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PAROXYSM ft. Mina
mina x male reader smut
part two of strange currencies
16k words
Go ahead, try and pretend like you’re not obsessed.
Like you’re not bothered that it’s been weeks since you had Mina—felt the heat of her body, the silk of her skin, the sweetness of her breath on your neck.
Since you've seen that ass. Had it in your hands, spread her cheeks with your fingers, stretched her wide with your cock and left Mina in tears, crying out—
"God, I can never go back from this."
And it’s not like you haven’t been searching for opportunities; a party you’d both be invited to, another gala, some event with enough plausible deniability for when you inevitably, ‘accidentally’ bump into her again.
But for some reason, nothing seems to align.
You’ll get word that she’s in Korea, basking in a rare stretch of free time, while you’re in Hong Kong, signing deals and making promises of dubious sincerity.
You’ll be rushing to return, already planning out how you’ll steal another taste of her, another touch; only to find out she’s been whisked away again—to Japan, or Brazil, or any one of the countless countries desperate to host her.
Glimpses is all you ever truly get—paparazzi shots, magazine covers, the odd video that passes through the digital ether.
So, yeah.
You let it rest, go through the motions, try to recreate it in the aggregate. There are plenty of pretty faces, eager bodies in your orbit.
But they're all just that: bodies.
Empty shells of what you had. They don’t laugh like her, they don’t keep you on your toes like she can, they don’t look at you with the same hunger.
(They don’t say your name like Mina did.)
—
“So,” is the first word you hear from Mina. Too much time has passed, and you’ve officially given up on any pretences of nonchalance. Decided to get straight to the point with the right people and just get her number. “I guess I’m not the only one who can’t stop thinking about that night.”
“Uncharted territory and all,” you’re repeating, and there’s a beat of silence on the other line.
A deep breath, and you swear you can hear her smile. “Definitely unique.”
It’s well past midnight and you’re tired and you’re feeling unusually vulnerable, so you're admitting things you'd usually keep under lock and key. “It’s been—you’ve been stuck in my head, Mina.”
“I know the feeling,” she sighs. Just the timbre of her voice and there’s shivers down your spine. “The memory alone is still—”
You finish for her, “Vivid.”
“I was going to say really fucking hot, but yes,” she laughs. “It’s helped me through some lonely nights. Remembering how you felt inside me, everything we did together it’s—God, you have no idea.”
“I’d argue I have the entire idea. For one—the stairs,” you’re supplying, grinning to yourself, leaning back in your chair, remembering the way she clung to you. How tight she was around you, how fucking new she felt as you filled her. “You were so fucking gorgeous. Never felt anything like it.”
“And the shower,” she counters, “you had me pinned against the tiles. Couldn’t move without you fucking me deeper. Just stuck with nowhere to go but further down your cock. No one’s ever done that to me.”
“Don’t forget the kitchen,” you add, “We got pretty creative with the utensils.”
Mina giggles. You didn't know she was capable of sounding so girlish. “I’ll never look at a spatula the same.”
It’s getting dangerous, each memory rekindling the flame of a night that you’d tried to convince yourself couldn’t have been as epic as you remembered. Couldn’t have mattered so much.
And yet here you are now, letting Mina stir up thoughts of her cunt gushing down her thighs, her nipples stiffening between your teeth, her ass choking your cock, the look on her face when she came all over you—and you know she’s wading through the very same set of flashbacks.
“Every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that garden. Your hands are all over me, your mouth everywhere—”
“Your cunt on my tongue—”
“Your fingers in my ass—”
“Your fucking moans, Mina—”
“Wait, I need to—”
Mina stops you, and you find yourself releasing a breath you didn't even know you were holding. You think you can hear her; hear the shutting of a door, a lock turning, frantic pacing, the squeak of a bed.
Your eyes close and you're picturing it now—Mina, laid back on pure white sheets, sprawled out like a Goddess. It's all there, crystal clear. Fingers dancing over her collarbones, tracing the delicate line of her neck down to the swell of her breasts.
Teasing herself, running her thumbs over her areola, the skin there a shade darker, a touch more sensitive. Pinching and pulling, peaks hardening into tight buds, missing the roughness of your tongue.
And then going lower, down over her ridged abs and between her toned thighs. Spreading her legs out in an invitation, toes curling into the mattress. Finding herself slick with need, so, so soaked. Dipping down to trace over her folds before sliding right into the wet heat.
Mina gasps. It's not your imagination. She moans into the phone.
You can almost taste her again.
She finds her voice. "Please, keep talking."
—
The first photo comes through the very next day.
You can intuit from the architecture in the background—the steep roofs, the brick exteriors, the gothic towers—she’s somewhere in Paris.
And there’s Mina, flat on her stomach, sheets tangled around her like the aftermath of a hurricane that’s swept through. Smiling at you straight down the barrel of the camera, cutting through the digital space between you. It’s sly and knowing and a little bit wicked, because she knows that it’s not the view of the city behind her that you’re looking at, nor is it even her face, usually so stunningly unavoidable and instantly captivating.
It's her ass.
Plump and round, poking over her shoulder, filling a whole corner of the frame. And you're spotting the indentations where your fingers have sunk in, the stretch of alabaster that your grip turned a shade of pink. A map of memories etched across the curve of her cheeks.
It’s a thousand words in a single photo, a message loud and clear, carefully composed to make you ache. So, you do. You ache.
You save the picture—not because you think you’re going to forget, but because you need to have a piece of her with you at all times.
Something to pull out when the days are too long, too dull. Something to look at when your memories of her aren’t enough anymore.
The photo, you notice, comes with a caption: ‘The only thing missing here is you.’
—
“Stability,” Mina’s telling you nights later, after you’ve spent close to an hour describing to her all the ways you’d like to have her again, like to break her down until she’s just a trembling mess of limbs and cum.
It’s a habit the two of you have picked up; these clandestine calls that come in the dead of night, during those rare occasions you’re in a reasonable enough time zone to talk. You’re actually in the same country this time. The States, but on different coasts, so, close enough.
She’s sending these breathy whispers down the phone; still coming down from her high, from the way her thighs clenched around her own hand, from the way she painted your name onto her skin with her own juices.
Still coming down from you, from the meticulously detailed step-by-step explanations of exactly what you’d do to her if you weren’t thousands of kilometres apart.
“Stability,” you repeat the answer she’s given to the question that’s been burning in your mind for weeks now. It’s certainly a faux pas to ask right after she’s made you cum across your own chest; but it’s late, and tonight’s suite is far too big and much too quiet—the kind of quiet that lets you think too much.
And so you had to ask her. Why was she still with him?
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Mina confirms. “I like stability, I like routine, I like knowing what to expect. Means I can never be disappointed.”
“Never be surprised, either,” you point out. She laughs, the sound warm and rich through the speaker.
“That’s never really been a problem.” She pauses. “Until you.”
There’s an alarm bell sounding somewhere, triggered by the way that last syllable curls around the corners of her lips, bounces across fifty different states to land in your ear.
You.
It rattles around your brain, punches you right in the gut. You try to play it off with a chuckle. But you both know what this really is. The desperation, the need. What you do to each other. How much of a fucking mess you’d make together if you had half the chance.
You make an attempt at being casual: “Apologies, then.”
“You kinda fuck everything up for me, you know?” She admits. “I was fine with it all. Leaving all of this as just a fantasy. Living with the boredom.”
“Everything’s boring.”
“Except this.”
You should really be above all this. The pining, the yearning. Having a crush.
It’s unbecoming.
Leave her alone. Leave her to the dream life she’s built up for herself. The career, the boyfriend, the whole shiny package that everyone’s decided she should want. It’d be the rational thing to do.
And yet— “So, what are we going to do about it?”
“I suppose,” Mina says, and once again, you're swearing you can hear her smile through the phone, because this is far from the end of things, “We’ll just have to find some way to scratch this itch.”
—
(It’s an outrageous abuse of power.
But so what? You’re an asshole billionaire, that’s what everyone expects of you anyway.
Besides, compared to your peers, it falls far short of bankrupting entire economies or causing irreparable damage to the Earth’s oceans and atmosphere.
So why not go full tilt and really indulge?
That’s basically the gist of your justification for forcing fate’s hand and manifesting your own ‘accidental’ meeting with Mina.
Still. It’s only a meeting.)
—
“Quite a situation you’ve engineered here,” is Mina’s first quip, as she steps right out of your daydreams and into your office.
Oh, you’ve been thinking of her.
Spent time replaying that night in your mind, revisiting the sight of her bouncing on that staircase, the feel of her soft skin slapping against yours, the sound of her sighs in your ears.
Obsessed over the messages, the photos, the videos she’s sent—how she moves, that coy smile on her face when she knows she’s got your full attention in her grip. All these mesmerising moments captured in high-definition.
And it’s coming back to you now—the waterfall of hair cascading down her shoulders, the red of her lips, the beauty spot on her nose, above her cupid’s bow—a constellation across her face.
(She makes your office feel small.)
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, aiming for flippant, but missing the mark by a wide margin.
“Mhm,” is all you’re going to get, because you both know better.
She makes herself at home here, taking the long way to your desk. Hips swaying as she runs her fingers over the décor, the lights and the statues, the books and the furniture. Again, fitting right in with the expensive, the luxurious, the exclusive.
You’re not hiding that you’re staring, and she’s not hiding that she knows either.
Mina walks right past you, turns away so you can see the full sweep of her back, the high-waisted skirt that hugs her curves before flaring out at the waist. Eventually, she stops at the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the city, the urban sprawl below a far cry from the palatial gardens that backdropped your first encounter.
The sun’s setting overhead. It casts a warm glow over her. Outlines her figure in gold.
You break the silence, "Heard the photoshoot went well."
“Well, you get what you pay for,” is Mina’s second quip of the afternoon. She turns back to face you, leaning against the window frame, a perfect silhouette.
You can almost hear the glass tremble.
Mina asks, offhandedly, “You’ll have to enlighten me—is it standard practice for visitor passes to have access to every floor in the tower?”
“Security must be lacking.”
“Right,” Mina says. “And is it normal in your line of work, for the CEO to handpick the brand ambassadors?”
You shrug. “I like to get my hands dirty.”
“If that’s what they’re calling it,” she responds, smiling now. Pushing herself off the glass and taking a dangerous step forward.
“We were looking to appeal to our Japanese market,” you say, repeating the same lines you fed to your team, to her management, to anyone who bothered to raise an eyebrow. It’s a good lie. “Needed someone refined, someone that depicted class. Aspirational.”
Mina takes another step forward. Heels that make her legs look endless hitting the polished flooring with a click. "So that's how you see me, then."
"Amongst other, less appropriate things," you admit, already completely, hopelessly captivated.
"Let me guess: Stunning?"
"That's one."
“Fuckable.”
“Absolutely.”
“Submissive?”
“Are you asking, or telling me?”
Mina’s eyes dazzle as she closes the distance, rounding your desk and stopping just short of your chair. She waits for you to swivel and face her.
And then she leans forward, so close. Nose brushing yours, breath warm and sweet and familiar. Her hands land on your thighs, pushing your legs apart.
She drops to her knees.
“Telling.”
You can’t help yourself, you press your thumb to her lips, stamping it crimson.
It’s a wicked thing, how Mina’s bottom lip dips, how her tongue snakes out to lick the pad of your thumb clean. You push in deeper, watching as she takes you into her mouth, seals her lips around you and sucks.
How she’s looking at you now—building up this image of Mina; kneeling, the skirt riding up, her panties soaked with anticipation. Dressed like this is just another business meeting—masked in a high neckline and a smile so perfect against your skin.
That's today's game. Dress up.
Professionalism went out the window the moment she walked in—it barely crosses your mind to wonder whether or not she locked the door. You don’t even care.
Mina stops her little show, thumb pops out of her mouth with a wet sound, leaving a smear of red behind. There’s something about Mina, something that can’t be intuited unless she’s right in front of you, inhaling your exhales, smiling up at you like you're the only person in the entire world that matters.
It's like magic—makes everything and everyone else feel like a figment of your imagination.
“You forgot to mention a few other things,” Mina breathes on you, low and warm, priming you for a punchline that you know will send you reeling.
“Like what?”
“Oh, you know,” and she starts unbuttoning her blouse, reaching for the top button then— “How utterly,”
Then the next button.
“Desperately,”
More still.
“Needy,”
All of them.
“I am for your wonderful, perfect cock.”
The blouse opens up, falls away, drifts off her shoulders until it’s blood-red lace and vanilla-white skin.
Fuck.
(Mina’s not from this world, no fucking way. Definitely not human; jury’s out on if she’s some kind of Goddess. Probably something in between, come down from some place where the air is thinner and the lights are brighter.)
Your mouth is dry. “I could never forget.”
Mina’s eyes crinkle at the corners. Lips spread wide. She’s kissing your cock through your pants.
It’s electric. A long, teasing press of her lips that winds you so tight that just the slightest touch, just a single word could set you off.
Her teeth graze the fabric. You throb through the cotton.
“Mina,” you manage, hand dropping to the side of her face. There’s a tremor in your voice that you’re not used to, that you can’t even pretend to hide. Mina’s got you in the palm of her hand—or rather, on the edge of her lips—even though she’s the one on her knees.
“Relax,” she coos, holding her lips against you, deft fingers unlatching your belt, finding your zipper. “Let me take care of you. Let me take care of this cock,” honeyed words slipping out with the same ease that tugs you free, “Get my tongue all over it, take it deep down my throat, be such a good little whore for you—until you can’t think of anything but how much you want me to swallow every drop you’ve got for me, baby.”
You swallow, caress her cheek, “Darling—”
“Shh," Mina hushes, taking your cock into her hand, holding it against her cheek. So damn happy to have it so close to her mouth once again. “Everything you said over the phone. All that stuff about fucking my face, leaving a mess, filling up my throat—I want it all. You’re going to give it to me now, please.”
She doesn’t even look up at you, just so focused on your cock. Kissing around the shaft, and then drawing her tongue in one, slow, dragging lick all the way from your base, right to the tip. It’s gentle, careful, exploratory.
Introducing her lips to every inch of skin along your cock, over your balls, taking her time to stain all of you with the sheen of her kisses. Careful, so careful. Meticulous too, deep in concentration that you can almost feel her thoughts, intuit from the pressure of her lips how much this means to her. How much she needs it.
And it’s as her breath warms the head of your cock that you realise you’ve got a stranglehold on the armrest of your chair, holding it so tightly you could snap it in two. Not like there’s any helping it, nothing to do but brace yourself as she opens her mouth, pink tongue peeking out, and licks you again—longer, slower.
Holding still now, cock balanced on her tongue, fixing you with this stare.
A dare.
(Don’t move. Don’t interrupt. Let her do her work.)
That’s when her boyfriend calls.
Sorry, her partner.
A jarring noise, a slap in the face that breaks the spell. Vibrating atop your oak desk, a violent buzzing through the room—once, twice, thrice.
Mina’s eyes flick to yours. A split second, a single thought shared. There’s laughter on her lips because of course, because why the fuck not, because this is definitely your kind of chaos. You nod. You’re both in on the joke.
The phone’s still ringing, ringing, ringing.
And Mina’s mouth is still on you, tongue tickling underneath, lips wrapping around, before taking you in deep. Right as she accepts the call.
“Hmf?”
—
(A good idea to mention this theory you’ve been brewing for a while, the other reason why Mina still hasn’t broken up with boyfriend.
Because of you.
Because of how much fucking hotter it makes her. The thrill, the rush, putting a blemish on an otherwise spotless record.
And maybe you’re just as guilty—because you want to hear her lie to him too.)
—
“Still working,” is Mina’s deadpan over the phone, somehow keeping a straight face despite how full her hands are with you. She even rolls her eyes. “You know how it is—unreasonable CEOs jumping down my throat for no good reason at all.”
This woman.
Churning lies with such ease that you almost feel sorry for the poor, oblivious soul on the other end of the phone. Almost.
But Mina's too good at all of this. Too good at hiding it all. Too good at everything, really—whether it's singing, dancing, kneeling before you, making your cock disappear down her throat.
Just a slight adjustment in posture, and she’s taking you in deeper. A gentle suck, a swirl of her tongue around the ridge—and oh, the way she’s looking at you, eyes up and so damn full of mischief.
She’s fucking loving this. Loving the way you’re watching her, the way your hand finds her hair as she takes you in, the way you’re fighting to keep your composure. Fighting to keep your breath even and calm and to stop yourself from groaning so loud that it won’t just be her boyfriend, but the whole fucking tower that’s going to hear how much of a slut she is for you.
You can still hear his voice coming through—muted, indistinct—like a ghost, haunting the edges of this pornographic scene you’ve painted together.
Fuck this guy likes to talk.
“Mhm,” is all Mina has to say to keep him convinced, to let him believe that she’s actually invested in whatever the fuck he’s on about. Keeping him none the wiser that her full attention is on you, her mouth moving up and down, her eyes glued to yours, watching every twitch, every drop of pleasure that flits across your face.
She reaches up with her free hand, wrapping it around the base of your cock. Gliding along your shaft in this twisting movement that sets your nerves alight.
Everything’s just so tight—her grip, her throat, your own breath in your chest.
“Mhm,” again, longer, sounding closer and closer to a moan than a casual agreement, but still, she’s playing the part. Barely listening to what he’s saying, because she’s doing this thing with her tongue—right at the tip, flicking it around your slit—that’s making you test the strength of your chair.
There’s temptation here—her mouth so warm, so wet—it would be so easy to grab a fistful of her hair and fuck her mouth like you know she wants. But you keep your cool, keep your hand gentle and steady atop her head, let her dictate the rhythm.
And when you hear the voice over the phone rise, maybe a bit of frustration or concern, maybe the start of something suspicious, Mina shamelessly pops your cock out of your mouth and answers, “Just having a snack. Late lunch break.”
She hits the mute button.
Bows her head deep, savouring each inch as she takes you deeper, making this fucking sound when your cock hits the back of the throat. Wet, gagging, sloppy noises that build this tension right at the base of your spine that leaves you aching, absolutely desperate to just give her more.
She holds herself there, choking so nicely, so sweetly, on your cock. Her eyes start water, it’s an effort to keep them open, but she’s still smiling through it all, just so delighted to finally taste what she’s been dying to have for weeks.
You’re struggling, “Fucking hell, Mina.”
Mina giggles into your cock, vibrating along your shaft. Pulls her head back; just a rope of spit that connects the two of you, glinting under the fluorescent lights. A poke of her tongue has her scooping it all up and slurping it all down, smacking her lips with a satisfied ‘ah’.
She unmutes.
“Sorry, it just tastes really good. Like nothing I’ve had before.”
There’s a confused murmur coming out of the speaker, a perturbed, “Really?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” and Mina has the gall to wink at you, the audacity to keep her hand on your cock, stroking it like it’s the most normal thing in the world. All the while she just chats to her boyfriend—partner, again—like you’re not about to cover her face with your entire load.
“Mina,” you let slip when she squeezes too hard, cranes her head to feel the weight of your balls on her tongue. Lapping away, licking and tonguing and teasing, until you’re gritting your teeth, holding back the moan that wants to break free.
The voice at the end of the line crackles, “Who’s that?”
Mina doesn’t miss a beat, “Boss for the day,” presses a wet kiss onto the head of your cock in a futile attempt to still you, “Really pushing me hard, making me work for it, you know?”
The voice relaxes, but not enough. “What’s going on over there? Something doesn’t sound right.”
“Everything’s perfect.” Mina’s just so pleased with herself, tongue dancing up and down, over and around, making the chair creak from the reflexive jerk she forces out of you. “I’m exactly where I need to be.”
“I told you that you shouldn’t do these types of jobs, you should listen to me and—”
“Get on my hands and knees and beg them to let me break the contract?” Mina smirks up at you, lips all smeared and messy with your arousal. “I can handle it” she continues on, dragging her lips to your base so she can slur into your waist, “I’m a professional. This is what I’m built for.”
God, he really doesn't deserve her.
He drops the subject so easily, moving on to talk more about him, about his schedules, his work, his boring fucking existence outside of her. And now you’re both rolling your eyes, sharing this secret, this ridiculousness that’s got you both on the edge of laughter and utter bliss.
Mina ups the ante, mutes her side of the call, and places the phone back on top of the desk.
You cock an eyebrow. “Seriously, him?”
She shakes her head. “No, just you.”
And she shows you, proves her point, because Mina’s not one for half-measures. Holds your cock tightly, strokes it again and again, one after another like it’s counting down to something explosive. Bomb’s ticking: the pressure’s building, the heat is coiling in your balls, but she keeps it steady, keeps it slow, keeps it right on that edge where it’s just enough to keep you there, but not enough to push you over.
“I’m just yours,” Mina hums, licking her swollen lips. “I’m yours to do with as you please, but,” she pauses, so she can jerk you just right, stroking with such finesse that you can't believe she's ever been with someone who didn't appreciate it, "I'm really hoping you let me swallow your cock now."
“You’re too fucking greedy.”
Mina nods so earnestly.
So you give her what she wants, because what’s the point of playing this game if she isn’t going to win?
You stroke the back of her head, guide her as she takes you all the way—nose to stomach, swallowing you up like you’re her favourite snack, her favourite secret. Her favourite lie to tell herself.
Fucking ridiculous. Too fucking much.
