was clipped into a neat high bun.

One hand between his legs, palming himself through his neatly ironed pants as you were putting your ballet dress on. He was highly aware that stalking you like this was strictly prohibited, that he was a pervert and he couldn't care less.

109 notes · View notes

siilent-wanderer · 22 hours ago

Text

The Things You Do To Me

Summary: A bold change leaves Jimin glowing in confidence and Y/N hopelessly distracted. Between playful teasing and quiet moments, it’s clear some things are impossible to resist.

Genre: contains suggestive themes, lowkey fluff

Word Count: 2.3k words

Yu Jimin (Karina) x aespa 5th member! reader

A/N: song recos while reading telepatía & earned it

Y/N was lying on the couch, aimlessly scrolling through her phone when her screen lit up with an incoming call from Jimin. She sat up quickly, smiling at the sight of her girlfriend’s name.

“Hey, unnie,” Y/N greeted, already imagining the sweet, soft tone she always associated with Jimin.

“Hi, baby,” Jimin replied, her voice warm and slightly playful. “So, don’t be mad…”

Y/N furrowed her brows. “Why would I be mad? What did you do?”

There was a pause, and Y/N could almost hear Jimin’s sheepish smile through the phone. “I’m getting a haircut.”

“A haircut?” Y/N repeated, her tone dropping slightly. She loved Jimin’s long, silky hair. It was one of the first things she noticed about her when they met — how it fell perfectly down her back and framed her face so delicately.

“Yeah,” Jimin said cautiously. “I thought it was time for a change.”

Y/N huffed, flopping back against the couch. “You’re cutting it without me? I would’ve gone with you!”

“I know, I know,” Jimin said, laughing softly. “But I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Y/N’s pout deepened. “What kind of haircut?”

“You’ll see when I get home,” Jimin replied, clearly enjoying Y/N’s sulking.

“Fine,” Y/N mumbled, trying to hide her disappointment. “But it better not be too short.”

Jimin chuckled. “Just wait. You might like it more than you think.”

An hour later, Y/N heard the sound of the front door opening. She quickly sat up, half-expecting Jimin to walk in with her long hair still intact, perhaps just trimmed at the ends. But when Jimin appeared, Y/N froze.

Her girlfriend’s long, flowing hair was gone, replaced by an edgy, layered wolf cut that framed her face perfectly. The soft, natural waves added texture, and the shorter pieces at the front highlighted Jimin’s sharp jawline and high cheekbones.

Jimin ran a hand through her hair, her lips curling into a slight smirk when she saw Y/N’s stunned expression. “So? What do you think?”

Y/N blinked, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to find the words. “You… look…” She trailed off, her cheeks heating up.

“Is that a good speechless or a bad speechless?” Jimin teased, stepping closer.

“It’s…” Y/N swallowed, her heart racing as she took in the sight of her girlfriend. “It’s unfair. You look too good, babe.”

Jimin laughed, tilting her head. “Too good?”

Y/N stood up, her hands instinctively reaching for Jimin’s hair. She ran her fingers through the soft layers, marveling at how effortlessly the new style suited her. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d look this… hot?”

Jimin’s smirk widened. “You were sulking about me cutting it. I didn’t think you’d notice anything else.”

“I’m still sulking,” Y/N muttered, her hands dropping to her sides. “But you look so good I can’t even be mad.”

Jimin stepped closer, her voice dropping slightly. “Oh? Not mad, but you’re blushing.”

“I am not,” Y/N protested, though the pink tint on her cheeks betrayed her.

Jimin leaned in, her face inches away, her smirk growing as her eyes flicked between Y/N’s flustered expression and the way her lips parted, ready to counter with another excuse. “You sure about that?” she asked, her voice soft but undeniably teasing.

Y/N tried to glare at her, but Jimin’s proximity made it impossible to think straight. “Stop teasing me, unnie. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Do I?” Jimin murmured, her hand brushing lightly against Y/N’s arm before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingers lingered, grazing Y/N’s cheek as her smirk deepened. “Maybe I do,” she admitted softly, her tone playful yet sincere. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she added, “Or maybe I just like seeing you like this. All shy and cute. What are you going to do about it?”

Y/N took a step back instinctively, trying to create space, but her back hit the wall. Jimin followed without hesitation, closing the distance and resting one hand on the wall beside Y/N’s head. Trapped between her girlfriend and the solid surface, Y/N’s breath hitched, and she felt her knees go weak under Jimin’s piercing gaze.

“You’re impossible,” Y/N muttered, her voice shaky but soft, her hands lifting as if to push her girlfriend away but instead finding their way to the hem of her shirt.