You lift your hips, leaving her to yank down your pants over your knees and to the ground. The clank of your belt buckle against marble echoes through the room, a starting gun to your undoing.
The phone’s still there, he’s still talking, a vaguely muffled annoyance. Mina doesn't even spare it a glance, just looks up at you, mouth full, eyes declaring:
‘Ignore everything else, just enjoy me.’
Fuck.
Mina’s cheeks hollow, her throat pulses, and gone is the usual effortless grace that she carries through everything she does.
No, she’s all raw, all passion. Sloppy now, greedy, showing you just how much she’s willing to do for you. It’s in the way she’s using her hand to squeeze the base of your shaft, the way she’s bobbing her head faster and faster.
Filling the room with the sounds of her slurps and smacking of her lips; her eyes watering with every deepthroat. Making her mouth this perfect, wet, hot little cave that’s swallowing you whole.
And you’re watching, watching every single move she makes. Unable to do anything else, really. Unable to think, to speak, to do anything but stare at her mouth, her eyes, her hand moving up and down, up and down—stare at Mina giving herself over to you.
“Jesus—fuck—” and there’s your voice back again, so much louder than you intended.
But Mina’s smiling around your cock, eyes still on you, urging you on, putting you under her spell. She’s playing with your balls now, her thumb brushing over the sensitive skin, her nails lightly scraping, and it’s like she’s got every button mapped out, knows exactly how to make you go off the deep end.
"Mina, you're just so," you try, rummaging through your addled mind for the right words to pin on this storm before you, "so fucking good at this," you finally settle on.
Mina's eyes light up, triumphant. Deep pools of brown swirling with all sorts of things—few that can be said out loud and even fewer that should ever be thought—and none of which she gives a flying fuck about.
Your cock slides off her lips long enough for her to slur, "Flattery gets you everywhere, sir."
“Mina.”
She's just so happy with it all—it's a little unsettling. Mina, all elegance and poise, so fucking giddy at the opportunity to debase herself at your feet.
She takes a breath, a real one, not the shallow, desperate ones she’s been taking for the past few minutes, and then she’s diving back down. You can see the determination in the set of her jaw, the way she’s holding herself in place with one hand on your thigh so she can devour you whole. And she’s doing a phenomenal job, really, because your cock’s so hard it’s almost painful, and your thighs are trembling with the effort of keeping still.
But she’s not done yet, Mina’s never done. She reaches behind her, unclips her bra with a flick of her thumb, slipping it off her shoulders—a silent, unnoticed escape.
Perfect little tits, perfect little dusky nipples, peaked and ready for your attention.
She takes one in her hand, rolls the nub between her fingers, playing with it, plucking it like a guitar string, making it sing. Making sure you’re still looking, while she's still sucking you off with her mouth, still fucking grinning around your cock.
A true masterclass in multitasking.
Her other hand stays on you, working in tandem with her mouth. A stroke for every bob, a squeeze for every moan, and she’s whining into your skin, a muffled—mmph, mmph, mmph—so loving that you know it’s not just for show.
Her hand drops down, slipping between her legs, disappearing into the fabric of her skirt. You can’t quite see it, but you know by her sigh as she leans into your thigh, by the way her other hand pinches her nipple harder, that she’s pressing up and into herself.
The fabric’s too thick to see much, but you can imagine her—fuck, you don’t have to imagine—you can almost feel her, her fingers sliding into her wetness, her palm cupping her mound, her middle finger circling her clit like it’s the head of a tiny drum, matching the same rhythm that’s been driving this whole spectacle.
“Your fucking mouth, Mina.”
The words leave you on a groan, a tightening of your grip on her head as she just plays and plays. Every suck pure heaven, warm, wet, utterly divine; pulling your hips closer and closer off the edge of your seat, until you’re nearly falling down her throat.
But even Mina, for all her skill and polish, can’t hold out forever. The fingers at her cunt, the kneading of her own tits, the gagging around your cock, the oblivious boyfriend still blissfully unaware of the depraved scene unfolding on the other end of the line.
It’s a heady cocktail, and she’s had too much too quickly. Her throat’s tightening around you, rogue tears are sliding down her cheeks, and it’s about time that you both give up on pretence and hurtle straight to the crux of this entire escapade.
You stand, rising to your feet before Mina has you tumbling off your chair, sliding your cock out of her chasing lips.
“Mina,” you breathe, voice full of gravel, heavy.
Mina’s frozen, just staring at your cock dangling above her nose, her mouth open and wet, her big, brown eyes begging for its return to her lips.
“Mina,” you repeat.
“Mmm?”
“I want to fuck your face now.”
Mina licks her lips. “Want to?”
“I will.”
“Please,” she says, a single word like a hot knife slicing through whatever restraint you have let. And you’re just about to lose it, really fucking lose it because she’s so fucking eager, so fucking hot for it, so absolutely fucking yours.
In your office, at your desk, kneeling at your feet, skirt rucked up around her waist, panties drenched.
She ties up her hair into a messy bun.
“Please, use me.”
A twist of your hips has your cock slapping against her cheek, the sound bouncing off the walls, leaving a trail of gloss across her flushed skin.
Mina laughs.
You lean down, grab her hair, thread your fingers through the strands, and guide her lips to where they were made to be.
“Christ,” is ripped from your throat as your cock is back down hers, plunging into her mouth like its home.
You push, push until her nose is squished against your pelvis, holding her there; her throat tight against your cock, her hand working her clit in double time. Whimpers escape past her lips, muffled whines that threaten to break you if you’ll let it.
But you don’t, not yet. You pull out, just long enough to let her gasp for air, only, she doesn't need the respite. She just blinks, and begs—
“Again.”
And again. And again.
Until she’s a writhing mess, until she’s shaking with the effort of holding herself together, until you’re plunging into her mouth so fast that you’re truly fucking her throat.
Deep, harsh strokes that make her cheek bulge, that fuck tears from her eyes. And Mina fucking loves it. Loves every second of it, loves having her head thrown back, her throat working for you like it’s your divine right, like her sole purpose in life has been to take your cock.
You’re fucking her face like you said you would, like she’s been begging you to do for weeks, whispering sweet nothings and filthy somethings into your ear during those late-night phone calls. Giving exactly what she’s been craving, exactly what she’s been dreaming about when she fucked herself so nicely for you to hear.
And she’s just taking it, letting you use her mouth like it’s nothing, because to her, it’s everything.
She’s lost in it, her hand a blur between her legs, her eyes glazed over. She’s so close, so fucking close, and she’s taking you with her; dragging you down into this pit of depravity that she’s been keeping warm for you.
“Mina?”
And there’s the phone again. Louder now, insistent, demanding. Finally noticing somethings not quite right.
"Mina?"
There’s panic in Mina’s eyes—but you’re quick to realise it’s not worry for him. It’s desperation for you. For you to keep going, for you to not notice, for you to keep the fantasy alive.
But you do notice. And it just makes you harder.
You're too far gone now—you're thrusting into her mouth with a fervour that’s almost violent. Mina’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she takes it all, letting you fuck her face with a reckless abandon that’s only heightened by the voice on the phone getting louder, more concerned.
You’re the only voice she’ll listen to now. “Hold still for me, Mina.”
Her eyes go wide, and she nods, her mouth stretched wide around you. Cradling her cheeks, just firm enough to feel the heat of her blush.
“Mina, why are you muted?”
She’s barely even on this planet anymore—just bringing herself closer to the edge, loosening these ragged, wet moans around your pistoning cock.
“Mina, are you ignoring me again, seriously?”
“Mmph—fuh—mmph—” is her attempt at an answer, but she’s too busy letting you use your mouth, too busy fucking herself on her fingers, too busy being the perfect little slut she’s told you she wanted to be.
It fills the room—the sounds of wet, sloppy sucking, careless fucking, your own grunts of pleasure. And somewhere in the background, that voice getting more and more insistent.
“Mina, say something, answer me!”
And she does. Just not to him. She says it to you, mouth full, eyes on yours.
Garbled, stuttered, fucked-up little pleas— “there—there—please—please—oh my god—"
Her hand moves faster, her throat seizes, her eyes roll back in her head. Her body jerks, her hand still working her clit, her mouth still full of you.
Mina cums at your feet, a terrible, beautiful orchestra of noises—moaning, gurgling, gagging around your cock. Swallowing, desperate for a breath of air, trying not to choke, eyes watering so badly it’s a surprise she can see you at all.
You pull out, so abruptly that she gasps and stumbles a little. And yet, despite it all, despite how brutally hard and fast her orgasm hits her, she’s still smiling up at you, as graceful and gorgeous as ever.
So fucking proud of herself.
And she’s not done yet. She’s never done, not really.
Her hand comes up to catch you, holding your cock like an anchor, keeping you ready as she takes a moment to recover. The other reaches for the phone, a shaky hand bringing it to her lips, level with your own tip.
She takes a breath. She’s going to answer.
She unmutes again.
“Sorry. Can’t talk. Gotta finish something big.”
“Mina—what the fuck are you—”
Mina gives you that look—that nod.
Sucks you in one last time, gives you a final choke. A desperate gag, a deep impossible swallow down her throat. And then she releases you from her lips.
The phone clatters to the floor, forgotten.
“Cum for me, please, baby.”
At her instruction, you're erupting.
Mina captures the head of your cock with her lips, keeps it balanced on the edge. Uses both hands to twist and wind around your shaft. Overwhelming you, seizing you into her mouth because this is exactly what she’s been starved for.
Breaking a fucking dam inside you, flooding her mouth with your cum, completing her with your taste. It hits the back of her throat, thick and hot and she swallows and swallows and swallows.
So fucking grateful for every drop, for every pulse that shoots into her mouth, coating her tongue, sliding down her throat. She’s drinking you down like water, like air, like she can’t get enough of you, leaving you breathless until all you can do is just repeat her name over and over again—an endless chant of “Mina.”
And when you’re finally done, when every nerve-ending in your legs isn’t burning down and threatening to take you with it, you pull out of her mouth, gasping for air.
Mina just sits there.
Looking up at you, naked chest heaving, nipples stinging red. Cum slipping out the corners of her mouth, staining her chin. Skirt ruined, panties a sodden mess around her ankles. Hand still on your cock, coaxing you to peace.
And fuck, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.
With a smile that could melt the coldest of hearts, Mina reaches down to the floor and picks up the phone. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, not even bothering to be delicate about it.
"Hey," she says, voice miraculously calm and collected. "Sorry—got distracted."
You watch, utterly stunned, as she plays the part of the girlfriend so flawlessly, puts on an Oscar-worthy performance. You can hear the boyfriend's voice, frantic and worried—and completely fooled.
But then she looks at you, clears her throat, and her smile goes wide, and you can see the woman beneath the façade. The woman who's had enough of being bored. Who's decided that she's owed the impossible fantasy.
Kneeling on the floor, yet more powerful than ever.
So, so fucking perfect.
Spreading her thighs, fingers back at her cunt, carefully toying with her clit. Building herself back up to that peak she’s just thrown herself from, because apparently, that’s what you’ve taught her to do.
To never settle, never stop, never be satisfied with just one taste.
You’re cock throbs.
“Mina, you need to tell me what the fuck is going on.”
Her hand moves faster, her thumb circling and pressing, her middle finger slipping inside herself. You can see the gleam under the artificial lights, how her cunt’s making everything sticky and messy.
Making herself nice and ready.
“There's a big mess here,” she says into the phone, all sugary sweet, a perfect story that drips from her tongue like molasses. “Lot of clean up. It’s ruined me—ruined the whole job. It’s gonna keep me here all fucking night.”
—
(It’s just an arrangement.
That’s what you’re calling it when the moon’s rising over your office, and Mina’s kissing these promises over your heart, drawing up the terms of this unwritten contract that neither of you can really commit to—even though you're both well aware of how much you want to.
Sex, as an agreement. Sex, as a release. Sex, because you’re both fucking incredible at it.
It just might be everything you both need.
You're both just too afraid to be the first to say it out loud.)
—
Weeks later, and you get really fucking good at making time for her.
Whether it’s fifteen minutes at a party, a couple hours at an airport, or a few nights spent in a hotel room with the curtains drawn and a do not disturb sign nailed to the door—everything starts to fall into place.
There's always an empty room to be pulled in to, a shadow to be claimed, a corner of the world that belongs to you.
It’s Mina, straddling you in the backseat of a limo, her cunt tight around you as the city lights slide by. Your hand on her throat, not choking but guiding, a conversation based on pressure and pleasure alone. Her tits bounce in your face, begging for your teeth, and you give it to them, biting down until she’s gasping your name into the leather upholstery. The chauffeur pretends not to notice. You don’t pretend anything.
It's you, bending her over the bathroom counter of some stranger’s house, her rather business-like slacks down at her feet to expose the bare, wonderful convex of her ass. You spank her until she’s crying, until she’s bright red and demanding that you make good on your promise to fill her up so she can’t leave this party without globs of you leaking down her legs.
It’s hotel beds that have seen too much, office desks forced to bear your weight, dressing rooms with the door locked tight.
It’s the way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching, the way she says your name. How she laughs, how she teases you, how she lets you in—just a little, just enough to keep you hooked. And you do the same.
It’s sex, but it’s not just sex, no matter what you tell yourself.
And it’s Mina again, fixing her hair while you zip her into something far more appropriate, already mentioning, “I'm going to be in New York next week, if you're in the area—"
And it's you, answering in the same way that you always do, "I’ll find a way."
—
Serendipity finds the two of you in Shanghai, amidst all its concrete jungle and neon lights, kept at bay by the soundproof windows and the drawn curtains of this hotel room turned temporary sanctuary.
Mina's stretched out on the bed, wearing one of your shirts that swallows her up to her knees, her hair a mess of curls and knots that she hasn't bothered to tame. Nose buried in a book—something thick and weighty Nayeon recommended her.
Paying no mind to you, as you’re busy brewing tea in the kitchenette (piping hot, oolong, how she likes it).
You sneak a glance as you wait for the kettle to boil, at the perfect picture she's composing—her bare legs peeking out from the shirt, the soft curve of her waist, the way the light from the bedside lamp casts shadows across her skin.
It's seeing her like this, far more exposed and naked than minutes ago when she was pinned beneath you wearing nothing at all, draining your cum into her cunt and thanking you for the privilege.
The drawbridge is coming down, guards leaving their posts—just the two of you in your stolen moments.
It's nice.
She catches you staring.
Tilts her chin down, peering at you over her glasses.
You ask, "Am I distracting you?"
"Always," she says, and it's loaded with the sum of whispered secrets and inside jokes, the weight of a dozen different glances stolen across crowded rooms. She closes the book, setting it aside, and pats the you-shaped imprint on the spread next to her. "Come here."
You bring a steaming cup over, handing it to her, adding a little more warmth to her side of the bed. An unneeded murmur of thanks, a smile that's brighter than any of the skyscrapers gleaming outside, and a careful sip.
You wait for her review.
A cool, clear, "Ah."
And as for your reward, she sets the mug down on her lap, closing her eyes and pursing her lips. Waiting, patiently.
It's built in you like a habit now—lean in, get the light peck you're owed. Gentle press against her lips, nose bumping up against her glasses, sweetness that makes her cheeks flush a lovely shade of pink.
Just so fucking cute and domestic that it almost feels wrong.
The normalcy, you're realising—doing something that millions of other people do every single day—kisses that aren’t about fucking, power plays and games. Kisses that are just...kisses.
Mina's on the same wavelength, that's her thing now. Looking at you with a slanted smile. A little disbelieving, a little amused.
You're sure you're mirroring it back.
“This is... weird, right?” You finally say, breaking the silence. Feeling the weight of the question, the implication of what you’re really asking. Is this okay? Is it allowed? Can we put a name on this without the whole world imploding?
Mina's smile doesn't falter. "Kinda," she says, and her hand's slipping into yours, her thumb tracing little circles against your palm. “Very. But also, good.”
You nod, not quite believing it. You've had relationships (is that what you're calling this now?)—but none of them felt like this. Like, sure, she makes you hard, but fuck if she doesn't make you weak.
Pulling you into this loop of familiarity, learning things about her that you would've dismissed if it was anyone else. Not just the carnal things—the ones that make her thighs run with need, that make her chant your name like it’s the only word she knows.
Normal people things. Snack addictions, sleeping habits, temperature controls.
The mug goes to the bedside table, and Mina twists her body into yours, landing her head on your lap and curling her legs up so they stay on the bed.
"You know," she says, still holding your hand, fingers tracing up your forearm now, nails drawing in a light tattoo. "I thought that this wouldn't work out."
You mention the obvious. "Because you still, technically, have a boyfriend?"
Mina stretches herself out against your waist, incidental movements that just so happen to make you stir. "No, darling," she's saying, turning to look at you, making your heart stutter. "It's because you're you. Relationships just don’t seem to be in your nature."
You feign injury.
Even though, truth be told, she has a point there. You’ve never been one for the quiet moments, for the mundane comforts, mornings next to someone you spent the night with.
Maybe it's your own guardrails you've put up, maybe it's some sappy Trojan Horse she's pushed through the gates of your stoic heart—but here you are, stroking her hair while she holds your hand, your fingers playing with the soft strands like you're trying to learn Braille.
"You know," she says, reaching it out to run her thumb down the line of your jaw, "guys like you are all the same."
You arch a brow. "I think I’ve heard this one before.”
"Let me finish," she says, "Obsessed with the thrill of the chase, with the idea of something you can't have. And when you finally get it, you just...disappear."
She grants you the headspace to ruminate over that one.
"Are you saying I already have you?"
"Haven’t figured it out yet?" she whispers, shifting her weight on the bed. Another Mina special, the incidental movements, shirt pulling taut against her, and with benevolent grace, it slides down an inch. The swell of her breast revealed, an already pebbled nipple peeking out. A shy secret. As if.
And she knows. Mina knows what it takes to turn you on because, deep down, she’s the same. Different animals, same beasts, the roles could easily be flipped: her the billionaire, you the idol, and it would still end up the same.
You’re both chasers of thrills, craving the high of the untouchable, the unattainable.
Doing whatever it takes to feel alive—that's what it boils down to, isn't it?
"I meant it, you know," you're saying, exposing yourself, all gooey and raw. "Never once dreamt of owning you."
It's obvious where Mina's headed with this. So used to people just laying claim of her without even asking—like it's their fucking right. Believing that just because she’s in their vicinity, smiling all pretty and dressed up, she's fair game. Thinking the fame has done to her what it's done to so many others, turned them into commodities.
And maybe she's let them believe the fantasy, it's her job after all, to fuel the delusion and make it feel real. But never once did she truly belong to anyone but herself.
And yet, and yet, and yet.
Mina lifts herself off your lap, body bowing, leaving the shirt to ghost down her arms and leave her chest bare.
Closer still, until she's straddling your hips, thighs pressing down on either side of your legs, and oh, mystery solved, there was nothing under the shirt but her.
And again, Mina, on the subject of your title over her: "Not even if I wanted you to?"
—
(It takes the length of a phone call for Mina to be officially yours.
Brutal in her efficiency, cutting the guy down and pushing him off the cliff of the inevitable.
You're just as cruel, laughing between her thighs as she slurs vague platitudes, barely encroaching on an apology, uncaring bullets flying across borders.
And then the 'I can't' when prompted for a chance to negotiate, an 'I'm busy' when the pleas come, and a final 'just fucking give up already' when the desperation gets too much and he's becoming less and less important the further your tongue gets into her cunt.
Poor bastard doesn't even know he's not the only one getting fucked.)
—
You feel like you’ve earned the right to be a tad more reckless.
So, dates.
Conventional, yes, but fuck you could do with some of that now. You had the money, the power, and now you had the girl. So, secret dates, grand gestures, the whole nine yards.
And yet, each one was its own little disaster.
An example: the restaurant.
Michelin stars, gourmet courses, over-the-top bullshit that you unashamedly love. Booking out the entire joint for the night, only for it to all go haywire when Mina showed up in that dress; tight, tiny, black.
"Eyes up here, darling," is what she said, before, "Or, you know, don't. I like the attention."
Just fucking you all the way up, having you pushing her into a backroom before the wine was even poured. Ruining said dress, rucking it up to her waist, making it some poor drycleaner’s problem.
“I was never big on grand gestures,” she assures you, as you pepper her neck with kisses, hands curving around to her breasts on sheer instinct.
"Wish you'd told me that in advance."
"And miss out on this?" Mina groans something fierce when your fingers find purchase. “Never.”
It's just Mina and you, doing what you've done a dozen times over by now, having long blown past any insecurities that this might just be too good, too perfect, that one of you might be the first to bolt for the door and run.
“I swear to god,” Mina’s managing, as you’re shoving her panties to the side, because you’re both well aware that this has to happen right here, right now. “This cock is going to be the death of me.”
You chuckle against her throat. “Wouldn’t be a bad way to go though, right?”
“You’re insatiable.”
“Says you.”
“Please, just—”
Your hips snap into her. She flinches. Screams your name so fucking loud.
Each and every one of the kitchen staff receives a very, very sizeable tip.
—
It becomes a problem.
Oddly enough, neither of you are at fault.
Leaked photos light up every website, tabloid, and social media platform in mere minutes—Mina and her ex, wrapped up in each other’s arms, the unmistakable blur of a bedroom in the background. Nothing too lurid, nothing too explicit—but just enough to get the world to gasp in collective shock.
The fucking coward did it. You never knew he had it in him.
Sure there's dating on the pictures. Years, probably, back to when their happiness couldn't be called into question, but it does its job.
The statements pointing this out do little to shift the public's attention though, they've already latched on to the chance to rip apart her spotless record. You’ve seen it before, a hundred times with a hundred different celebrities. The cycle of love turned to dust in the blink of a camera flash.
And yet despite all of this, despite the shitstorm that’s swirling around her, despite the radio silence you're expecting, not an hour passes before Mina's calling you again.
“I need you.”
“Then come over.”
—
Mina belongs here, it’s so obvious.
Walking through the rooms of your home like she’s always been there, like she’s what’s been missing.
None of the art on the walls, the books on the shelves, none of the sculptures worth more money than any person should ever see in their life—none of it make as much sense as she does here, in your space.
Ours, you’re already thinking.
While you’re staring at her, she’s taking it all in—every detail of your domain, eyes brushing over the aged furniture and modern finishes, each aspect of your home that you’ve curated as meticulously as you’ve cultivated your own reputation.
She doesn’t say a word about whatever conclusion she’s drawing—because she’s not the type to judge—she’s just curious. She’s always been curious.
And then she’s in your arms.
Hands looping around your neck as you hold her tight, like it’s been years instead of the mere days since you’ve seen her. Since you’ve felt her heat, heard her whimpers, felt her nails dig into your skin like she’s trying to slip in underneath.
“It was inevitable, right?” She whispers against your collarbone. “Something was bound to fuck this all up eventually. My life, yours. It was all too perfect.”
You hold her tight. Letting her sink into your embrace, disappear into your chest. She’s so small in your arms—not that she’s ever not been, but right now, it’s stark. Like she’s shrunk, folded herself into something more manageable, something easier to hide. Something that won’t be torn apart by the teeth of the media and the rabid fans.
Kiss the top of her head to make her relax a fraction, opening a pressure valve that releases a shaky exhale.
You point out, “It still is.”
Mina blinks up at you, and you pretend you don’t see the dampening in the corners of her eyes. “I need to do the whole apology tour now. Keep my head down, hide my face. That’s what they’re saying anyway. What they expect.”
You shrug. “Could hide out here.”
That makes Mina smile, laugh even, colouring her features with something far more impactful than any of the decor. “And, I'm guessing, fucking each other’s brains out from sunrise to sunset?"
"There'll be a couple of meals in between. You may be surprised to learn I make a mean bowl of ramen."
Mina laughs again, and it’s the sweetest sound in the world—like the chiming of a bell that’s only meant for you. She looks at you, really looks, and you can see the wheels turning in her mind, the genuine consideration she's giving your proposal.
“What do you say?”
“I—”
Before she can finish, you add, “I can handle our little problem. Just leave it to me.”
Mina blinks. There’s the curiosity again. “Handle?”
“Yeah,” you reply, vaguely amused. Something darker in the back of your throat. “I know some people. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
Mina stares at you aghast, the smile slipping from her lips. Wondering if she might have missed something in the reality of the billionaire with a silver tongue and a penchant for ruining dresses.
It’s your turn to laugh. “I’m kidding, Mina. Jesus, the look on your face. I’m not going to have the guy killed.”
Mina rolls her eyes. Slaps your chest with a little more force than intended.
You add, with a Disney Villain-worthy ominous tone, “For now.”
“You ass,” she says, but she’s smiling again, the tension all but dissipated.
“Not even I’m capable of having that sort of thing arranged. Well, maybe I am, just never tried, so—” you begin, only to stop immediately at the curving of Mina’s lips. “I was just planning on doing a bit of spin. Tap some of our PR Wizards, maybe offer the wolves something juicier. Whitewash the whole thing—shut him down.”
And a cherry on top of your whole plan—
"Make him wish I'd kill him instead."
Mina’s expression shifts, taking pause to study your face, your words. It’s the pragmatism that gets her, you think—but it’s baked into who you are. You don’t get to a billion dollars by making friends.
As a point of clarification, she asks, "What are you going to offer the press? I mean, you’re not going to leak dirt on someone else, are you?"
You shrug, an easy smile playing on your lips, "I was thinking we could just go public with us. Offer our whole thing."
"You're serious, aren't you?"
"My jokes usually make you laugh."
Mina takes her time to ponder this, to consider what you’re actually saying. To process the idea of turning all this—the sneaking around, the private moments, the stolen kisses—into something so exposed. Something translated and made palatable for public consumption, to be picked apart by the vultures skirting the edges of the media.
And there’s fear there too. That the thrill could wear off for her again, the exhilaration could evaporate, and the boredom would settle in.
Or it could be a whole brand-new opportunity. Replacing one thrill with another, the rush that comes with being seen together, the excitement of the chase being replaced with the passion of the capture.
She asks, slowly, carefully choosing each word, doing her best to avoid setting off a bomb that could send this whole thing into a downward spiral. "Is this what you want to do?"
You pull her closer, fit her body flush against yours, and bring your lips down onto hers. You let them linger, let her sigh, let her melt and keen and smile against your mouth.
"Darling," you murmur against her lips, "I've been ready to tell the whole world since the moment I sat down next to you."
—
Sometimes, the conventional ways are the best.
Stumbling through your house—kissing her hard in the hallway, losing her skirt in the kitchen, tearing off her shirt at the top of the staircase. Carrying her past the threshold of your bedroom and leaving her panties at the door; truly letting her into your world in every way, shape, and form.
Holding her close, one hand at her waist, the other looping around her chest. Kissing into her neck as you lay her down onto your mattress, getting up close and personal until it’s all Mina, all the sweetness and heat of her, the richness of her perfume that’s become her signature.
The red of her blush, her lips, the marks you’re leaving on her skin. The white of her throat, her collarbone, the bra that’s half on, half of.
Pinning her wrists over her head, keeping her still, watching her pupils dilate.
Fucking flawless. Every inch, every glorious detail. Underneath you, at your mercy, already staining your sheets with her need.
And then, a beg:
“Please.”
“Greedy.”
“It’s how you made me.”
Your other hand ventures lower, drifting down her stomach, holding against her abs, leaving your fingertips to ghost over her mound.
She shudders at your touch.
You let her know, “I wasn’t complaining.”
And your tongue is on hers, soft to start, relaxing into familiar patterns, swipes of reintroductions, until Mina’s arching her back, urging you on. But you’re greedy in your own way; wanting to take your time, wanting to extract all these sighs and moans straight from the source.
Only, Mina’s having none of it.
“You’re really going to torture me after the day I’ve had?”
You quirk an eyebrow, push your thumb down against her clit. Applying enough pressure to make her hips buck.
"Torture is a strong word, darling."
Mina's huffs as you hold her there, keeping her locked in place and at your mercy. Wriggling under your grasp, but not making any real effort to escape. After all, where would the fun be in that?
"Fine," she's relenting, eyes slipping shut, unable to hide the smile that’s making its way onto her face. "Call it what you want. Just—more."
"Then let's just call it a pleasant distraction."
Your lips are together once more, your kiss quickly turning from something sweet to something a lot more demanding. Throwing Mina a bone, pressing into her a declaration of intent that has her wild for you.
You take your fingers, slide it down, swiping through her folds. Dancing around her entrance, seeing how nice and slick she already is for you, feeding that gnat in the back of your head that urges you to just fill her whole. Right before pressing up into her cunt.
“Yes,” Mina whispers into your mouth, hips rising to meet your hand, helpless little shivers around your first, then second digit—pushing until you’re knuckle deep inside her heat, making her squirm and cry, “Just stretch this fucking pussy, please.”
“Oh, you’re so wet for me,” you say, like it's a surprise, like she's ever not, like she doesn't part her legs and beg for you to take the invitation to her cunt every single time.
And Mina’s reaffirming, “Of course I am, I’m always—” but she never gets to finish her sentence, because you’re sliding a third finger in, and she’s trying so hard to keep it all together despite how determined you are to pull it all apart.
You’re too attentive—watching her face, every micro expression. Watching for every twitch, every whine, every cry that gets stuck in her throat when she tries to swallow it down.
There’s beauty in all of it, every single time, you could never get enough of it. Been burned into you now—what it takes to make Mina come undone. The right ways to touch her, the spots that make her preen. Where to be gentle, when to be rough, how to keep her guessing.
It’s all here, now, distilled to its basest elements, and it doesn’t even take much. You’re too good at this, know her far too well to need anything other than the sound of her breath to dictate your pace.
Your thumb plays at her swollen clit, doing nothing but pressing down as your fingers saw in and out of her slippery cunt, making her clench around you like she always does. Faster and faster, until she’s crying for it, shivering and trembling underneath you, struggling against your hold on her wrists because she's dying for something to hold onto.
“You—you’re too much,” Mina pants, because that’s all she can do now as you push into her with purpose. So, so fucking wet, creaming around your fingers, pooling in the palm of your hand. “Too—too—too fucking—”
Losing control over her own limbs, cumming with a sharp cry, levitating off the bed as your hand works magic between her legs, needing a hard kiss to ease her back down to Earth.
The aftershocks still roll through her body, leaving her with these tiny, frantic whimpers. You keep her pinned, soothe her with your thumb at her clit, padding around in gentle circles, feeling her spasm and pulse around your fingers.
Your kiss ends on that high note, parting lips to give Mina a chance at a complete inhale. Her chest is heaving, nipples poking out of the top of her bra, skin already sticky with sweat. Eyes opening, hazed over with need and the beginnings of tears.
“I—I need more.”
Hands let go of her wrists, fingers slide out of her cunt, and you lean back to watch her try to compose herself. It’s a battle she’s not winning.
Mina’s blinking up at you, trying to catch her breath, trying to remember how to do anything other than be fucked into oblivion by you. You help her—leaning over, thumbs hooking under her bra straps. Pulling it down with a gentle tug that makes her arch into the motion, makes her chest spill out and your mouth water.
You take the chance to admire her. To drink her in, appreciate her the way she deserves to be appreciated—a masterpiece spread out on your bed, naked and needy.
There’s the intoxication, knowing you’re the one that did that to her, knowing that you’re the one that’s going to do it again. Over and over again.
“If I have to wait another second, I’m going to scream,” Mina says, the demand losing its edge in a whine.
You chuckle, press an open-mouthed kiss onto her breast, sucking a nipple between your teeth.
Sometimes, you just can’t resist.
“Let’s not pretend that isn’t exactly what I want.”
“Make it happen, then.”
Mina holds position as you pull back, keeping her hands over her head, keeping as still as a statue as you come to your knees over her. Eyes on you as your shirt, your belt, your pants go. Eyes on your cock as your briefs fall away, leaving it standing tall and thick and ready for her.
There’s power dynamics at play here—how Mina’s so vulnerable to you, how she’s laid herself out, unwilling to move until you tell her to. She understands it, implicitly. Knows she’s playing right into your hands, forced to wait while you let the anticipation build.
You hold your cock above her, stroke it carefully. Watch her eyes track it. See her gulp.
And she begs, again, “Please,” softer now, the unmistakable tremble in her voice. "I just—I need it so fucking bad."
Whether on purpose or by instinct, her legs splay, presenting her pussy, glistening with want. There’s the pulse in her clit, the need dripping over her folds—you feed the agony just a little more, hovering over the entrance, letting the tip of your cock graze over it. Teasing, taunting.
"Beg for it."
Mina opens her mouth, but she fails to summon the words. Just leaves her lips hanging open, leaving you an opening for your fingers to push in and try to help her find the right plea.
Her tongue flicks out, licks at your digits, the taste of her arousal still thick on them. The wetness of her tongue as she sucks, the suction of her lips as she envelopes each finger, one by one. Savouring her own flavour with deep, longing slurps, with grateful hums resonating around your fingers.
Leaking down the tip of your cock, cunt getting wetter and wetter the longer she’s denied. Making you throb against her, making your hips jerk and bump dangerously close to where she needs you to be.
But you still don’t enter her. You just wait until she’s done, until your fingers are clean and wet, and she’s left a trail of kisses up to your wrist.
It’s then that you drag your fingers out from her lips and demand of her once more:
“Beg.”
And this time, Mina’s able to say it clearly, confidently, right from her chest—
“I need you inside me. Need to feel you so deep inside me that I can’t tell where I end and you begin. I want to make you cum so hard you’ll never want to leave, want to leave your mark so deep inside me that even if you do, I’ll still feel you.”
Each word, a fucking gift.
And her reward—
A hard, quick plunge straight into her cunt. Inside her, instantly buried, immediately unbearable. Just too good.
Mina can’t do anything, just dig her nails into the sheets and try not to scream at the suddenness of it, at the way you complete her without any warning at all.
It all just ripples through her, a second orgasm already possessing her and forcing her into seizure. Can’t even hold it together—can’t keep the moans contained, can’t keep herself steady—can only just lock eyes with you and hope that you’re seeing it all, hope that you’re feeling it too.
Mina’s got no control around you anymore, none at all.
“Your cock,” she’s saying, repeating it over and over. Like it’s brand new to her, like it hasn’t ever left her wrecked a hundred times over. “Your fucking cock.”
Words punctuated by the slaps of your hips, the wet sounds of your bodies colliding, of Mina welcoming every stroke of your cock inside her. So fucking tight, gloved around you like it was forged specifically for your cock; not for anything else but you, only you.
“So hard, my God.” Mina’s hands clasp behind your neck, needing a firm hold on something solid and real. “So fucking hard for me, so—so—fuck—”
Her lips are everywhere, a flurry of butterfly kisses across your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose, the edges of your jawline. Crazed, unbridled assault of affection. Disarming, incredibly hot. Mina doing her best to mark you up before she’s torn away again.
It’s far too early in the processions—habit would usually have her playing it cool, trying to keep up the façade of control, hold onto shreds of dignity, until she’s unravelling completely and begging you to fuck her harder, deeper.
But now, she’s just letting you have her.
No games, no pretences.
Just you, and her, and this wild, hopeless need to feel good, to be consumed by this.
“Yours,” Mina’s whispering, voice cracking around the edges, “All yours.”
And you know it. Have known it. Had it signed and sealed in ink since the very first time she told you. When you made her knees buckle and eyes water as you took her in every way possible. Since she called out for you, said your name into the quiet of the night like it was a secret she never wanted to keep.
Yet it’s hearing it now, the sum of all these moments stacked on top of each other; the haunts that you’d frequent, the private corners that you’d made yours, the endless phone calls and messages and photos that could fill entire warehouses with their filth.
Finally here—both of you, panting, sweating, sex thick in the air. The world outside forgotten.
Fucking Mina so hard, so deep, euphoria shooting straight through you each time your cock bottoms out inside her. The softness of her cunt, its heat, its creaminess, its fucking divinity. Leaking out all around you and squeezing you so good that it’s a miracle that you’re still coherent enough to speak.
But you do, with a gruff, “Already knew that, darling.”
Mina’s laughing, because that’s the type of high you’re giving her. Even with the way you’re stretching her open, even with her eyes barely open and her toes curling into the bed—she’s laughing because it’s the only thing she can do. Because it’s all so absurdly perfect that she can’t find the energy to do anything else.
“All this, all of you,” you’re leaning in, at the base of her throat, licking a stripe up to her earlobe. Drumming the words into her skin, until she shivers. “Every part of you. All mine.”
Simple words that hold so much sway over her, that could pull her apart or build her right back up. Words that make Mina clench around you, make her cunt grasp you so tightly as if she’s trying to make them real.
“Always,” she’s heaving, “Always yours.”
And there’s this look on her face, like she’s lost in a dream—eyes glassy and all fogged up, breath hot against your shoulder. Glowing under the dimmed lights, making the sweat pooling at the base of her throat shimmer.
Keeping your hand there, at her neck, like it’s the only thing keeping her from floating away. Ruining her. Because really, it’s all for her. All of this is all for her pleasure, her satisfaction.
You’re just along for the ride, so fucking lucky to have her like this. So impossibly beautiful, just knowing she exists would drive you insane if you didn’t get to be with her. Didn’t get a chance at this pussy, so perfect, dripping so much, made so hot for you and only you. Your own personal slutty cunt.
It’s the way her legs wrap around your hips—the smoothness of her skin, the power in those thighs, holding you like she’s afraid you’ll pull away. Like she’s terrified you’ll leave her like this, frantic and wretched and so, so fucking wet.
The newest picture you’re painting, your magnum opus in her name—her tits bouncing with each thrust, nipples stiff and flicking in the air. The yielding of her back, bending just so she can accommodate that extra length of you inside her. And her stomach—fuck, those abs. Tightening and loosening, shaking with every hit of your hips, with every sharp gasp of air.
Demanding of you. Cum for me. Please. Now.
“I need this. Exactly this from now on,” Mina’s declaring, stuttering it like you’re fucking every syllable out of her tightness. “Just you fucking me. Whenever we’re together, every second we get alone—fuck—"
And you’re nodding because you’re always right there with her, always on the same wavelength, thinking the exact same fucking thing.
“Keep filing me up until I can’t take it anymore. Until I’m screaming so loud, I can’t even hear myself think—”
Breathless words that flood your ears, that Mina needs to get out, needs to make sure you hear. Absorbed straight into your bloodstream, pumping into your cock, fed right back into her cunt. So fucking tight. So downright incredible that you’re speeding up, driving in deep, as deep as you could possibly go.
“Until I’m so full of you that I forget my own name—forget any other name but yours—until I—until I—”
A nasty hit makes her body curve and rise, makes her pussy clamp around you, in warning of the orgasm to come, the one you’re both hurtling towards with a kind of reckless abandon that’s become second nature.
“Until I—please—just always make me feel this way—”
“You will,” you promise, meaning it, fucking it into her like your life depends on it. Like you need it to survive, because maybe you do. Maybe you’ve never truly lived until you’ve felt Mina’s cunt quiver around your cock like this, until you’ve heard her beg for you like you’re the only thing she needs to breathe. And again, for good measure, “you will."
And oh, that’s all it takes. That’s enough to have Mina spilling.
“Cumming,” is her proclamation. Repeated, ad infinitum, just, “Cumming, cumming, cumming.”
All over your cock, all around your cock. Cunt strangling you with the force of it.
And this is where you decide Mina’s most beautiful.
When she’s consumed by climax, when she’s held prisoner by it, when she’s just nothing but a canvas for you to leave your marks all over.
“Feel so good—so fucking good—”
It’s the best kind of challenge, pushing her through it.
Worshipping her in all the ways that count, treating Mina in ways woman like her should never be treated. Tearing an angel down from the heavens just to hammer her cunt into submission, and being thanked for it afterwards.
“God,” Mina’s trying, voice rasping and broken, “I—fuck—I can’t—”
You take her, hand wrapping around her tits, pinching, rolling, teasing nipples until they’re as tight as her cunt around you. Leaning in and capturing her lips, drinking down her whimpers with a kiss so deep you can taste your name on her tongue.
Fucking her, ruining that tight, little pussy, through every wave that crashes down over her, that burns her up from the inside and makes her so Goddamn hot.
Leaving her in disbelief that it could ever feel this good again, that there's a light at the end of this tunnel, that there's a life after being fucked so thoroughly by your cock.
Holding her through it, preventing her from crumbling into a million overstimulated pieces. Slowing down the pace of your hips with steady, deliberate thrusts until you’re just inside her. Cock throbbing, bathing in her heat, waiting.
Mina stirs, eyes flutter open, meeting yours. “Cum inside me. Wherever you’d like.”
There’s only one real choice. Mina knows this as well as you do.
Your cock leaves her cunt, slick with her juices, her cum. Proof of your dominion over her body, gleaming along your shaft.
Nothing but bliss on Mina’s face, so well-fucked and satisfied and just plain happy that it’s almost a surprise she hasn’t melted away into a puddle. She’s smiling, looking up at you through her lashes, sweet and soft and perfect.
Turning herself over, bowing down on her knees, pointing her ass up at you like it’s the universe itself handing you a present and saying, ‘Here, this is yours.’
You can’t resist that kind of temptation.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” Mina tells you, rolling her hips higher still, flaring out her hips, treating you to the perfectly round globes of her ass. “Waiting for you to take me. However you want. Make it hurt so good. Make me remember how you feel.”
Her hands reach back, delicate fingers spreading plump cheeks apart. The tight, pink ring of her ass winking at you. A sight that never gets old, a vision that’s forever carved into the back of your eyeballs.
One last request. “Please.”
Your cock pushes in.
“Thank you.”
Right away, it’s too fucking much. Your cock breaching through her asshole, pushing in inch by inch. Slow and torturous, the kind of thing that makes you want to yell.
Then the first thrust—that first hit, like a narcotic, straight through your veins, every single time. Feeling it, sensations so intense, so sharp, that you forget to even breathe.
And Mina’s crying. Crying out, muffled by the pillow she’s biting into. Yet still, pushing back against you, urging you deeper, even though she’s coming apart, even though she’s shaking from the sheer effort of having you fill her.
“Darling,” you call to her, “you’re doing so good,” because she is. Good, good, so fucking good for letting you split her in two like this. For letting you ruin her in all the best ways.
The second thrust is easier, smoother. Body giving in to your demands, stretching around your cock like it always does, like it’s made to do. To bend and flex to your whims and desires.
With every push, every retreat, every agonisingly, achingly slow grind into her ass, you’re nearing that rapturous end.