Jimin chuckled, leaning even closer until their faces were mere inches apart. “And yet, here you are,” she whispered, her voice low and teasing.

Before Y/N could respond, Jimin took full advantage of their proximity, closing the gap and capturing Y/N’s lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. The softness of the kiss contrasted the intensity of the moment, and Y/N melted into it, her hands tugging lightly on her girlfriend’s shirt as her resolve crumbled entirely. Jimin’s hands slid to Y/N’s hips, pulling her closer, their bodies pressed together as the kiss grew more heated.

When Jimin finally pulled back, her forehead rested lightly against Y/N’s, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips. “Still think I’m impossible?”

Y/N laughed breathlessly, her cheeks flushed as she whispered, “Completely impossible.” Her fingers moved up, combing through the layers of Jimin’s hair. “Seriously, babe. This haircut should come with a warning label.”

Jimin grinned, her thumb brushing over Y/N’s jaw. “You’re the only one it’s meant to distract, so I guess it’s working.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in Jimin’s shoulder to hide her flushed cheeks. “You’re so unfair.”

Jimin tilted Y/N’s chin up, forcing her to meet her gaze. “Unfair?” she echoed, her smirk turning playful. “You’re the one who started playing with my hair.”

Y/N opened her mouth to retort, but Jimin silenced her with another kiss — this one slower, more deliberate, leaving no room for argument.

When they finally broke apart, Jimin’s smile was soft but mischievous. “You can sulk all you want, but you’re stuck with me. And this haircut.”

“Thank God,” Y/N muttered, pulling her back in for another kiss.

Later that night, as Y/N lay on the couch with Jimin curled up against her, her fingers lazily running through Jimin’s hair, she sighed softly. “You really do look too good, you know.”

Jimin chuckled, her voice sleepy but affectionate. “And you really need to stop looking at me like that unless you want round two.”

Y/N blushed furiously but couldn’t stop the grin spreading across her face. “Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

“And yet, you love me,” Jimin teased, nuzzling closer.

Y/N pressed a kiss to her girlfriend’s temple, her voice soft. “I really do.”

Jimin tilted her head up to look at Y/N, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Uh… baby?”

“Hm?” Y/N murmured, still lost in the feel of Jimin’s hair between her fingers.

Jimin’s smile grew as she lightly traced her thumb along Y/N’s neck. “You might want to, uh, check this out in the mirror later.”

Y/N froze for a moment before realizing what Jimin meant. Her hand flew to her neck, her cheeks burning as she stammered, “You didn’t…”

Jimin laughed softly, burying her face against Y/N’s shoulder to muffle the sound. “Sorry, but… you didn’t exactly stop me.”

Y/N groaned, tilting her head back against the couch. “Unnie, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Jimin peeked up at her, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “At least you’ll have an excuse to use the turtleneck sweater we bought the other day,” she teased, her voice light and playful.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at her, though the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Oh, you’re so smug right now.”

Jimin grinned, resting her chin on Y/N’s shoulder as her arms tightened around her. “Because I know you’ll forgive me.”

Y/N let out a dramatic sigh, but her fingers gently resumed combing through Jimin’s hair. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” Jimin replied smugly, her voice laced with affection.

As the room fell quiet again, Y/N tightened her hold around Jimin, her lips brushing against the top of her girlfriend’s head. “You’re still apologizing for this tomorrow,” she muttered.

Jimin just grinned, her eyes fluttering shut. “We’ll see, baby.”

The next morning, the dorm was unusually quiet. Y/N was still half-asleep when she shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and yawning. Jimin was already there, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee in hand, looking impossibly gorgeous with her freshly styled wolf cut.

Y/N stopped in her tracks, blinking at the sight before letting out a soft groan. “You’re seriously starting the day like this?”

Jimin smirked over the rim of her mug. “Good morning to you, too, baby.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, grabbing a mug of her own. “You’re going to make it really hard to focus at practice, you know that?”

“Not my fault you’re easily distracted,” Jimin teased, walking over to plant a kiss on Y/N’s temple.

By the time they arrived at the practice room, the rest of aespa was already stretching and warming up. As soon as Jimin stepped through the door, all heads turned in her direction.

“Oh my God, unnie!” Yizhuo exclaimed, practically dropping her water bottle. “When did you get a haircut? You look like a model!”

Minjeong’s jaw dropped as she hurried over for a closer look. “Wait, when did this happen? Why didn’t you tell us?”

Aeri grinned, leaning casually against the wall. “You’re really rocking that wolf cut. Definitely girl crush material.”

Jimin chuckled, clearly amused by their reactions. “I figured it was time for a change,” she said simply, running a hand through her hair.