“So fucking good for me, Mina. Your ass is so tight around me. Such a good girl.” You’re grunting now, trying to ease her into it, to build up to the point where you can pound her, push her like you really want to.
Mina’s nodding, eyes screwed shut, sunken in the way you’re stretching her out. It’s a familiar feeling, having her ass opening up for you. A dance you’ve performed so often it’s almost muscle memory—each step painstakingly learned; each move carefully choreographed.
You’re easing into her, slow, so fucking slow that it’s a wonder that either of you doesn’t implode with want. But Mina’s good, so good, letting out these tiny, shuddering breaths that you feel down to the marrow of your bones.
And then, as your is fully seated in her ass—
“Don’t hold back,” Mina says, quietly, barely audible, but the need is crystal clear. “All of it, please.”
Hand in her hair, hand at her waist. Gripping into her, guiding her and then fucking her, really, truly flooding her ass with your cock, disappearing into her tightness until your hips are slapping into hers.
So pretty, even like this, even when her moans are getting louder, borderline screams that are cut off by the cotton of the pillow, her knuckles turning white in the effort. Her back tenses, muscles rippling underneath your palms.
She dips a hand underneath her, between her legs. Fingers at her cunt, whirling around her clit, doing all she can to keep up with you.
“Feels fucking amazing. Your ass, Mina,” you’re trying to say, but it’s coming out all gravelly and thick. “So fucking tight for me.”
It’s the one through-line that’s kept steady over these months. Mina’s transcendental beauty, Mina’s razor-sharp intelligence, Mina’s pussy that’s always, perpetually yours. All these things; but it’s Mina’s ass—that perfect, juicy, heart-shaped, fucking flawless ass that keeps you up at night.
Every time you’re buried inside, it’s like coming home to something sacred. Tightness gripping you, ass swallowing your cock in waves, the kind of feeling that makes you believe in a higher power—because nothing so divine could possibly be man-made.
“Fuck, I just—” Mina’s breathing out, quick huffs because that’s all she can manage, “just love this so fucking much. Love how you feel in my fucking ass.”
Her hand’s working overtime now, circling her clit with a fervour that’s almost religious. Pussy starting to leak again, juices running down her thighs, mixing with the sweat, pooling at her knees. Fuck, the way she’s touching herself while taking you in, so willingly, so wantonly, so utterly destroyed for you—she’s going to cum again, you can feel it. And you’re not far behind.
“I think I’m going to—fuck, I only just—but I’m going to—again—you’re going to make me—again—” She’s squealing, half-mumbling, full-crying, and your heart nearly bursts out of your chest because it’s all for you.
You’re not even managing anything other than desperate thrusts, just fucking her with everything you have—like you’re trying to claim her inside and out, trying to leave your fingerprints on every part of her so everyone will know she’s been yours all along.
“Please, please, please,” again and again, stuttering out, “Just—just—just—”
Just keep going, keep pushing into her until she’s shaking, until she’s pleading for you to stop, to let her breathe, because she’s about to fucking break.
Or, really:
Keep going and never, ever stop.
The hand in her hair tightens, pulling her back, making her arch. That perfect spine, the curve that’s painted by God himself. Kisses into her shoulder, into the crook of her neck, making her whimper.
“Keep fucking me. Like this—like this—God—I’m going to—again—”
Pulling her closer to you, so you can feel the tremors starting from her core, spreading out like wildfire. Pushing her hand away, taking over between her legs—rubbing, teasing, circling her cunt and pushing her closer and closer to the brink. Fucking her so deeply that you can feel the first quivers of her orgasm from the inside out, daring to take over her body again.
“Keep fucking—touching me, fill me up—just don’t—please, I need it—”
A final plea, her last rites, before she’s lost.
“Cumming—cumming again—please, oh, please—oh—”
Mina’s body goes lax, a ragdoll in your arms. But you keep fucking her through it. Through the quakes and shivers, through the cries—through the crying out. Pleading. Pleading for you to follow her into oblivion.
And fuck. If you’re not right there with her.
You’re close, chasing her, feeling her orgasm, feeling it coil around your cock and pump through her veins and into yours. Feel her—her body, her muscles, her cunt—tightening, tightening, tightening around you until it’s unbearable.
“Cum for me—with me—” she’s repeating, her newest mantra, “cum inside me. Give it to me—please, I need it—please—so badly—”
Begging, dying for it. Willing, wanting to do anything for it.
But she doesn’t need to—you can’t fucking hold on any longer.
“Mina—fuck—"
You slam into her, and finally burst.
Filling her ass with your cum, feeling it spurt into her, thick and hot. Pumping into her, over and over, getting wrung dry by her ass, cumming so hard it feels like your bones might shatter.
Cumming until your vision swims, until the architecture in your knees threaten to give out, until all you can do is hold onto her hips and keep her in place, keep her right there, impaled on your cock, until every single drop of cum has found a home inside her ass.
Until you’re so sensitive it’s almost painful. Until the orgasm has passed over the two of you and left you feeling like you might dissolve into nothing but pure sensation.
“Christ,” you manage to get out, the word tearing out of you like it’s being ripped from your chest. Holding Mina close—embracing her, seeing just how much she’s loving it. How thankful she is. Taking it all, soaking it all in, moans turning into whimpers that you’d swear are prayers of gratitude.
Body limp and strung out, fucked so hard she can’t even hold herself up anymore—Mina collapses into the bed, pulling you with her, your cock still buried deep inside her.
Like the first time, like every time, it’s a complete fucking disaster.
Tangled up in sheets, in each other. Sticky with sweat, stickier with cum. And Mina turns her head to look at you, just so pleased, and so gleefully satisfied.
You lean in and kiss her, slow and deep, resisting the urge to stir, to roll her onto her back and start this whole thing over again. Claim her once, twice, a dozen times more.
But you don’t. You just lay there, breathing into her neck, letting all of this, your orgasms, your bliss, your absolute contentment roll through you.
There’ll be time to keep going, to keep fucking her. Give her the same tour of your house that she gave you that first night.
Eat her out in the kitchen. Fuck her into the sofa. And yeah, introduce her to the balconies on the higher floors.
For now though, there’s Mina, lips parting with yours, looking at you with a smile that’s this original blend of lust and love and admiration. “You really know how to ruin a girl, you know that?”
You chuckle, picking a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “Just trying to scratch an itch.”
—
Everybody loves a love story.
And yours is packaged up so nicely, polished and made shiny and perfect for the public to see.
It's the type of story the media dies for—a tale of modern romance, woven through the glitz and glamour of celebrity life. The cold-blooded billionaire who had his heart stolen by one of the nation’s daughters, and then chased her across continents in order to get it back.
You and Mina, becoming the ultimate power couple—the kind that makes the paparazzi's cameras click in unison and tabloids sell by the millions.
Together at every high-profile event, her hand nestled in the crook of your arm, your thumb tracing lazy circles on her wrist—a secret promise of the bruises she’ll wear under her designer dresses. A whispered reminder of the things you’ll do to her when the lights go out and the world isn’t watching.
But nobody sees that. The public sees the smiles, the kisses, the sweet little glances that pass between you—and they eat it all up.
They'll never see the way she begs for your cock, the way you fuck her until she can't walk straight, the way she rides you until all you know is her name. They don’t know that it wasn’t love at first sight—it was lust, paroxysms of it, pure and raw and unbridled.
But here you are.
Mina, in your bathroom, smiling at you through the mirror. Dressed to the nines, looking like a fucking dream. Making it so obvious now that you wonder how you missed it at the start. The way she looked at you that first night, the way she looked. It was all there, laid out in big bold letters, all caps, telling you that this is what you’ve been searching for—what you needed all along.
That dress she’s wearing—some dazzling shade of green. Olive? Celadon?
“Emerald,” she smiles, catching you staring. “It’s emerald, darling.”
You grin back. “Then it should match.”
Mina’s eyes flick to the box in your hand, curiosity piqued.
“Got you something.”
You hand her the box—a simple, muted green velvet, lacking any markers or logos to give away the contents. Ergo, it’s really fucking expensive.
She takes it out of your hands. Opens it, and her breath catches.
“It’s—” Mina whispers, lifting a necklace from the box. A simple, stunning piece. A thin diamond band with a solitary jade teardrop hanging from the center.
"Yours."
Mina holds it up against the light, seeing how it dances through the stone like it’s alive. When her eyes come back to yours, she’s beaming—a smile so wide it makes you wish you had your phone ready to snap a photo.
“Help a girl out, would you?” she says, turning her back to you, sweeping her hair over her bare shoulder.
You step forward, kissing the skin there, feeling the softness of her neck, the pulse of her vein. Your hands come up to fasten the necklace around her, the coldness of the diamonds brushing against your knuckles.
“You know, there’s one thing I was wondering about,” you murmur, letting the jade rest atop her throat.
Mina giggles, tilts her head slightly to the side. The jewels sparkle. “Oh?”
“That first night. The gala. You came alone.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Mina repeats, amused. Happy to have her own little secret, the one thing you've yet to pry out of her between the sheets. She regards you through the reflection, a twinkle in her eye that says she’s been wondering what took you so long to ask.
“Yeah, I’ve never quite figured it out. I mean I know why you were alone. But why did you come at all? What were you doing there, just sitting all pretty and by yourself. It felt so wrong to me at the time.”
That makes Mina laugh, making you feel somewhat silly to even ask. She spins on her heels, facing you; the necklace sitting perfectly against her skin. She runs her fingers over the chain, ending at the pendant. Tapping it. Once. Twice.
And she doesn’t even need to ask you if it looks good on her or if it suits her because she knows. She can tell by the look on your face.
She wears it like a fucking collar.
“Why?” Mina says again, stretching the syllable out long and wide, until you’re staring at her lips, knowing you’re about to kiss her again, knowing that you may very well not make it out of the house tonight, likely not even make it out of the bathroom.
You’ll be ruining that dress, fucking her against the sink, pushing her up into the mirror, kissing into the top of her spine and repeating over and over again—mine, mine, mine.
“Because you invited me.”
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the apothecary's rebel - mattheo riddle
summary: hogwarts' bad boy can't seem to find a way to stay out of the infirmary where you're working to become a healer, but as the stakes get higher, you struggle to understand if you're simply a means to an end, or something much more.
word count: 4k
warnings: mentions of severe injury, broken bones, blood, etc.
a/n: this is so tropey and i'm not sorry about it! credit as always to the lovely @pizzaapeteer who has definitively determined that mattheo's favorite quidditch team is the falmouth falcons, which i will faithfully honor in every fic that i write.
The first time you met Mattheo Riddle, he had rivulets of blood pouring from his nose, crimson and amber; it stained his white collared shirt and seeped into his emerald tie and dark robes but despite it, he was smiling, laughing actually as his eyes glinted at Professor McGonagall who was dragging him alongside her into the infirmary.
"Please, Professor" he implored, "I can't help myself when someone runs their mouth like that, I can't, it's like a curse or something, my fist just flew to his face, what was I supposed to do?!" He was smirking as he looked at her, but she ignored his gaze as she yanked him before you.
"Enough, Mr. Riddle!" she said shrilly.
He tugged his arm out of her grasp. "I don't need the infirmary, m'fine" he huffed, rolling his eyes.
"You're dripping blood on my floor" she retorted, pointing to the maroon spots at his feet.
He glanced down and then wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing the blood further across his face.
"Ms. YLN!" McGonagall said, making it clear that he was your problem now as she squeezed her eyes shut in aggravation then spun on her heels and left.
You stood from your desk at once startled and awed by the situation, but Mattheo's gaze followed McGonagall out of the room.
"M'fine, I don't need anything" he repeated as he continued to swipe at the blood that wouldn't stop running.
You begged to differ as you took in the gash on the bridge of his nose, and the early signs of a black eye. You handed him a cloth which he stuffed under his nose halfheartedly, barely glancing at you, and before you could do anything else, he jogged back to the doorway, peered around the corner and disappeared.
Your week went by without anything nearly as exciting occurring beyond the normal bumps, bruises, and burns from spells and potions gone awry before you saw him again, this time of his own volition.
He caught your eye as his large framed graced the doorway. He was dressed for quidditch, still in his shoulder pads and Slytherin practice jersey. His dark curls were windblown and his cheeks were flush with exertion; sweat glistened on his brow and you thought fleetingly to yourself that no one had the right to look that sweaty and that good at the same time.
You stood from your desk to approach him, eyebrow quirked when he held up his hand by way of explanation, where two of his fingers were bent the wrong way, clearly broken. You motioned wordlessly for him to sit on the nearest cot.
He sat and immediately focused his attention out the window, peering like he was hoping to see the quidditch pitch from his vantage point.
You gathered a few supplies and approached him and he thrust out his hand, eyes never leaving the window.
"Go on then, get it over with" he said shortly. "I wanna get back to practice."
Unbeknownst to you, he was no stranger to broken bones, nor the sharp, relentless pain that came with the healing process and he was doing everything he could to steel himself for it.
Your touch was warm and tender as your fingers gently examined his hand.
"What position do you play?" you asked.
"Beater" he said simply.
You handed him a dose of healing and numbing potion, which he chugged in one go, thinking briefly that it tasted much better than he remembered.
"Are you any good?" you continued as you took the vial back from him and continued your work on his fingers.
"Are you joking?" he asked, laughing humorlessly.
You shrugged innocently, a sly smile on your lips, though you never broke your focus.
"Yeah, I'm good" he said. "Best Slytherin has seen in a while. We might actually have a chance at the cup this year if Flynt can keep his head straight and Goyle can stay sober long enough to sit on his broom."
"A daunting task" you teased.
He laughed genuinely this time, your humor enough to garner his attention and break his gaze from the window as his eyes fell on you instead, and you could feel yourself flush under his notice.
"Harpies or Cannons?" you asked, trying to guess his favorite team.
"Falcons" he said, smirking at your knowledge of quidditch.
"My brothers root for Ballycastle, but I'm partial to the Magpies" you replied.
Now he was flat out impressed and had about a million questions for you, but just as he opened his mouth to ask them, you step back and smiled.
"You're all set!"
He thought you were joking until he looked down at his carefully bandaged fingers.
"You should be able to grip your broom just fine. Put some ice on it after practice if you can, otherwise it will hurt like hell when the potion wears off."
You were gathering your supplies as he wiggled his fingers with trepidation. He felt a dull ache, but nothing more, and he could easily grasp his broom despite his mended fingers with the unique way you'd wrapped them; it'd felt better than any mending he'd had before and whether it was your talent or the deft way you'd distracted him, he couldn't stop himself from muttering "S'bloody brilliant."
"Thanks" you said genuinely, feeling the heat return to your cheeks as you shot him a playful smirk of your own. "Best Ravenclaw's seen in a while" you teased, echoing his words from earlier before you walked back to your desk.
The rest of the afternoon you found your thoughts wandering between the books you were trying to study and the boy with dark curls and a smirky grin who seemed magnetized to mischief, how even the brush of your fingers against his strong, calloused hands had had you struggling to focus on healing, the very thing that came most naturally to you.
You were both happy and disappointed that you didn't see him soon thereafter, glad perhaps that he was keeping himself out of trouble and in one piece. You caught glimpses of him occasionally in the busy corridor between classes or in the Great Hall surrounded by his raucous group of friends, but you tried your level best not to stare, in turn missing his equally ardent attempts to catch your eye.
It was perhaps three weeks later that you awoke late on a Saturday night to a muffled pounding on your bedroom door. Bright moonlight shone through your curtained window as you struggled to get your bearings and the pounding relented, heavy and urgent.
Occasionally, Madam Pomfrey summoned you in an emergency and your heart trilled as you pulled a large sweater over your lace and silk pajamas. You moved quickly to open the door, only to find Mattheo slumped and leaning against your doorway.
He swung his head to look at you with noticeable effort and you couldn't hold in your gasp as you took in his face, scraped and dirty with a large cut on his eyebrow that you were already calculating would need stitches, and a smaller but sizable cut to match on his lip. His mouth was bloodied and the gash on the bridge of his nose was back.
"Gods, Mattheo" you whispered as you reached for him. "Let's get you down to the infirmary."
"S'four inthe mornin' m'not gonna explain to them why I looklike this" he said, his speech slurring as he moved to brush past you into your room.
"Can'tyou fix me n'here?" he asked, as he swayed and you moved to support his weight.
"I-I don't have what I need, I don't have any numbing potion..." you tried to say.
"Can't hurt more'n it already does" he huffed as he sat on your bed.
The sight of him there, rumpling your sheets caught every last word in your throat and you busied yourself grabbing what you could to buy time to still your racing heart.
"What happened?" you asked, finally.
"Me'n the boys got into one" he said, not offering more in the way of an explanation as he glanced around your room, making you feel exposed.
"And where are they?" you asked, glancing for a moment back at the door like they might follow him in.
"I wasn'about to drag five ofus n'here" he said with a smirk.
I wanted you all to myself he thought as he tried with significant effort to focus on you as you came to stand between his spread legs. Your sweater was falling off of your shoulder to reveal thin, silk pajamas that covered next to nothing; your hair was rumpled and wavy with sleep, giving you a relaxed and tousled look that had his mind racing with the image of you tangled in your sheets.
You held his chin softly in your hand, turning his head slowly to the right and to the left. You could smell firewhiskey on him, and could see the pupils of his eyes blown wide as they looked unwavering at you in a way that made your legs feel like jelly.
"You might have a concussion" you said quietly, focusing on the facts instead of the fantasy in front of you.
"Probably" he agreed, his voice thick and raspy.
Your eyes shifted from his strong gaze to focus on his hands, attentively wiping away the dirt, gravel and blood from his knuckles, your fingers running down his palms. His eyes fluttered, thinking you had no right to make him feel this good by touching his hands, and then immediately he thought about your touch anywhere, everywhere else.
You leaned further into him to attend to the cut on his eyebrow, softly whispering the spell to mend it, close enough that he could feel your breath against his skin and he closed his eyes in earnest, letting your words wash over him, calming him from what had been an intense and violent night; they didn't flutter open again until you gently touched his lip.
"Sorry, did that hurt?" you asked.
"S'other ways you could make it feel better" he said, smiling widely in way that set a twinkle in his eye.
"Very funny" you said, redoubling your efforts, without realizing that for once he wasn't joking.
He reached out a hand to grab your waist, attempting to pull you into him, but you mistook it for an effort to steady himself and set a hand on his shoulder.
With the amount of alcohol in his system you thought, there is little to no chance he remembers any of this.
Mattheo woke with a throbbing headache and for the life of him he couldn't piece together why his friends visibly looked like they'd lost a brawl, while he looked...fine; his hands and face were clean and his split lip and eyebrow were reduced to small cuts and scrapes, nearly healed.
He had a foggy memory, like a dream, of you tracing your fingers over his lip, a touch he retraced now like he could feel you on his skin, could feel your warmth from being pulled out of bed, and then he remembered how good you'd smelled, like vanilla and amber... Had he really gone to your room in the middle of the night? He would almost be embarrassed if he didn't feel so fucking smitten about it.
The group dragged themselves to breakfast, hoods drawn; Theo even sported an oversized pair of sunglasses, whether to cover his black eye or to abade his hangover, no one was sure. They were talking in rasp whispers about the night before when Mattheo caught sight of you leaving the Great Hall with a few of your friends, his feet moving on autopilot towards you before he knew what he was doing, breaking rank to his friends' bewilderment.
"Hey" he said, catching your attention. "I-uhh, thanks for last night, I guess" he smiled, even as he carded his hand through his hair, a bit abashed.
"I am genuinely surprised you remember any of it" you said, laughing.
"F'course I do" he said confidently.
"So, you'll keep your promise then?" you retorted as you cocked your head expectantly.
Promise? What fucking promise?
"Yeah, of course I will" he said, even as his mind drew a complete blank on what you were referring to.
Your eyebrows shot up as a wide smile graced your lips and you crossed your arms, ready to challenge him before you were interupted.
"—Wait, is this her?" Theo barged in, pushing Mattheo aside, the others following closely behind.
"Can she look at my nose?" Draco tried. "I think that fucker broke—"
"—No. Stop, stop it." Mattheo said, dragging them away from you gruffly as you laughed, waving to Enzo who was waving eagerly to you despite Mattheo's efforts to contain him.
Your cheeks were crimson. He'd told his friends about you.
That giddiness carried you throughout your day. You felt like you were floating from class to class, like a fifth house ghost, your spirits high even as you resigned yourself to the infirmary that evening while the rest of the school made their way to the quidditch pitch for the final game of the season, the House Cup: Slytherin versus Gryffindor.
A dark storm had settled over the mountains and the last of the sun disappeared behind large, black clouds that brought with them torrential wind and rain that you watched cascade in sheets against the windows. You were disappointed to be missing the game, missing the chance to watch Mattheo play, but you were also happy to be inside, dry and warm.
You settled into your book, trying your best to enjoy it, but you found yourself reading and re-reading the same sentence over and over again, unable to clear your mind from the night before, the way Mattheo settled effortlessly on your bed in a way that even now had your stomach clenching, the way his dark eyes followed you in the white moonlight, the way he smiled under caked blood and the warmth and softness of his skin and his lips under your fingertips; and finally the way he'd grabbed you, perhaps stronger than he'd intended, fingers pressing into the thin silk that covered you, leaving imprints on your skin. Your heart was racing and you felt warm at the memory as you set your book down and exhaled shakily.
It wasn't a moment later that you heard a commotion in the corridor, loud voices and shuffling feet before a large group burst through the doors, professors and students crowding around two quidditch players, the sight making your heart constrict in your chest, until you noticed a red jersey on one and the flash of Draco Malfoy's bright blonde hair on the other. You scurried to help guide him to a cot as he groaned, his eyes squeezing in pain as a gash on his forehead dripped blood down the side of his face.
"What the hell happened?!" you asked Professor Sinistra who had a deep frown set on her face.
"The storm is making it impossible to see anything, they should have cancelled the damn match" she said. "These two collided and there's another one coming - he tried to grab Malfoy and took a bludger straight to the knee before falling 60 feet to the ground."
Draco continued to writhe in pain in front of you and Professor Sinistra was still talking but she sounded distant, almost underwater, because dread and fear had settled over you. Somehow you knew before you turned around that the third player was Mattheo, and you glanced over your shoulder in time to see him being supported between Theo and Blaise.
He was limping on one leg as the other dragged uselessly beneath him. He was soaked through, his hair stuck to his forehead and his jersey stuck to his skin. He was covered in mud and his face was like stone, marble white as he stared sternly at a spot on the ground, jaw clenched.
You dropped what you had been doing, rudely brushing past Professor Sinistra and rushed to his side.
"Here, put him here" you said to Theo and Blaise, leading them to an empty cot.
"Nahh - fuck - get someone else" Mattheo said sharply in a way so cutting and raw that you froze, like his words had struck you like a charm.
"W-What?" you said as the boys lowered him to the bed, exchanging glances.
"You heard me YLN. Get someone else!" he said angrily, almost yelling.
You turned to face the rest of the infirmary which was in a state of utter chaos between the nurses, students and professors running back and forth; the raging storm outside cracked and boomed, setting you further on edge.
Tears welled in your eyes at how overwhelmed you were and how angry Mattheo was. Your head was spinning. Clearly he didn't care about you at all, you had been a convenience, a means to an end, someone who could patch him up when he was too drunk to go to the infirmary, and he'd used his good looks and charm on you like he did everyone else to get what he wanted. You had been an utter fool. Now his injuries were serious and he wanted someone with experience, not some girl to exchange flirty banter with.
Your eyes scanned the room again and you swiped angrily at your cheeks as several tears escaped.
"Well, there isn't anyone else, Mattheo" you said, the realization hitting you simultaneously that you were responsible for him.
He groaned in annoyance and threw his head back on his pillow, which Theo and Blaise thankfully took as their cue to go. You drew the curtains behind them, struggling to calm yourself, to get a semblance of control.
"You took a bludger to the knee?" you asked. "What else, where does it hurt?"
He was silent, face grimaced, refusing to make eye contact with you.
"Suppose I'll just have to undress you and find out for myself then?" you tried. But even that didn't work as he remained quiet and shame and embarrassment set over you.
You took a steadying breath and quickly wiped another errant tear away before approaching him cautiously, moving to unlace his boots as gently as you could, but even that caused him to tense. Delicately, you began to cut his trousers from the bottom and within three snips could you see a sicky swelling letting you know that this was bad....very bad. He'd well shattered his knee and likely broke his fibula and tibia too, his entire leg was a disaster. You had no idea how he'd remained so calm despite it all and you were worried that this might be too complex for you to mend.
You mixed him a strong healing and numbing potion and he took it from you wordlessly, gruffly. Gone was his bashful smile from this morning, the twinkle in his eye, it was like he wanted nothing to do with you, downing the potion in one go, still refusing to meet your gaze.
"Mattheo, I can't imagine how painful this must be, but I'll fix it, I-I promise" you said.
His eyes shifted darkly to you for only a moment, anger and distain clear in his gaze before he looked away again, never saying a word.
You applied just about everything you'd ever learned about mending bones, tendons, muscles and sinew and within moments of taking the potion, Mattheo had fallen into a deep sleep, allowing you to work without fear of hurting him further. It took the better part of two hours, by which time the rest of the infirmary had settled and Madam Pomfrey came to check on you. She was difficult to please, but she scrutinized your work with a sharp eye before complimenting you thoroughly, you had done it.
You were depleted, exhausted, both physically and emotionally but you didn't stop as you wiped the caked mud from Mattheo's cheeks and gingerly cut away the rest of his wet clothing, fearful he'd catch a chill, thinking you deserved some sort of medal for your level of professionalism as your fingers traced his strong muscles, veined arms and faded scars. You pulled a blanket over him, charmed to stay warm before you finally slumped into a chair at his side.
Your entire body was tense, and your muscles were sore. You let yourself catch your breath as your emotions finally caught up with you and you bit your lip to keep from crying at how foolish you felt.
Madam Pomfrey poked her head through the curtain. "You're free to go" she said quietly.
You glanced back at Mattheo before turning to her. "I think I'll stay...just in case" you whispered.
She pursed her lips knowingly before nodding curtly and walking back to her station at the far end of the room.
It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but eventually you fell into a fitful sleep riddled with nightmares of falling into deep darkness with nothing and no one to catch you.
Mattheo came to in a haze, enveloped in a soft warmth that brought a smile to his lips; for some reason, it reminded him of you, and it smelled like you, like warm vanilla and amber spice. As if in a dream, a memory came rushing back to him, of another time he was engulfed by you, of feeling your gentle touch on his lips in a way that made them tingle even now.
"How'sthis" he said. "I promise if I'm ever this'fucked again, and you haveta take care o'me, I'll take you ona date?" Your eyes shot to his, shining against the moonlight streaming into your bedroom and he clocked the twitch of your lip, the rose of your cheeks, Gods how he loved to make you blush. "Yeah?" you said jokingly. "Yeah" he said, feeling confident. You refocused your attention on his lip, your touch soaking through him like sunlight. "Well, for your sake, I hope that doesn't happen, you're a mess" you chided. Then, quietly, "But for mine, I look forward to it."
His heart soared and he reached for you only to come back with empty hands. He continued to grasp for you until his eyes fluttered open and he realized where he was. The memory of the game came rushing back to him, the flash of thunder and lighting, the fear of seeing his best mate falling off his broom as he raced to grab him, and then the crunch and splitting pain of his knee shattering, the scream he'd let out that was drowned by the storm.
His stomach roiled as he relived the way his friends had dragged him back to the castle, how every bump of his foot felt like torture. He tensed now, waiting for the pain, nearly nauseating himself with the memories, but he felt...nothing. A dull ached radiated from his knee and it felt stiff, but the sharpness was gone, replaced with a pulsing warmth.
His eyes blinked in the low candlelight, coming to rest on you, curled uncomfortably in a chair next to his bed, and he realized he should have known, should have recognized that you were the constant peace on the other side of his pain.
You were asleep, but your face was scrunched in discomfort, in concern and he clocked the smudge of your eye makeup, the loose strands of your hair falling on your face, and the fact that you were wearing the same clothes from earlier this morning, when he'd made you smile. Now, you looked distraught, upset and his stomach clenched as he remembered the way he'd spoken to you.
He had been in so much pain and pain is weakness he could hear in his head over and over again as he'd tried unsuccessfully to fight it. She's going to think you're weak, pathetic. He didn't want to be weak in front of you, he didn't want you to see him that way. He was proud when you mended his busted knuckles, his split lip, or even his smashed fingers, you didn't need a weak, crying git. But then he remembered the crushed look on your face as he'd yelled at you, and he realized he'd been a git all the same.
"Hey" he said, his voice coming out quieter than he'd intended, scratchy with sleep.
"Hey" he tried again.
You woke, startled. "Are you alright?" you asked, bolting upright in your chair, setting a hand on his arm. "Here, let me check your—"
"—I'm fine" he said, laughing. "More than, actually."
"Oh" you said, settling back down. "Good."
A moment of tepid silence passed between you.
"Look, m'sorry about earlier" he said, his sleep ridden voice coaxing your eyes to meet his as he opened his hand on the bed beside him, stretching it out for yours.
You hesitated, pursing your lips, and he could tell you were hurt.
"Can you keep a secret?" he tried.
You nodded.
"That fucking hurt, a lot" he exhaled as he let his vulnerability show.
"That's not really a secret. You shattered your knee, fibula and tibia, Mattheo, and you also have three bruised ribs and two more broken fingers" you said, pointing to his other hand.
"Well, would you look at that" he said smartly, twiddling his fingers back and forth.
"Draco cried harder over a hairline fracture, you'd have thought he was dying" you laughed quietly as you rolled your eyes.
Mattheo let out an earnest laugh at that before he grabbed his side.
"Do not tell him I said that—"
"—I am absolutely telling him you said that!" he said cockily as you both laughed until you fell into silence again.
He opened his palm again and you moved closer, setting your hand in his, which he enveloped in his warm grasp, gently rubbing a thumb over your fingers.
"I didn't want you to think I'm weak" he said finally, the truth settling over both of you like a blanket.
"Pain isn't weakness, Mattheo" you said simply, and the fact that in one instant you had understood exactly what he had meant had his dark chocolate eyes locked on yours.
"And anyway" you continued, "you don't have a weak bone in your body, your pain tolerance must be through the roof."
He didn't have the heart to tell you he hurt just like everyone else, he'd just had more practice with it, so he shrugged.
"Well all things considered, I feel great... thank you" he said, twirling your fingers together before tugging them gently, pulling you to sit on the bed beside him, close enough to feel the warmth between you. "I do have a couple of complaints though."
Your eyebrow quirked, suddenly serious.
"You got me nearly naked here before I could take you on that date I promised, hardly seems fair" he smirked.
You blushed, opening your mouth to defend yourself. So he did remember after all you thought.
"I'm kidding" he said lightly. "But start thinking about where I can take you. A promise is a promise."
You couldn't hide the smile on your face even as you tried, glancing into your lap, your cheeks Mattheo's favorite shade of blushed red.
"And what else?" you asked, trying to deflect.
"You missed something. I think I fucked my lip up, real bad" he said.
Your eyes twinkled as they looked at him, glancing briefly at his perfect lips, free from any mark or mar.
"I don't know, I don't see anything" you said, jokingly, taking his face in your hand, pretending to examine him.
"C'mon, c'mere you've got to get closer" he teased, pulling you into him, so your noses were nearly touching, your heart pounding in your chest.
He paused, relishing the moment, letting his fingers trace a line from your cheek to your jaw, letting your lips hover a breath away from his before he cupped your face and closed the distance between you.
He kissed you tentatively, softly, with a tenderness that made every inch of you feel like melted honey but it was only a breath before his restraint broke, intoxicated by you and every moment he'd daydreamed about the way you'd feel against him, the way you'd taste as he cupped both sides of your face and pulled you further into him. You grasped for purchase as the blanket between you slipped revealing his bare chest and you wound your arms around his bare shoulders, tangling your fingers into his hair, eliciting a muffled moan from deep within him. You nibbled his lip playfully before you pulled back, and he grasped you harder, fighting the distance.
"How's that?" you asked, breathlessly.
"Still unbearably painful, gorgeous, keep trying" he smiled against your lips before kissing you again.
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Sugar cookies
✵ Pairing: Fred Weasley/f!reader
✵ Word count: 2k
✵ Summary: You were notoriously horrible at any form of baking or cooking, but hopefully having another shot at it could improve the well-earned reputation
✵ Warnings: Established relationship, possible inaccurate cookie baking (I'm no chef), really nothing but fluff
Baking was a form of art, and you had never been that kind of artist. Every time the thought even crossed your mind, something had already gone wrong. Something was on fire, severely burnt, the wrong consistency, or just tasted awful. No matter how many times you tried, there was never any sort of improvement. No food or dessert had ever survived in your hands. So it wasn't often anymore you could be found in the kitchen, having mostly accepted that this was simply not your strong suit. However, every so often, you found a sudden urge to try and prove you could learn, even if you already knew the likeliest outcome. Today was one of those days, that urge tempting you into giving it another try.
It was a warm and quiet morning in the burrow, Molly and Arthur being away and most of the others busying themselves in different ways. You took the opportunity to try yet again at baking something. It was safer for everyone if there were fewer present to witness it, or possibly taste it. If you could get that far this time.
You approached the situation optimistically. The plan was to choose something simple to make and an even simpler recipe to follow. Just cookies couldn't hurt, right? It seemed easy enough, as long as you were careful.
Leaning against the counter, you studied the little book. There were very few ingredients, and that only meant fewer places where mistakes could be made. You were definitely capable of this. So with a newfound confidence, you got to work gathering an array of bowls, pans, ingredients, everything you thought you may need and more. As you scattered them across the counter at random, You were caught by the only other Weasley in the household.
Fred walked in on what was turning out to be a manic episode. You could tell he knew this based on the sudden panic in his face. "What are you doing?" He questioned, fearing the day he'd find you here again. Flashbacks of previous incidents were likely spinning through his head.
"A good morning would suffice." You replied without looking up from what you were doing. Another quick check of your book and you were ready to go, carrying hope for a more positive ending this time. Fred strode over lazily, sleep clearly still clinging to his mind. He slid his arms around you to gaze over your shoulder.
The embrace briefly distracted you from your task. And to further this, he pressed a long kiss to the top of your head. "I'm sorry, love. Good morning." His voice was muffled against your hair, but the way it sounded was almost tempting enough to drop everything in your hands and give him your full attention. Unfortunately, you were far too determined for that.
"That's much better," You remarked, earning a chuckle. Against your better judgment, you wiggled out of Fred’s arms to continue on with your cookies. After a few words of complaint, He leaned an arm on the counter beside you, finding the only open spot that hadn't yet been touched by your wave of disaster. You prepared your first ingredients, movements followed by his curious gaze.
"Now, don't tell me," He started sarcastically, continuing only once you glanced up at him. This look only lasted a moment, as you were in the middle of measuring flour. "You're making something."
"Clearly," Was your simple response. You were so focused on getting everything right.
"Something simple?" Fred gestured down to the not-so-simple mess on the counter. "I'd guess it's something even you couldn't ruin? Dare I say cake? Cookies, maybe?" He watched you pour the flour into a bowl, which came back up to coat the front of you in a white puff of smoke. A snort of laughter escaped his mouth, resulting in an immediate glare from you. It was very early in the game for you to be wearing your cookies.
"That's enough from you." You pointed a finger of your now powdered hand at him. "Unless you'd like to be covered in flour as well."
His expression changed as he considered your words. "Well, I could think of worse things to—” You put an end to his statement by launching a handful of flour at him, coating the both of you in a thin layer of white. He first tried to wipe his face with the back of his hand, only to find it would smudge. You roared with laughter at this discovery.
After your fit had calmed, you picked up a spoon in an attempt to return to your work. But you had started something Fred would be more than happy to finish. "Oh, no you don't." He grabbed your arms and pulled you to him, tickling and completely disarming you. Laughter jumped back into your throat and your utensils clattered to the ground.
"Fred! No!" You struggled to say, squirming to find an escape. By the time he had stopped, you could barely breathe and practically choked on the giggles that tried to escape your lips.
Fred picked up the spoon off the ground, narrowly dodging a slap to the arm. If your cookies turned out poorly now, you could place some of the blame on him. He went to rinse it off, which gave you enough time to add most of the remaining ingredients to your bowl.
You checked back with the book to ensure it was still going well. Other than the rapidly growing mess in the kitchen and all over you, it seemed fine so far. As long as there were no other setbacks, you may actually succeed this time.
As if you spoke it into existence, Fred turned around at the sink, just as you were placing the cookies in the oven. "Slight problem," His hands were held away from himself, face twisting into concern.
Your gaze was pulled to him to see he had tried and failed to rinse the flour off his hands and arms. Instead of washing away, it clumped and stuck to his skin. The realization hit you at the same time and you stared at each other, both covered in more flour than what was in the cookies.
Water did nothing against the powder. It was mixed with whatever other ingredients escaped the bowl, turning it into a glue and making the situation far worse. You took ahold of one of Fred's arms, but it immediately made your hands sticky as well. No matter how much you scrubbed, it only further spread across the skin
"It's not coming off," Fred announced simply, as if you weren't actively trying to fix the problem.
You sighed. "I can see that, love." You pointed to a bar of soap at the edge of the sink, beckoning Fred to hand it over. He obliged and reached for it. The soap helped significantly, freeing some of the sticky paste.
It took no small amount of effort, but you eventually had clean arms and hands. Fred took the bar from you, wetting the soap in his hands and lifting it to work it into the flour on your face. You gazed up at him while he did this, letting out a little giggle as he struggled to keep his eyes from finding yours.
Fred had very little self-control when it came to you. It didn't take any convincing for him to give in and meet your stare. It was intoxicating. Whatever you had been doing previously was easily forgotten the moment the look was exchanged. He practically melted, thumb still brushing across your cheek while his mind drifted away from cleaning your messy faces.
You did try to resist– or so you told yourself– But a flicker of your eyes toward his lips and it was over. You met in a sweet kiss, the chalky taste of flour finding your tongue. It was warm and gentle and filled with the same longing you felt every time you kissed him; even back to the very first time. The act was so simple, and yet was more than enough for him to take over your entire mind and body. You were completely at the mercy of your lover.
His hands cupped your face, the mixture of soap and flour making a mess of your skin. He held you there with no intention of moving and in turn, rapidly draining any of yours. This only lasted until a distinct burning smell reached your nose.
Fred noticed before you, lips parting from yours as his eyes fell on the sight. "Y/n," He muttered and let his hands drift down to your shoulders.
"Hm?" Was your oblivious response, further proof you belonged nowhere near an oven. Realization hit you at the same time as the harsh scent.
"Is that supposed to be on fire?" You jerked your body around to follow his gaze, only to find that your cookies had gone up in flames. How? You had only taken your eyes off them for a few minutes at most. Your hands went to your pockets, but there was empty fabric where your wand should have been. So Fred's was the next best option.
He wasn't one to handle emergency situations well. While you calmly tried to locate a solution, Fred seemed to lose any instinct for survival. "Fred," You snapped a finger to get his attention. "Your wand, love."
"Right," He searched around the counter for it. A sigh escaped your lips and you put a hand on his arm to stop him, taking his wand from his pocket. With a swift flick, water sprayed from the tip of it and extinguished the flames, which had roared on during the moment of panic.
As the fire subsided, you lost any hope in salvaging your dessert. They came out of the oven pitch black, hard as a rock, and now waterlogged; definitely not edible. You set them on the counter so you both could get a good look.
After a moment or two of dead silence, Fred made a poor attempt to lighten your disappointment. "Well, this isn't the worst thing I've seen you take out of an oven." You shot him the makings of a glare, which confirmed his attempt had ended in failure.
The expression turned into a frown. "Maybe I'm just destined for burnt cookies." As the words came out, so did a giggle. You really were cursed. Every single time, without fail, something goes wrong. You were convinced you were the only one with such terrible luck when it came to baking.
"Or maybe you just need more practice." Fred suggested, giving you his smile. Somehow he had become more enthusiastic about this than you.
You leaned onto the counter, sinking down in defeat. "I think I’ve had a little too much practice." Adding another kitchen disaster to your resume didn't make you any more eager to jump back into it.
"One more couldn't hurt, darling." He pulled out another set of ingredients, this time indenting to help you rather than distract. With Fred, your chances for success were greatly increased but still slim. Even with the odds stacked against you, how could you refuse? Especially at the sight of him standing there, so ready to try again with you. So with an exaggerated sigh, you got back to work.
These cookies had made it much farther than the previous batch. Even just surviving long enough to make it out of the oven was a victory. You could admit there was an obvious improvement. But even though they looked the part— mostly— One taste and you found they were not the most appealing to consume. It was a sign of progress, but still not something anyone else would find edible.
Finally, you were able to start coming to terms with your skill; or lack thereof. Baking was such a delicate art, and you just had to accept that not everyone was meant to be that type of artist.
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I wrote a little drabble because I couln't help staring at this for a while and it kind of inspired me... sorry, not sorry.
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In-Ho dragged Gi-Hun into the bathroom, towards the very back of the row of stalls. They had just come back from playing the Mingle game and In-Ho simply couldn't compose himself any further. It was as if he'd completely forgotten about his 'being-a-player-in-the-game-to-spy-and-get-to-know-his-enemy-even-more-to-destroy-him-from-the-inside-out' kind of plan. But the way Gi-Hun was able to release some kind of different version of In-Ho, just by being himself -- definitely not something In-Ho expected could or would happen.
"What are you doing?", Gi-Hun asked, his expression soft but his eyes widening as In-Ho kept on pushing him backwards.
"You...", In-Ho, as Young-il, said, his hands resting gently on Gi-Hun's hips, "I'm trying to understand you... this."
Gi-Hun wasn't fighting In-Ho's closeness, as In-Ho tightened his grip on the other mans hips.
"What do you mean?" Gi-Hun's voice sounded so innocent, as if In-Ho had been imagining the looks, the way they'd been staring at each other- how Gi-Hun's eyes lit up the moment In-Ho came back to join the group, after they got seperated during one of the rounds during the mingle game. Or... was it just me?
"Young-il", Gi-Hun brought In-Ho back to reality, quickly snapping him out of his thoughts.