Y/N stood slightly off to the side, her arms crossed and lips pressed into a tight line. She watched as the other girls crowded around Jimin, showering her with compliments and admiration.

“Unnie, you look so cool,” Yizhuo gushed, tugging at Jimin’s sleeve. “You’re going to drive the fans crazy with this look.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t let us come with you,” Minjeong added, mock-pouting. “We could’ve helped you pick it out!”

Aeri smirked knowingly, her sharp eyes catching Y/N’s sulky expression. “What do you think, Y/N? Isn’t Jimin’s haircut amazing?”

Y/N forced a smile, though her tone came out more curt than intended. “It’s fine.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow, turning to look at her girlfriend. “Just fine?”

Y/N shrugged, trying to keep her composure. “You already know what I think, unnie.”

Minjeong and Ningning exchanged a glance, clearly intrigued by Y/N’s uncharacteristic tone.

Aeri, ever the instigator, leaned closer to Jimin. “Don’t worry, Jimin. If Y/N doesn’t appreciate how amazing you look, the rest of us definitely will.”

That was the final straw. Y/N uncrossed her arms and stepped forward, slipping an arm around Jimin’s waist. “Alright, that’s enough,” she said, her voice firm but not unfriendly.

Jimin blinked in surprise but didn’t pull away, a small smile tugging at her lips as she glanced at her girlfriend.

Yizhuo stifled a giggle. “Ohhh, someone’s feeling possessive.”

Y/N shot her a glare, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I’m just saying, we’ve got a lot of work to do today. Let’s focus on practice.”

“Right,” Minjeong said, smirking as she nudged the maknae. “Totally about practice.”

Aeri grinned but didn’t push further, knowing when to let up.

As the group moved into position, the music started, and they began running through the choreography for their upcoming performance. But it didn’t take long for Y/N’s focus to slip.

In the middle of their second run-through, Y/N completely blanked on her next move, her feet halting awkwardly as the others continued. She quickly recovered, but not before Yizhuo caught it.

“Oh, are you okay?” Yizhuo asked, her grin all too knowing.

“I’m fine!” Y/N replied quickly, avoiding Jimin’s amused gaze.

But it happened again during their vocal rehearsal. Y/N was supposed to sing her part of the harmony, but she was so distracted by the way Jimin absentmindedly pushed her hair back that she completely missed her cue.

“Y/N!” Aeri called out, stifling a laugh. “Where’d you go just now?”

“I—I zoned out for a second,” Y/N muttered, her cheeks burning as the girls burst into laughter.

“Zoned out?” Minjeong teased. “Or were you too busy staring at a certain someone?”

“I wasn’t staring!” Y/N protested, though her voice cracked slightly, making Yizhuo laugh even harder.

Jimin, who had been watching the chaos unfold from the corner with a faint smirk, finally stepped forward. “Alright, that’s enough,” she said, her tone calm but firm.

The teasing immediately subsided, though Yizhuo still giggled softly behind her hand.

Jimin turned to Y/N, her expression softening as she placed a hand on her shoulder. “You okay, baby?” she asked quietly, her voice just for Y/N to hear.

Y/N nodded, her cheeks still pink. “I’m fine. Just… distracted.”

Jimin chuckled, leaning in to whisper, “By me, I hope?”

Y/N groaned, playfully swatting at her arm. “You’re insufferable.”

“Mhmm,” Jimin teased, giving her shoulder a light squeeze before returning to her spot.

When practice wrapped up, the girls gathered their things, still chatting animatedly about Jimin’s haircut.

“You really do look like you stepped out of a magazine,” Minjeong said, giving Jimin a once-over.

“Maybe we should all get wolf cuts,” Yizhuo joked, tossing her hair dramatically.

“Please don’t,” Y/N muttered under her breath, earning a sly grin from Aeri.

As they left the practice room, Jimin lingered behind with Y/N, her hand slipping into hers. “You were cute today,” she said, her voice teasing but warm.

Y/N shot her a look. “I was a mess, and you know it.”

Jimin laughed softly, pulling her closer. “Maybe, but you’re my mess.”

Y/N’s pout melted into a smile as she leaned into Jimin’s side. “You’re lucky I love you, Yu Jimin.”

“I know,” Jimin replied, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “And I love you more.”

As they walked down the hallway together, hand in hand, Y/N couldn’t help but think that Jimin’s wolf cut wasn’t just distracting — it was absolutely worth it.

A/N: oops hehe this was def self-indulgent

#aespa imagines #karina imagines #karina x reader #yu jimin #aespa scenarios #girl group imagines #fem reader #wlw #wolfcut karina

91 notes · View notes