"You're different.", In-Ho said, which- great way to start off, you idiot, he couldn't help but think. In-Ho wasn't exactly sure, where he was going with this, or where he wanted it to go. Just imagining a scenario leading up to this moment had been in his head for the last couple of hours, maybe even much longer than that without him actually realizing it. After all these years of keeping track of what Gi-Hun was doing after winning the games. And now he was standing in front of him, playing the games he was organizing, alongside him.
Focous, In-Ho, focous.
"I suppose I...", In-Ho's gaze slipped down to Gi-Hun's lips, which of course, did not go unnoticed by Gi-Hun. "I'm trying to figure out, what it is about you, that you're all I can think about."
And he wasn't even lying. Considering that he had, in fact, been thinking about Gi-Hun for the past couple of years, it felt good, to get that off of his chest. Even though this whole thing, his presence in the games and him getting closer to Gi-Hun was just a simple task. After all, he was the frontman. The head of the games. The one, bringing Gi-Hun back, and the one, who wanted to destroy Gi-Hun's beliefs at all costs.
But what if he allowed himself to let go a little? To just be in this moment, with Gi-Hun and not think about everything that followed up to this moment and was going to follow it after it ended...
"I think about you, too", Gi-Hun said, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly, his eyes locked with In-Ho's.
I think about you, too. The words replayed in his head, and a smile unfurled on his lips. That's all he needed to hear, all he wanted to hear, for him to back Gi-Hun up against the wall, the cold tiles and lean in to press their lips together.
It took a few seconds until Gi-Hun kissed him back, wrapping his arms around In-Ho's shoulders. In-Ho couldn't describe what he was feeling. He'd never been with another man, heck, not even thought about another man like that. But Gi-Hun was different, like he'd said. He made In-Ho feel a bunch of new and mixed feelings, tough for him to comprehend just yet.
Their lips moved together easily. As In-Ho felt Gi-Hun's hands sliding up to the back of his head he almost lost it right there. He pressed into Gi-Hun further, their hips now aligned, leaving little to no space between them. In-Ho pulled back from Gi-Hun's lips just to look up at him for a second. He did not want to miss the flustered look on Gi-Hun's face, while being aware of his own blushing.
"Are you okay?", In-Ho asked, this voice rough.
Gi-Hun nodded. "Yeah", he breathed out.
Just as In-Ho leaned in once more, meeting Gi-Hun's lips in an eager kiss, the front door of the bathroom swung open, a couple of players walking in. In-Ho quickly pulled himself back, adjusting himself in his pants with a quick subtle movement. He noticed Gi-Hun doing the same, which made him wonder where this could have leaded to, if it wasn't for the players who interrupted them.
In-Ho fixed his hair and offered Gi-Hun a small smug smile before he left him standing there while he tried to mix in with the others.
#ginho#gi hun squid game#squidgame#gihun x frontman#gihun x inho#seong gihun#hwang inho#frontman#001 x 456#fanfiction#squid game fanfic
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art the clown x reader oneshot 🔞 | take you like my last breath
requested by anon i hope you like it and thanks again for the prompt! at the mention of hooking up with art i thought of reader meeting him in a club or at a concert - and ofc the work of art music video came to mind, though this fic has no mass killing or giving birth, and sadly art doesn't play a baby piano 😔 i wrote it vaguely enough that you could imagine it's either one I guess 😄 title taken from closer to you by jungkook. surprisingly there isn't any warnings for this one, i don't think - just lots of smut.
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it had finally reached friday, your usual fun night to go out with your friends, whether it was to a concert for a local band or to the club. you were lost in the lights and the music, dancing and jumping, throughly feeling yourself and letting go at the same time. after the long week it felt good to unwind, and you knew you looked hot in your all-black ensemble: bustier style top with woven skeleton design and fitted cargos. from the moment you walked in people had noticed you, you'd felt their gazes following you all night.
the surge of people surrounding you, the energy of the room was electric - making you feel just as free as the whiskey shot coursing through your veins. you looked into the crowd, something peculiar amongst the throngs of people catching your eye - a guy dressed as a clown.
he was staring at you, a shiver running through you as you suddenly stilled, returning his gaze, captivated by his almost glowing green eyes. though it wasn't unusual to see what most people would deem outlandish or weird outfits in the party and alternative scenes you were apart of, your gut told you this guy was different. there was something about him you instantly recognized as uncanny, though you couldn't figure out why.
his gaze widened as he grinned at you. as stunned as you were - your heartbeat faultering as it quickened and it felt as though you stopped breathing, the action that usually came naturally, without any forethought. you were shaken by how attracted you were to him, how deeply and suddenly you needed him.
your friend had noticed you frozen beside her, asking if you were okay. somehow you were able to compose yourself enough to reply. "yeah, i'm fine. thanks," you shouted over the music. "i'm going to the bathroom." she nodded, and you had noticed the slight curious furrowing to her brows, but she didn't inquire any further.
you looked back at the man as you headed in the direction of the bathrooms, knowing his watchful eyes were still on you, feeling them following you. you'd waited impatiently to see if he'd take the hint and join you. moments later he emerged from the crowd. you realized how much taller he was than you as he slowly drew closer, towering over your smaller body as he stopped before you, close enough to him pull down for a kiss.
you hesitated under the intensity of his leering expression, wondering for a fleeting moment if you were in danger - the destined prey foolishly inviting the predator close enough for a tragic demise.
"what's your name?"
the man gave a surprised countenance, wagging his finger and nodding. he took your hand, holding it up to trace "A-R-T" a letter at a time onto your palm. you were taken aback by the gentleness and intimacy of the gesture, your concern forgotten completely under the touch of his surprising soft hands.
"art?" you said, touching his face with your free hand. art nodded, slowly dropping your hand. there was something about him that made you trust him, another unexplainable detail about this strange man.
you turned to push open the women's room door and art stepped in after you, just as a girl left one of the stalls, gaping in surprise when she noticed the large clown man standing in the ladles room. she glanced at you and quickly stepped past, trying and failing to hide the smirk at the realization of what was likely to happen once she left, washing her hands and making her swift exit.
you locked the door, grabbing art's face and finally pulled him down for a kiss. his hands immediately gripped your narrow waist and he walked you over to the sinks, lifting you onto the counter. all the while your lips locked deep passionate kisses, pulling moans and whines from your throat. you'd noticed art didn't make a sound, amused at his dedication to the silent clown shtick. you wanted to make him feel so good he couldn't help but groan and praise you with words of affectionate degradation.
you broke from the kiss, whining his name, and mercifully he was quick to remove your top and pants. now, fully nude, you leaned back on the counter, his large hands grazing over your stomach and hips, feeling the slight jut of your hip bones, and fitting his hands around your slender waist. his eyes widened as if he liked the size difference too.
you'd been naturally skinny your whole life, and though you mostly ate healthy and exercised, you also did love food and eating, indulging in snacks perhaps a little too often sometimes. you just couldn't keep weight on.
"please," you begged like a desperate whore for him, sitting up to rub your hand over the obscene bulge of his clown costume, shivering in anticipation as you palmed his big dick.
you had always had a size kink, loving the stretch of a long, thick cock inside your tight, pretty pussy.
art's mouth parted in a silent moan.
he turned around, taking off his clown collar, allowing you to unzip his costume, pulling it down and off, revealing his pale, skinny body that you checked out admiringly.
it was even more apparent, despite being so skinny himself, how much bigger and broader he was than you. his slender body in contrast to his thick, long cock, flushed and curving upward.
you got wetter at the sight, and spread your legs, ready for him to sink his cock deep inside you.
instead, art bought his fingers to your pussy, grazing the tips over your labia, before slipping two slender fingers easily inside, flexing to press your g-spot and thumb over your clit.
you heard the locked doorknob turn and persistent knocking. you groaned, "for fuck's sake, use the men's!" the knocking stopped, and art paused his finger's movement momentarily to laugh. the thought of someone going to an employee to unlock the door hadn't occurred to you, and even if it had you wouldn't have cared less.
soon he adds a third digit and you roll your hips, fucking yourself on his fingers. "oh my god," you gasp, already feeling that shivery electricity of impending orgasm running through you. as temping as it was to come all over his hand, you'd much rather prefer doing it on his fat cock. "art, fuck me," you whine, high pitched and pathetic.
art chuckled silently, his shoulders shaking as he grinned, as if to say, "i already am."
impatiently, you sat upright and grabbed his cock and stroked him, his shaft throbbing against your palm. art removes his fingers from you, nodding insistently.
he held a hand on your hip as he steadily pushed inside you, and you moaned needily even while he was fully seated inside you, wanting more of him. art started thrusting inside you, your body jostling with the force, the perfect slide of him moving in and out of you.
art noticed the way his thick shaft bulged through the skin of your stomach, his mouth opening with a silent laugh, pointing in amusement with his free hand.
"you like that, baby?" you cooed, "like seeing this fat clown dick fucking into my small body? wanna claim my tiny womb with your hot, thick loads of cum?"
his hand moved to your stomach to feel his prick shifting under your skin, within the loose grip of his fingers. he pounded into you, the slap of skin-on-skin accompanying your increasing crescendo of moans. you clenched around him repeatedly, unable to help bearing down; you were so close - all conscious thought had left you, to be replaced with only sensations and instincts whose sole purpose was this unfathomable bliss, beyond anything you've ever felt.
suddenly, art came inside you, and you groaned at the feeling of his cum spurting inside you, painting your walls in thick pumping globs.
"art, oh fuck." your head fell back as you creamed around his girth, adding to the mess in your spent pussy. your arm shook, threatening to fall out from under you with the intensity, and art wrapped his arm around you to keep you steady while he pulled out of you. you sighed, completely fucked out but already missing the fullness of him inside you, your hair matted to your sweaty forehead, cheeks flushed crimson.
you hopped off the counter and knelt down to take art's seemingly still hard cock in your mouth, appearing to have no refractory period.
the thought crosses your mind again that this is no ordinary man, that he might not even be a man at all, and the idea hardly fazed you. you loved horror and crytids, had considered yourself a certified monster fucker in the hypothetical sense, and now perhaps you were, in the very literal sense, too.
you sucked hard at the head, the combined taste of his and your cum bursting on your tastebuds. you'd stretched your mouth around his girth, ducking down about halfway, bobbing repeatedly, while twisting your hands around the rest of him. your tongue massaged along the underside as you sank down completely, nose pressing against his pelvis.
usually you didn't have much of a gag reflex, but art is so massive you have to fight it back, loving the weight on your tongue, the fullness of his girth in your mouth and down your throat too much not to resist.
you swallow around him, flickering your gaze up to watch his head falling back, gaunt face twisted in pleasure. your pussy throbbed at how hot he looks, matching the hot pulse of his shaft between your lips.
suddenly the locked doorknob jostles again, followed by the jangling of keys. you draw back enough to stare up at art, giggling and kissing at his slit, and art joins in your laughter. neither of you bother to make any attempts to cover yourselves, nor care about the consequences.
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sorry for the sudden ending, i suppose it's up to y'all to decide for yourselves what the consequences were. ofc art would kill whoever interrupted them and whoever else tried to stop him🙈
anyway, thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed, if you did like, reblog, and/or comment, i'd really appreciate it! 🖤
© clownyclaushoe 2024
#art the clown#terrifier#terrifier 2#terrifier 3#art the clown x reader#art the clown x reader smut#art the clown x afab reader#art the clown x y/n#art the clown x you#art the clown fanfic#art the clown fanfiction#terrifier fanfic#terrifier fanfiction#art the clown smut#clown fucker#clown smut#my fanfiction#mine
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Dazai leans over the edge, a strong gust of wind is all it would take to push him over, to send him falling to his sweet, ultimate demise.
Chuuya grabs his arm in a strong grip- but he doesn't pull Dazai away from the edge. Chuuya looks Dazai straight in his eyes. Bright blue eyes meet Dazai's and he says in a firm voice,
"If you jump, you'll kill both of us."
And it's clear, right then, how deeply Chuuya trusts Dazai.
And Dazai doesn't jump.
#GUYS GUYS GUYS#I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M FUCKING DOING#I DONT KNOW WHAT THIS IS OR HOW TO TAG IT#OMG YALL#I came up with this in one go without any further thought#wrote it down immediately#and now im going to post it#i dont know what this is- yall#dont judge me okat-#dazai bsd#dazai osamu#bsd dazai#bsd dazai osamu#bsd osamu dazai#chuuya nakahara#nakahara chuuya#bsd chuuya#bsd chuuya nakahara#bsd nakahara chuuya#bsd soukoku#soukoku#soukoku unconventional mating rituals ao3 tag#bsd skk#skk#originally i was gonna add soemthing about chuuya's eyes looking like they were glowing#but that felt too cheesy#I was gonna add something about their souls being tied together their lives so firmly connected that if dazai dies chuuya dies and theres#nothign either one can do about it#this feels too cheesy#im gonna jump (not really)
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𝖓𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖙 • 𝖆.𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖗𝖙
your biggest fan soon becomes your biggest obsession….
black onlyfans creator!reader (fem descriptions), nerdy!armin, public sex/public masturbation, squirting, mentions of toys, exhibitionism, throatfucking, cumshot
📝: I wanted to go a completely different direction with this but a) it’s no longer kinktober and it would’ve much better suited that and b) nerd!armin just scratches an itch in my brain I can’t quite put my finger on. So enjoy! 🫶🏾 (also, I AM SO SORRY THIS SHIT IS SO LONG 😭😭 I don’t intend on headcanons being this length but I can’t shut the fuck up.)
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nerd!armin had been a dutiful subscriber of (y/n) (l/n)’s or as the world knew you, (performer name) for quite some time. He’d faithfully watched your content, never missing an upload to your sites and shamelessly scrolling your Twitter.
nerd!armin preferred your videos over others because they were so unique. Always willing to push the envelope by shooting in unconventional spaces; your car, public bathrooms and even dressing rooms..a polar opposite to his shy, bashful nature. In a way, he was jealous but also aroused..
from your long acrylics, fluffy lashes, colorful hair that changed from video to video and of course, the beautiful, dark brown complexion that radiated underneath the sun or ring lights, nerd!armin was obsessed.
nerd!armin would lie in bed after a long study session, classes or even a hard day at work..mindlessly stroking his cock in one hand as he held his phone in the other, eyes glued to the screen whilst you performed those lewd acts.
shoving those dildos in and out of your tight cunt, those pretty pink walls and plump brown lips sucking on that silicone toy..stretching yourself open all for his pleasure. A jeweled butt plug shoved into your ass and cream oozing down onto that gorgeous skin and the leather of your seats as you worked yourself into countless orgasms..mewling and begging for the would be viewer to keep fucking you..
“Fuck, I’m about to come, daddy..you’re gonna make me squirt.” Crying out as nerd!armin jerked himself even faster..subconsciously responding back without a single other person being in the room. ”Squirt for me, baby. Come..” Whimpering before exploding with a load of his own..
despite only being an intern, nerd!armin was well off from his freelancing tech work and although it didn’t leave him much room for socializing, he would tip you amicably on all the new content, as well as leave kind, respectful, encouraging words. It wasn’t something you saw often in this field.
it also didn’t take nerd!armin long to realize that you never featured a partner in any of your content like some girls eventually did. Only the various assortment of toys gifted to you by supporters. Which only further fed his delusions when you made a mess and glared into the camera, batting those doe brown eyes before saying “..look at what you made me do..that big dick feels so good..”
nerd!armin, who had only been with one woman sexually in his entire life and didn’t date often, could only dream of being with a girl like you.
so it came as no surprise when you announced that you would be opening a contest to film with one of your subscribers for the first time, nerd!armin leaped at the chance! The thought of getting to fuck the woman he’d hopelessly fawned over excited him.
nerd!armin nearly fainted when he got a DM on OnlyFans one day to see that he had won, asking when he’d like to arrange the meetup.
nerd!armin was understandably nervous on the day you two came face to face..but felt as ease when you continuously reassured him and even made sure that both of you had been tested, as well as protection.
“You’re so cute..it’s nice to finally meet you. Thank you for supporting me..” your gentle voice sent a shockwave of butterflies soaring through nerd!armin’s stomach as you wrapped him in a tight hug…and of course, a tightening in his pants upon laying eyes on his favorite creator. But that was merely the beginning.
nerd!armin found himself blushing when you slowly traced circles all over his skin, examining the single tattoo on his forearm and complimenting the smell of his cologne as the two of you sat alone in the bedroom of the designated filming space of your spacious home. Impressed by the bookshelves full of old literature he passed on the way in.
“Mmmm..you’re nervous, aren’t you?” “…I guess you could say that.” “Well don’t be, I’m going to make sure we have a good time, I promise..”
nerd!armin had no idea just how true you were to your word when less than ten minutes after the camera came on, you were on your knees, tongue extended and a wide smile on your face as he towered over you.
nerd!armin could hardly contain himself when eventually, those glossy brims were now encompassed around his cock. Slurping noises emanating around the room, along with his adorable cries…sloppy drool and gag spit spilling from that wet mouth and onto the pulsating head, shaft and those swollen balls. Disregarding the fact that your pretty face had become a disheveled mess.
“Oh my God…that feels so good, beautiful. Your mouth feels fucking amazing..” “You wanna come for me, baby?” “..yes! Drain me, please..” pathetically pleading whilst relentlessly fucking your throat.
nerd!armin unabashedly spent days, practicing his stroke on a translucent flesh light, feeding it deep thrusts and stuffing it with an ungodly amount of cum, examining your videos like study material..in hopes of gaining some stamina against you.
but nothing could prepare nerd!armin for the sheer sensation that being inside of you brought upon him.. however, he wasn’t the only one caught off guard..especially when he’d gently tug your head down and force you to watch as he glided into that narrow hole.. a move he’d learn from his tapes.
“It’s so big..damn..” “I told you..” giggling to yourselves as your gazes met and he’d begin to move.
nerd!armin almost felt compelled to believe that you were faking your moans like other pornstars so often did…but that misconception was cleared up when your eyes began to trail back, legs began to tremble and a slight bulge formed at the very bottom of your stomach.
“Yes, you stretching the fuck out of this pussy, baby..right there!..” “Am-am I doing a good job?” “You fucking me so good, please don’t stop.”
nerd!armin nearly lost all composure when you all but pushed him away, only to shower him in a stream of your juices. Only increasing as he tapped that swollen tip against your quivering folds.
nerd!armin didn’t last more than five minutes after that powerful climax and began dry heaving as his own neared. Ushering you back to your knees to paint those pretty features and tits with his load.
nerd!armin was convinced that once the cameras shut off, you’d put him out for nutting too quickly. Surely a woman of your caliber would never deal with that again. But yet again, he was proven wrong when you smiled up at him, flicking your tongue across your lips before posing a question. “So..where should we should film next time? We gotta do this more often..”
nerd!armin had found himself the newest and sole object of (creator’s name) affection!
#🧚🏾♀️—faerie tales#armin artlert#armin arlet x reader#attack on titan modern au#attack on titan#attack on titan smut#attack on titan au#armin x black y/n#armin x black reader#armin x reader#armin smut#armin aot#smut headcanons#armin arlet smut#armin arlert#aot smut#snk smut#x black reader#snk armin#armin x y/n#armin x fem reader#black fem reader#aot x black reader#aot x black y/n#aot x reader#aot x y/n#aot x female reader#snk au#smut fanfiction#black reader smut
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Cold
Pairing: Logan Howlett x reader
Warnings: slightly suggestive content
Summary: it's cold and you decide to go exploring for a heated blanket. you find logan instead.
Word Count: 1.5k
It was cold.
You were fucking freezing, shivering even under your piles of blankets. It was this stupid house, giant though it was, with shit heating. So when one of the kids fucked up and damaged the already extremely fragile heating, it broke. In the middle of winter.
You groaned, curling even further in on yourself, trying to keep any heat you’d formulated from escaping. Stupid house. Stupid cold. Stupid useless blankets. You wracked your brain for anything else you could get to find you some more warmth because you could not go on like this. You were jealous of all the mutants in the house with fire or heat mutations, or those with partners to sleep with, comfortable in each other's warmth.
You sat up when you remembered it. The electric blanket Storm had gotten as a gift a few years back lay discarded in one of the shelves in the kitchen, hidden in a box unopened. If you could get that, connect it to the outlet next to your bed, well…. You’d actually be able to sleep tonight.
It took you a while to actually build up the courage to leave your bed and your warmth, however slim it may be. When you did you were assaulted with the cold, more than twice as bad without your blankets. Not to say you weren’t already layered, with your winter pyjamas and hoodie, but still. It was cold.
You travelled down the long hallways and through the massive house, trying to get to the kitchen as quickly as possible. The torch in your hand shook slightly from your shivers, but you promised yourself it would all be worth it when you went back to your room with the toasty heated blanket.
You’d told yourself you’d be in and out, with the electric blanket in your room in no time, yet you stopped short when you saw the light on in the kitchen, and Logan leaning against the counter with a beer in his hand.
Your heart gave a lurch, which immediately gave you away, Logan’s eyes darting to you. You gave a nervous smile, sort of just… standing there. You’d had a minor crush on Logan for a while now, very low key. No one even knew about it; it was so minor. Just…. The playful banter you two had, and his looks, they appealed to you. Still, it was minor, and usually you were much more composed around him, but you were tired and cold and your defences were down.
“Logan,” you said, stepping forwards. “What are you doing here?”
Logan watched you intently, eyes roving your body as he sipped his beer. “Couldn’t sleep. What about you Darl?”
You tried not to smile at the nickname, rubbing your arms in an attempt to create more warmth. “I was cold.”
Logan raised his eyebrows. “So you came looking for company?”
Heat rushed to your face at the suggestion, as did Logan’s intent gaze as if he was eager to fill the role. You cleared your throat. “No, um, there’s a heated blanket in one of the cupboards.”
Again Logan raised his eyebrows with an amused expression. “Is there now?”
You felt a smile stretch on your face, even though you fought it. You rolled your eyes at him. “Yes, there is.”
He placed his beer on the counter and moved forwards. “Well now you’ve got to show me this blanket, because otherwise I’ll be believing you came here for me.”
The flirty tone in his voice made you flush even more, but you kept your cool, observing him with a calm expression, only a hint of a smile on your face now. “Alright then.”
You walked to the cupboard on the left, rummaging through it. Your memory was a little fuzzy but you were sure Storm had put it in here. Logan watched you with a smirk, beer forgotten as he leant against the counter.
You shot him a glare. “Aren’t you cold?”
In nothing but a t-shirt and jeans, you’d be shivering uncontrollably at that point, barely able to form a coherent thought let alone a sentence. Logan seemed fine though, not a single goosebump on his skin. More than fine actually, if his entertained smirk was anything to go by.
“Helpful side of the regeneration,” Logan said, “keeps my body temp normal no matter what.”
He stepped forward till he was standing over you, watching you intently. “Now, where’s that blanket bub?”
You cleared your throat, standing up. “Must be in one of the other cupboards.”
He made an ‘ah’ sound as you quickly moved onto a different cupboard, all the while feeling yourself get colder and colder. Yet as you continued to search, you came up empty handed, the blanket having disappeared all together.
You were relentless though, because the thought of Logan thinking you came down there for him… well, you weren’t sure you’d be able to look him in the eye again if that happened. So you continued looking fruitlessly, all the while feeling the cold wrap its icy claws around you.
“Alright, you’re getting cold, admit defeat yeah?” Logan asked after watching you nearly drop an item because of how bad your hands were shaking.
You shook your head. “I’m fine.”
He let out a scoff. “You’re certainly not fine. Come on now.”
His hand gently grabbed your shoulder, pulling you back from the cupboards. You turned around to stare at him, slightly panicked. “I didn’t come down here to take you to bed. I promise.”
Logan let out a laugh, his arms draped loosely around your waist. “I know that bub, I was just playing.”
You looked up at him, slightly embarrassed, though the cold ensured you didn’t focus on it too much. “Well…. As long as you know.”
Logan gave a rueful nod. “I know, but I’d have liked it if you did take me there.”
You nearly let out a baffled gasp, looking up at him with wide eyes. You two had your fun, but you’d never been this forward with each other before. “What?”
“Well, you’re cold,” he said, “and there’s no heated blanket. I’d hate for you to go back to your room just to be cold again.”
You couldn’t help but smile slightly. “Oh so you're doing me a favour are you?”
Logan shrugged, a smirk on his face. “You could say that. Or you could say I’ve wanted you for a long fucking time and I’m finally doing something about it.”
“Oh?”
Logan’s arms around your waist tightened, pulling you to his chest. You revelled in the warmth of having a human’s body against yours, the heat radiating from him a welcome comfort.
“Yes, oh,” Logan replied, grinning at you like he knew how much you enjoyed being in his arms. “So what do ya say bub?”
You couldn’t think too much about it, the cold making it hard for any rational thought to make it through, but you knew you wanted this. Him.
“Hmm… I say we better hurry up and get to my room because I’m freezing.”
Logan smirked. “One thing first.”
He leant down and kissed you, one hand staying on your waist while the other came up to your face, gripping your chin slightly and tilting it forwards to give him better access to your mouth. His lips were feverish against yours, like a starved man, dragging against your mouth like it was all he’d been able to think about for who knew how long.
You kissed him back, something he obviously revelled in if his audible groan was anything to go by. Both his hands were now on your face cupping it as he kissed you harder, devouring your mouth.
He pulled back when he noticed your shaking though, shaking his head at you with an amused smile. “Now let’s get you in bed yeah?”
You nodded your head, almost salivating at the thought of some warmth, and let Logan lead you to your room, a hand placed firmly on your waist. When you saw your bed, looking so inviting, you left Logan’s side to crawl into it, letting out a sigh of content when you covered yourself under the piles of blankets.
Logan smirked at you before tugging his shirt up and taking it off. Your eyes widened as you stared at his chest, his abs flexing as he raised his arms, the small trail of hair going from his belly button to hidden behind the waistband of his sweatpants, hanging low in his hips and giving you the perfect view of his V-line.
“What are you doing?” you managed to ask, even though you still hadn’t torn your gaze away from his body.
Logan’s smirk, noticing your stare, turned smug. “The less layers the better body heat bub.”
You swallowed, feeling your cheeks heat. “Well I’m too cold to take any of my clothes off.”
Logan moved forward, gently nudging you aside so he could get under the covers, immediately wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back to his chest. You shivered delightfully. He was right; the less layers the better body heat.
He moved forward to whisper in your ear, “that’s alright bub. We’ll leave that for another night.”
You smiled again, feeling flustered, and Logan chuckled against your head, giving you a chaste kiss on your hair.
“Goodnight,” you whispered to Logan, snuggling closer to him.
Logan’s hands tightened around your waist, pressing his head into the crook of your neck and peppering some kisses there. “Goodnight bub.”
#logan howlett#wolverine#x men#wolverine x reader#logan howlett x reader#x men movies#x men fic#x men x reader#james howlett#james logan howlett#xmen
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farmer!könig × female!reader
warnings: +18, smut, arranged marriage, breeding kink!
könig never thought that the love of his life would take so long to arrive, much less in such a small town where he lived and where everyone knew everyone. but yes, he just turned 30 he found himself totally alone, without a wife, girlfriend or even someone to fuck with without commitments.
being an only child, his parents rushed to find the right woman for him. they had to ensure that their legacy would continue and their lands would be passed down to their future grandchildren.
that's where you come in, also the only daughter of a couple of lumberjacks and with a long list of suitors. although you could choose any boy in the town, your parents quickly paired you with könig, who was the son of the wealthiest family in the place.
you didn't know könig personally but you had seen him from time to time on the streets driving his truck carrying fruits and vegetables to supply the businesses. you knew that he was older than you, not only in age but also in body. he always had a serious face and a look that forced you to lower your head because of how intimidating he was.
your families introduced you one day where they had lunch and talked about how beneficial it would be for both of you to get married. könig didn't contribute much, as he spent all that time looking at your breasts through your dress and biting his lip every time you dared to look into his eyes. neither you nor he spoke to each other.
after that, they organized a small wedding in the garden of könig's family and formalized the union between the two of you. you were now his wife and lived with him in a small house built by könig on his family land. however, the most important thing was missing, an heir.
you both knew that your families would not be calm until they saw you carrying his baby in your womb. that's why you and könig had to get closer to each other, both emotionally and physically. every time he came back from a long day of work, you would wait for him with a jug of fresh orange juice or even a beer. then you would prepare the shower for him, where könig would end up dragging you with him and you would shower together. he caressed your skin with excitement and you did the same but with a certain shyness. however, it never went any further, until now.
one afternoon you were harvesting vegetables from the garden until the presence of könig behind you caught your attention.
"it's time... for us to have a son."
könig was wearing his work shirt with a few buttons open and his blue jeans. he looked agitated, as if he needed you at that moment.
"könig... i, i don't know. i've never done it and i'm a little scared..."
you couldn't finish because könig knelt in front of you and grabbed your hips with his hands.
"please, please, let me fuck you. i can't wait any longer, my love, i need you.."
he begged with some pain in his voice, resting his head on your stomach and almost sobbing. his cock was throbbing inside his jeans and dripping with precum. your heart sank at seeing him so needy, so you accepted.
without wasting time, könig fucked you right there in his garden and on the ground, in a primitive way. your pussy took a while to get used to its size but soon the pain turned into pleasure. könig was on top of you, with your legs over his shoulders and his balls hitting your delicate skin.
"i knew this pussy was worth the wait... fuck, you're so tight."
könig kissed your legs, leaving a trace of his saliva and even lightly biting your skin, lost in pleasure. his grunts accompanied your moans and pleas for him to finish inside you as soon as possible, you were afraid that you would be discovered.
"these juicy tits, they're going to look even better when they're big and dripping with milk... are you going to carry my babies, huh? are you going to be a good mom?"
you nodded your head because your mouth couldn't let out anything but moans. könig increased his thrusts, fucking deep inside you until he filled you with his thick semen.
he gently lay down on top of you, careful not to crush you until his orgasm passed. he carefully pulled out of you, caressing your legs and putting the cum that came out back in with his fingers.
"i have to make sure it catch, mommy."
#könig x reader#könig smut#könig cod#könig call of duty#konig x reader#konig call of duty#konig smut#cod smut#cod x reader#konig cod#farmer!konig#könig#breeding k1nk#arranged marriage
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Fatherhood. P2
Single dad!Cregan Stark x reader
Summary: The reader follows through with her marriage proposal. (I literally cannot say more without spoiling stuff)
Part 1
Masterlist
...........................................................
"Father?" Her voice carried through the hall.
Bolton turned to give his daughter his entire attention.
"The carriage outside. Have we a visitor?" She asked meekly.
He sighed. "Afraid not."
Her head tilted. "An empty carriage? Who would ever send such-" She found herself stopping at the realization. "It's for me, isn't it?"
Bolton's lip tightened. "It is."
"Ah," she noted wearily. "I'll… I'll collect my things, I suppose."
He nodded, though his heart ached somewhere deep inside to see her go. "Best that you do. Can't have ya forgetting yer lavender, eh?"
She managed a smile. "No. I couldn't bare it."
"Go on, then."
She gave one last look before retreating up to her room.
…
She thanked the driver earnestly as she stepped in, watching the door shut behind her.
This was nicer than she anticipated it being.
She leaned back when the carriage began to move and started to close her eyes before pausing at the sight of a small sealed letter.
She picked it up.
The Stark sigil.
Her fingers shook as she opened it.
My dear lady, I do hope you'll excuse the manner in which you've received this letter. Your father seems to be a man of pageantry and show, keeping you in the dark. I implore you to stop the carriage for a surprise of sorts. - An eager father
She reread the letter a few times before daring to do as it said.
Tap.Tap.Tap. against the ceiling of the carriage.
It came to an abrupt halt.
She paused with her hand still raised at the ceiling. Her ears listened intently for any noise at all.
The door soon opened and light poured further into the carriage. A hand shot out and she took it, stepping out.
When she stepped out and her eyes adjusted, the sight of her hand in Lord Stark's threw her off. "Lord Stark…?"
Cregan's bright smile filled her sight. "Hello, sweet girl."
She looked around, noticing that Cregan's horse stood behind the carriage. "What is this? A-Are you trying to save me?" She asked with a confused brow.
"Am I- what?" His grip on her hand tightened. "No. No. Of course not."
She frowned. "Excuse my bluntness, my lord. Why are you here then?"
He took a step back to collect himself, and a bright smile came over his face. "Y/n." He took her other hand as well. "Who do you imagine wished for your hand so ardently?"
It clicked then and her eyes widened. "You-"
"-Indeed," he beamed.
Her mouth laid agape. "W-Why did you not tell me?"
He rubbed his thumbs across her knuckles. "I had thought your father would, but alas."
"I fear I've embarrassed myself then-"
"-anything but." He persisted, "You've proven to me just how loyal you are. That's a trait that is not easily learned."
"You truly wish for my hand?" She asked.
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "Of course. Now come, Rickon awaits us in Winterfell."
Her eyes lit up. "Then we must go." She moved to the carriage, then paused when she noticed Cregan's lack of movement. "You are not traveling with me?"
He frowned. "A northman does not fair well in carts and carriages. We're made for horses."
She hummed. "Very well." She turned on her heel and began to walk to the horse.
He shifted his weight to his other foot. "What're you doing?"
She looked over her shoulder. "What? Think I can't manage one horse ride?"
An amused smile came over his face and he shook his head in acceptance as he strode over to her.
Did he have to lift her onto the horse? Yes. Did he have the reigns the entire time? Yes. Did she know a single thing about horses? No.
Did he point it out or complain once? Never.
…
The young woman had spent more time with Rickon than it seemed with Cregan for the time being.
Sure, their wedding was still a few weeks out, but it was a strange thing to see a woman so infatuated with a son that was not of her blood.
"A horse? Yes," she grinned as she tapped the wooden horse on the ground as if it was galloping. "It's a mighty horse, isn't it? Very strong. Much like your papa's."
Rickon moved to his small chest of toys and pulled out another wooden thing, quickly moving to sit by her and do the same thing with his toy as hers.
"A direwolf? Horses gallop. See?" She replicated her motion. "But direwolves run. Here." She held her hand over his and lightly moved it to tap at a smoother and lighter rhythm. "Horses move with their mind. Wolves move with their hearts. That's what makes them predators."
Rickon tries to replicate the motion she made. It was sloppy, but it was clear that he got the idea.
"That's wonderful. You're a clever boy," she preened at him.
"Clever as his father?" Cregan grinned from the doorway.
She gasped and turned, not expecting to see him while she was seated on the cold stone floor. "Cregan-"
He walked further in and knelt on the other side of them. "What have we here? A hungry wolf? Or is he friendly?"
She laughed. "All of our animals are friendly. Aren't they, Rickon?" When he nodded, she continued. "Wolves aren't hungry within these walls, Cregan."
His eyes were glued to hers, an obvious heat moving through his body. "Perhaps there is one."
Her head shot up and met his gaze, a pink hue coming to her cheeks. "I-"
Rickon's eyes had watered, and the boy let out a sniffle.
The tension was quickly broken, for both now focused on the boy.
"My boy," Cregan hummed. "No need for tears. I didn't mean that. There's no wolf besides Dark Watch. And she's no evil thing, is she?"
The boy finally let out a real cry, clearly terrified at the thought of a hungry wolf in Winterfell.
Cregan held his arms out, ready to receive the boy's wet cheek upon his chest. But it never came.
He heard her soft gasp as Rickon launched himself against her chest in desperation. She slowly wrapped her arms around him and began to rock him. "Your father didn't mean it, my little Rickon. It was only a jest."
Cregan wanted to be mad. He felt that maybe he should be. But there was no angry bone in his body.
His son had found a comfort besides him.
He believed he found himself falling further for her, if that was even possible.
…
"CREGAN!"
His head shot up from the letters sprawled across the council table. "Excuse me."
He didn't wait for permission from the council members before he ran out of the room and a fast pace.
The man pushed himself to run down the stairs, through the corridors that felt like forever, until he came upon his son's room.
"Cre-Oh. Oh, you missed the most wonderful thing," his betrothed beamed.
Relief filled him. "I thought you dead from the sounds."
"My heart is very much alive," she claimed. She held Rickon on her hip and Cregan couldn't help but imagine her doing so with his seed growing inside her.
He had to physically shake the thought away.
"W-What is it?"
She pulled Rickon closer to focus and her voice lowered. "Pa-pa," she enunciated. "P-ah p-uh."
She looked expectantly at the boy who only stared back.
"Oh, Cregan. I promise he said it. I truly do!"
He shook his head with a sigh. "I believe you. I do. But I've not heard him speak. If it wasn't for his cries, I'd fear he had no voice at all."
"Be easy on him. He's learning."
"He should have already," Cregan sighed. "I fear it's my fault."
Her head tilted and she shifted the boy. "I don't see how it could be."
Cregan fully sat at that point, crossing his legs lazily. "His mother died on the birthing bed, you know."
She nodded. "I remember."
"I was in shambles after that. Couldn't dare to look at him." He ran a hand through his hair as if brushing the memory away. "Took some time to get over it. And by then, well, the damage was done."
Her heart ached at his honesty. "There were wet nurses and servants to help though, surely?"
"Yes, but none are the same as a father's touch."
Her body grew warm, and not just from the child in her arms. "Indeed."
Cregan leaned forward and brushed his hand over the back of the boy's head. "He's a good child. I'm glad he has you."
She looked up at the man and admired the genuine smile that was over his face.
…
The weeks following were easy. Breaking fast with Cregan, followed by a walk through the halls to help her grow confidence in her home. Then hours in the library where she read or stitched. A servant brought small foods to tide her over to supper. Then supper with both Cregan and Rickon. The poor boy had to sit on his knees to even see over the table.
"No, no," Cregan laughed heartily. "You were terrified, my love!"
"I was n-" She couldn't help but brake into a smile. "Well, you're an intimidating man at first sight!"
"Am I still?" He asked as a tease, but it was mixed with something else. "Do I frighten you?"
Her breath escaped in a short pant, overcome with the thought of what being his wife would truly entail.
He was frightening to everyone. Firm and strong, not easily swayed. Cold and forbidding.
"No."
"No?"
"Not at all."
He gained a smirk. "How so?"
Her eyes shifted between him and his son. "You're softer than you wish to seem."
A fire was lit behind his eyes, and she knew that if Rickon wasn't there, they may have been doing something entirely different.
"Smart girl."
She preened at his praise.
…
"What about-"
"-I have it handled."
Her head tilted. "Fine. And th-"
"-It's been done. You worry too much."
"One last thing. T-"
"You intelligently foolish woman," he sighed as he took her shoulders in his large hands. "I have done it all. You need only do your part."
She forced herself to take a deep breath. "You wonderful man."
"And you, Lady Bolton? Are you not a wonder as well?" He grinned.
"Lady Stark," she corrected him.
…
She fit into the role of lady with grace and ease.
As if there was never such a prefect fit.
"Come," she beckoned Rickon along. "Your father is expecting us, and we shan't keep him waiting."
Upon seeing them enter the council room, Cregan's gloomy demeanor was instantly lightened. He stood up. "You're late."
She hums. "Do excuse us. Lord Rickon was practicing his jumping and who am I to stop him?" She teased
"Ah," he acknowledged when they got close enough. He bent down and picked up the boy. Once Rickon was held firmly against him, Cregan tilted his head down and kissed his wife deeply.
She pulled away with a fond giggle and red cheeks.
Cregan was an unashamed man, kissing his wife in such a manner in front of his councilmen. "Sit," he gestured to her chair. "Let us begin."
…
"I'll never know how to thank you," Cregan remarked quietly one day.
The three had managed to get away from Winterfell for an afternoon. Seated on the dead grass, she watched Rickon spend his time chasing a bird that was so far in the air, he'd never have a chance, even if he could fly behind it.
"Thank me? For what?"
"For this. For being able to live in such ease," he said as he gestured out to the field.
"I should be thanking you," she hummed as she reached out to their basket and ripped of a small piece of bread, eating it.
He leaned to her and placed a sweet kiss to her cheek. "Never."
She giggled and ripped another, now turning to him. "Fatherhood suits you, my love." Her hand came up to his lips.
He opened his mouth, smirking as his wife's hand pushed the bread between his lips. Her fingers rest there as a look comes into her eyes.
Cregan chewed the bread then kissed at her fingers. "And you, you wonderful mother."
"PAPA!"
Their heads shot up at the sound.
"Rickon?" Cregan's eyes widened. "RICKON?" He stood in a hurry and his eyes scanned the field.
He ran out when he saw where his son sat in the dirt. "Son, what are you doing? Gods, are you well?"
Rickon looked over his shoulder. In his hand was a flower. He held it up.
"Oh." Cregan bent down. "You scared me, boy. Yes, yes, that's a lovely flower."
Rickon stood up on his still pudgy legs and moved passed his father.
Y/n had been watching and had slowly starting walking to them. When Rickon neared, she bent down. "Did you speak?" She asked softly.
Rickon held the flower out to her.
"For me? Oh, you sweet, sweet boy!" She picked him up and spun him around. "I've never been more proud."
Cregan had joined them at that point. He pulled his wife into his hold. He kissed the crown of her head and whispered in her hair, "Thank you for this. Thank you, my girl."
The family stood there in the field, enjoying every bit of their lives together.
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#fanfiction#house of the dragon fanfiction#cregan stark x reader#game of thrones imagine#cregan stark x y/n#game of thrones fanfiction#game of thrones x y/n#cregan stark x you#cregan stark imagine#game of thrones x reader#cregan x reader#cregan stark#hotd cregan#cregan fanfiction#cregan x you#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon
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Better Bite the Bullet .ᐟ
❤︎ | He's just trying to be a good best friend by teaching you a useful skill in life... blowjobs (2k wc) ╰ feat. iwaizumi hajime (hq) x afab! reader
kinktober entry no. 10 | kinktober masterlist
tags - college au, childhood bestfriends, Oikawa mention, blowjobs, handjobs, no p in v, p*rn with plot, virgin! reader
minors do not interact
You've known Hajime since you were in diapers, long enough that he had grown indifferent to your antics. He hasn't even looked up once from his phone as you paced tirelessly around his bedroom. You were losing your shit and Hajime was sitting on his bed without a care in the world.
A bright idea came to you in the form of making your footsteps louder in hopes that it would annoy him enough to catch his attention. He clicks his tongue once before narrowing his eyes at your moving form.
But not even a second later, his eyes were back on his phone one again. "What the hell are you even doing?" he asked.
"Pacing around. Isn't it obvious?"
He grumbles, finally turning his phone off and throwing it to the side where it landed on his pillow with a soft thud. "No shit Sherlock. I meant what are you pacing around for? It's annoying."
Finally, you stop in your tracks, facing your childhood best friend with your lower lip between your teeth. You've been dying to tell him what was on your chest an hour ago. But now that you're about to spill the beans to him—you found yourself tripping over your words.
"I guess... um... Oikawa kinda asked me to hang out soon... um..."
Hajime's interest was piqued. Normally he wouldn't give two shits about who Oikawa asked out. But this time it was you. An uneasy feeling brewed in his stomach, like he had drank rancid milk.
"And you're worrying about it like some middle schooler? C'mon you're in college," he deflects. Of course, it was his defense mechanism—to act all tough and harsh with the revelation.
You crossed your arms in defense. "I get that... but it's THE Oikawa Tooru that we're talking about here."
"So?"
"What do you mean 'so'? Is your head not screwed on properly?"
Hajime rolls his eyes. Not only were you about to be whisked away by Oikawa, but you had the gall to act like a total brat right now.
"He's just asking to hang out—what's so amazing about that?"
Truth be told, you hadn't thought this far into what it would be like if you had this conversation with Hajime. You figured you wouldn't have to divulge the second—more embarrassing—part of this whole event.
A disappointed sigh leaves your lips. You screwed your eyes shut as if to prepare for the impact of his reaction on what you have to say next.
"A friend of mine told me that when he says something like that... it usually leads to... you know..."
Hajime's eyebrow perked then silence ensued. He knew what you meant, of course. He wasn't born yesterday.
"To what? Fucking?"
Your eyes shot open at his vulgar choice of words. That's exactly what you meant, but you didn't think he'd be so blunt about it. "I mean—if it does get to that... obviously I won't just go all the way with him. I haven't even talked to him that much," you say—backpedaling.
"You won't go all the way, but you'll go somewhere huh?" he pried further. He played it off like he was teasing or, worse yet, mocking. But he wanted to know; he knew his friend's intentions, but he didn't know yours.
You nervously bit your lip again. This was going to be the third revelation of tonight. Never in a thousand years would you have thought that you'd be having his conversation with your childhood best friend.
"Maybe... maybe, yeah... that's what I'm nervous about..."
The uneasy feeling had grown worse. Hajime swallowed even though his mouth felt dry. "Then just don't," he suggests. "You could always just hang out normally."
Another sigh escapes you and you decide to sit beside him—plopping down on the mattress. You ran your fingers through your hair, smoothing out any tangles that had built up.
"I just wanna experience something... you know? I'll only be young and in college once..." you admit. At this point, there was no use in hiding it. Hajime knew every substantial detail anyway.
This time, it was Hajime who sighed. Part of him still felt dread, but another felt pity for you.
"Jeez..."
Hearing his reaction, you felt the urge to stand up and find your bearings. But a warm hand grips your wrist before you could go. You turn to look back and see Hajime's determined expression.
"I'll teach you then."
────────────
Hajime was a 100% sure not a single rational thought was left in either of your heads. Somehow, he thought that if only you touched him and not vice versa—it would be fine. And, somehow, you agreed to it.
You gulped at the sight in front of you, Hajime leaning against the wall on his bed with his dick out of his sweats.
"Well... that's certainly... something..."
"Do you also plan on commenting about his dick when you see it?"
His sarcasm was hardly appreciated right now, especially since you were sure that your nerves would send you into a tailspin.
"No, of course not. I just—fuck, fine. Let's get to it," you say before scooting closer to him.
Carefully, you reach out and gently wrap your fingers around his shaft. Hajime hissed softly, but you were too concentrated to even notice.
Mesmerized, you swiped your thumb over his tip and gave him a soft tug. His jaw was clenched so hard, trying to act like none of this fazed him. But the way you treated him so delicately was arousing in its own way.
You begin stroking him faster. "Is this okay? It doesn't hurt, right?"
"No, but," Hajime pauses before placing his larger hand over yours. "You could do it better though."
He was now guiding you—actually teaching you how to jerk a guy off. Your eyes were fixated on the way both of your hands glided up and down his shaft, slippery from the immense amount of pre.
But his eyes were on your face. Oddly enough, he found it endearing how focused you were at the task on hand (quite literally). He watched every time your face scrunched, how your mouth was a bit agape, and how your eyebrows would quirk up sometimes.
It was cute, he thought.
As soon as you figured out the pace and pressure, he let go of your hand, allowing you free reign over his dick. You felt it twitch. It was most likely a good sign at least. Even better now that he had his eyes closed, head thrown back against the wall.
Maybe this was easier than you thought. Maybe you could do something else. So your hand slows and your eyes trail up to his face. "Hajime."
"What?"
"Can I use my mouth?"
All the air was knocked out of his lungs upon hearing the words that left you. "Huh? What for?"
"No one's gonna be impressed by a handjob. Guys already do it on their own all the time," you reason.
Hajime clicks his tongue. "You don't have to do that kind of thing yet when you're this inexperienced."
He tried staying stern despite the almost pleading look on your face. Hell, he wasn't even sure why he was denying you. He could have your pretty lips wrapped around his cock in a second and here he was—acting like a righteous fool when he doesn't have to be.
Again, he clicks his tongue. But, this time, not because of you. He's annoyed at himself for having no restraint... for having no shame that he's kind of taking advantage of his best friend's naivety.
But to hell with it.
"Okay," he relents. Hajime watches as you get even closer to him. Only then do you feel the nerves consume you once more.
The newfound confidence you had earlier had quickly dissipated as soon as you began leaning down. It didn't help that his natural manly scent was intoxicating. It was warm—you felt it against your face—and it was achingly hard.
You pucker your lips on instinct, accidentally kissing his tip instead. Hajime thought you were doing it on purpose to fuck with him, not realizing that you were tripping out of nervousness.
"Don't be a tease."
"I'm not!" you countered before quickly wrapping your lips around his cock. The warmth of your mouth sent shivers down his spine. But the slight grazing of your teeth on his sensitive shaft made him uncomfortable.
"Ah shit.... less teeth. Gotta hollow out your cheeks a bit."
Your jaw was already hurting. Though it probably had less to do with your skill and more to do with his size. He seemed more manageable with just a hand, but now that you're using your mouth, the task seemed gargantuan now.
But you still try. You do as he says and you feel his entire body relax a bit. It takes a lot of your concentration to make sure your teeth were out of the way and your lips provided enough suction.
That alone had Hajime seeing stars. It wasn't the best blowjob of his life, but seeing that it was your head bobbing up-and-down on his dick was a sensation in and of itself.
After getting used to the basics, you decide to throw in a little bit of tongue action. It caught him by complete surprise and a soft groan spilled from his lips.
Scared that you had hurt him, you were about to lift your head to ask him, but his hand quickly places itself on top of your head. He wasn't rough nor did he forcefully keep your head down.
Instead, he began caressing your hair—starting from the top of your head, going down to smooth your locks. It was his way of reassuring you that he felt fine—amazing even. You were doing a damn good job for someone who hasn't done this before.
Hajime avoided using his voice throughout the whole thing to make it less intimate and more 'educational' if that even made sense. But he understood that you probably needed more reassurance.
"That's it," he started. "You're doing so well... so well for me."
Hajime had filthier things to say otherwise, but again, this was supposed to be 'educational'.
As much as you want to keep up the pace that you built, your jaw was too sore for that. A bit of a break wouldn't hurt, so you retract yourself—tongue lolled out with a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. The sight alone would have made him bust, but he kept his composure... somewhat.
"Oh fuck..."
His words spurred you on, however. You settled on suckling his tip while your hand worked on the rest of his length. Having the best of both worlds made his head spin. His leaking tip was the most sensitive it had ever been and the fast pace of your hand made the coil in his stomach tighter and tighter.
Hajime wanted nothing more but to come in your mouth—consider it as payment for him teaching you. His dick began to twitch again like earlier, but this time you noticed the way his abs would tense up. The dampness that had been pooling in your underwear ever since you had his dick in your hand was starting to become distracting. But you pulled through.
"Fuckkk... I'm coming in your mouth," he announced. Thick white ropes of hot cum painted your tongue. The flavor was odd—something you've never tasted before. It made your face contort a bit.
He tried catching his breath after that single mindblowing orgasm. But through his high, he noticed the hesitation on your face. "You don't have to swallow that you—"
But he stops mid-sentence as he watched you gulp down his fresh seed. You've gone this far—might as well.
Hajime swore that he felt his dick twitch back to life, ready for more. He wasn't sure what you did to him. But now he was certain that you absolutely shouldn't do this with anyone but him.
"Fuck... forget about that moron. Have fun with me instead."
©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms
╰ author's note Wow... I'm actually kinda proud of this one?
#haikyuu#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu smut#haikyuu!!#iwaizumi x reader#iwaizumi hajime#iwaizumi hajime x reader#iwaizumi smut#hq#hq smut#kinktober#kintober 2024#mksu.ktober 24#mksu.works
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So…
Cregan on a day going on a frenzy out of nowhere and full on fucking the brains out of his wife THE WHOLE DAYYYY, neglecting his duties while the other Lords call for him and he straight up threatens to kill anyone who dares interrupt him…on my knees rn🧎🏻♀️
Go off, your majesty👑🙇🏻♀️
NEGLECTING HIS DUTIES---CONGRATS CAUSE UR DEFO A MOTHER AFTER THAT WOOOOOOOOO ALRIGHT.
so. my brain is doing a think. a nice, slutty think.
Let me just start by clarifying that Cregan, above all else, respects his position just as the majority of his ancestors have done before him. He's very serious about being the Warden of the North and he really does his best to...behave himself. Sometimes though, he doesn't.
alright thats enough thinking its time to fuk. i sincerely apologize for what im about to unleash. may the odds be ever in your favor i guess lol
ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ.
NSFW stuff under the cut. 18+ only. I'm not responsible for the content you choose to consume. ty. no SRSLY this one needs like twenty more nsfw warnings
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
"You can take it.” He murmurs into the quiet of their chambers, eyes trained down where he’d connected to his wife for the third—no, maybe fourth time since they’d risen that day. He’d lost count, much like she had. It felt pointless to keep track anyway. All that mattered was that it felt good. Filling her deep, slow, teeth dug into her calf over his shoulder just to ground himself and remember where he was. The Lord of Winterfell was cunt-drunk beyond belief.
Cregan woke that morning without the thought of his tasks for the day. No. None at all. His wife was sitting up in their marital bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, reaching over for her soft robe—Gods, he lost absolute control of himself, of his restraint. He saw the supple planes of her back, and that was all it took, really. He’d taken her on her stomach first, a satisfying, lazy fuck that he couldn’t hold himself from coming early. That didn’t mean he was done, by any means, just momentarily winded. His mouth worked just fine to bring her to peak.
Seeing his own seed dribble out of her pretty cunt was enough to make him hard all over again. He feasted on her for breakfast, smearing his come over her pearl and cleaning it off nice and clean. He loved the way she tasted when she released against his mouth—loved the way his own release tasted when mixed with her slick. Delving his tongue deep, hands gripping her fleshy backside as he was torn between lapping up his own seed from her or pushing it further in. Gods, it was obscene. That made him all the more feral to go again. Everything was so warm when he slipped himself back inside. Whatever possessed him that day was unknown to either of them.
It was frantic, breathy—short strokes that were brief but hard enough to make her eyes roll back. Cregan held himself up via the backboard, thankful more and more every day that he’d chosen the sturdiest design imaginable as he snapped his hips against her ass. His wife was a thorough mess, mewling inconsolably as the sensitivity from her last release was front and center. She came again as his cockhead hit that spot like a bullseye.
They took a respite, thankfully. Cregan had never felt himself so drained of seed before. But, back to where we were: "You can take it.” He murmurs into the quiet of their chambers, eyes trained down where he’d connected to his wife for the third—no, maybe fourth time since they’d risen that day. He’d lost count, much like she had. It felt pointless to keep track anyway. All that mattered was that it felt good. Filling her deep, slow, teeth dug into her calf over his shoulder just to ground himself and remember where he was. The Lord of Winterfell was cunt-drunk beyond belief.
This time, his thrusts were deliberate, keen, and languid. He was fucking her. Making love. Making heirs. Pushing his come as deep as it could go and satiating his urge to breed her until she was round with the litter of her Lord Wolf. She was on her back, by the edge of the bed, eyes locked on Cregan’s light eyes, her pupils equally as dilated as she watched him take his time with her. “You—have a meeting today.” Huh. He did.
“Don’t care.” He grunts, thumbs pushing into the back of her thighs. His brows were furrowed in concentration, only seeing the sweat gathering on her clavicle, the flush of her cheeks, the way her nails were digging into the sheets—the tunnel vision was going to make him bust. “You’re forgetting.” She moans, head tilting back. “Forgetting—mmmh! Forgetting your responsibility to your bannermen.” Cregan bit her calf harder at the mention of them. “I don’t care. I’ll slit the throat of any man who dares remove me from your perfect cunt, wife.” He rasps, now briefly recalling that he was supposed to attend first thing in the morning. Ah, well, too late now.
“You’d better fill me then, my Lord husband.” She giggles, delighted at the prospect of having him all to herself for the day. “If we’re going to spend the afternoon making pups, we’d better not disappoint them.” His eyes flick up at her face as he pauses his deep thrust, squeezing her thighs in his large hands. A rumble of a sultry laugh emits from his chest. “Your womb will take all that I give it, woman. I’ll make sure of that.”
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
#dingdonganswers#house of the dragon#cregan stark#hotd#cregan stark fanfic#cregan stark imagine#cregan stark x female reader#cregan stark x reader#cregan x reader#cregan stark smut
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who cares. xavier
ෆ pairings : xavier x female reader
ෆ genre : drabble, smut, pwp
ෆ miel's note : so guys. unfortunately there aren't many fics about love and deepspace at the moment but here i AM so come aboard! i don't intend to let you starve.
ෆ warnings : mdni. switch!xavier, switch!reader, established relationship, couch sex, some teasing, riding, rough sex, unprotected sex, reader feeds him with her mouth, xavier is a cutie and a monster at the same time . . . ໑ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚
"w-wait im thirsty-" you threw your head back and moaned xavier's name as you bounced faster on his cock.
"w-what?" you raised your head at his words and his hand came to rest on your hips, trying to slow you down as he blindly reached for a bottle of water on the coffee table next to the sofa you were both on. "fuck. baby we are fucking right now-" you squealed loudly as he raised his hips to try and catch the bottle, which was further away than he thought but still, he couldn't reach it. you put your hands on his chest and moved your hips slower against his.
"i know but.." he raised his puppy dog eyes to you and you couldn't resist him any longer. he opened his mouth and a little whimper escaped from between his lips as you placed your hands on either side of his head on the sofa. his hands slid down your back to grab your ass, making you fuck yourself harder on his cock. "please.." your teeth caught your lip to keep yourself from screaming as you felt his cock hit your g-spot. you leaned forward a little bit more to grab the bottle, without taking your eyes off xavier.
he smiled between moans as you felt him tremble between your thighs at the sight of you licking the bottle cap erotically. your other hand, which was still on his chest, slid to his nipple, which you pinched with a grin. xavier arched his back against the sofa with a loud mewl, your heart melting as you watched his ears redden. you finally opened the bottle and brought it to your lips, while he took the opportunity to pinch your ass in return, almost knocking the bottle out of your hands. you crushed your pelvis against his and raised an eyebrow as his teeth caught his lip.
"say sorry baby." your thumb pressed again against his swollen bud, making him thrust his hips up.
"ahhh... i'm sorry.." you leaned in to kiss his forehead and little whimpers escaped from between his lips with each of his thrust as he watched you straighten up to put water in your mouth. you leaned over him again and placed the bottle back on the coffee table.
"open your mouth." he opened his mouth and your gaze dropped to his collarbones, which were visibly reddening. you put your forearms on either side of his head and your lips caught his, making him tremble beneath you as he timidly swallowed the water you finally gave him. a trickle of water escaped from between your lips and xavier arched his back, moaning prettily into your mouth as he felt the cool water running against his ear. when he had finished drinking all the liquid in your mouth, you licked his tongue before letting go of his lips and you pressed your forehead against his. "f-faster baby." you straightened your upper body a little and your fingers entwined his soft blond hair. he tilted his head to the side and kissed your forearm without taking his eyes off you.
"everything you want." he tilted his head back slightly with a cute whimper and your moans started echoing against his living room walls as he started to thrust his cock deeper into your dripping cunt. his hands moved up the small of your back before getting back to your ass, which he slapped hard, making you bounce even faster on his cock, fucking him back roughly. "f-fuck. you're so wet..n'tight-" one of xavier's hands slipped between your breasts to grasp your throat and you threw your head back as you cried out louder.
a streams of yes’s escaped from your glossy lips as the doorbell suddenly rang throughout the apartment. you tilted your face back towards xavier, who was moaning with his mouth wide open and his cheeks more than flushed. he didn't seem to have heard and you tried to warn him, but you mewled when his hand, which was on your ass, slipped onto your hips before putting his arm around them, and you started to rub your clit harder against his pelvis. he pressed his arm down on your waist, making you lean your ass back to let him fuck you rougher. your grip on his hair tightened and you fell on top of him as he struck you with a thrust that was stronger than the others, your delicious breasts pressed against his chest made him blush even more. you looked up at him and opened your mouth to try to speak again, but seeing your face so fucked made him even more excited, you flushed as you could hear the lewd squelching and skin slapping against skin noises getting louder.
"b-baby....ahhh.. d-door-" the doorbell rang again and xavier smiled between two moans.
"it's the delivery guy-" he slipped his hands under your thighs and pushed you more against him, arching your back. you could feel your wetness trickling down to his fingers. you also smiled and licked his chin before biting gently, making him whimpers.
"ahh- let's keep..fucking then."
© 𝙢𝙞𝙚𝙡𝙪𝙨𝙘𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 ! 𝙢𝙙𝙣𝙞 — 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭, 𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘱𝘭𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ☆⌒(>。<)
#xavier love and deepspace#love & deepspace#love and deepspace#love and deep space x reader#love and deep space x you#love and deepspace smut#anime smut#drabble#smut drabble#one shot#xavier#xavier love and deep space#smut#xavier x reader#xavier x you#xavier x y/n
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˖˙ ᰋ ── you, clouds and rain (and the wine on your lips)
﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff, slightly suggestive
﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: my mindy requested something soft and domestic with a slice of spicy tension with hyun and who am i to say no? enjoyyy <33 and let me know your thoughts <3 part two right here
When shooting your tired boyfriend a message this morning, inviting him over for lunch and a cuddle sesh by the television, the last thing you expected was a power outage. Even though it was still light outside, the sun and its bright rays were obscured by dark and angry clouds that could only mean one thing: rain.
Hyunjin was a fan of rain, loving the silence and how the whole world seemed to slow down and hurry home. He could be as silly as he wanted and nobody would judge him, too busy to remain dry to care about anything else. You, on the other hand, hated rain. It usually ruined all of your plans and kept you stuck inside, depriving you of sunlight and everything you loved. Including seeing your beloved and going on cute dates, holding hands throughout the day while exploring new and exciting places neither has seen before.
And now it ruined another one of your plans because things could never go your way, now, could they?
“I’m so sorry, Hyun.” You sigh, playing around with the food on your plate, absolutely dejected.
Hyunjin shakes his head and tries to hide the smile threatening to stretch across his features, freshly dried hair bouncing with his every move. “You’re sorry for what exactly?”
Thunder interrupts before you can even begin, souring your mood further as Hyunjin reaches for your fork, twirls it around expertly and brings it to your mouth to eat before it gets cold. You’ve worked hard on this pasta, letting it go to waste would be a shame.
“The rain.” You mumble before chewing, pouting. He waits patiently for you to finish before leaning over the table to wipe some sauce that has somehow landed on your chin.
“You can’t control the weather, baby.” He smiles, fondness spilling from his eyes as he watches you reach for your drink. Your apartment was no longer bright, engulfed in this darkness that would fool anyone into believing night was about to set at any moment. Fortunately, you managed to prepare everything before the power went out so at least your lunch date wasn’t completely ruined.
To set the mood and try to lift your spirits, Hyunjin has lit a lone candle between you on the table – a romantic till the end, you’re convinced your boyfriend would shrivel up and die if he couldn’t spoil you somehow.
“Well, I want to control it all to make you happy!” The statement is a bit childish but not far from the truth. For Hyunjin, you would do anything to see that beautiful smile of his lighten up every room. Control the weather, move mountains and even give him the moon which he embodied without even realizing. As bright as he was, Hyunjin was the moon in your eyes, illuminating every dark corner of your world with his ethereal glow that left every passerby in awe.
Breathtakingly beautiful, both from the exterior and from within. There was no other person like him in this universe.
This time, he laughs, eyes turning into two crescent moons as if to prove your previous point. “I’m the happiest as long as I’m with you, no matter the weather, time or place. I thought you knew that?”
You’re aware yet your heart still skips a beat, as it always does whenever he opens his mouth and hits you with such a line. Hyunjin wasn’t shy in the slightest when it came to you and the love that was overflowing out of him. All of it was yours, of course. He could never love another in the way he loved you for as long as he lived.
“Doesn’t matter.” You still shake your head, deciding to be stubborn. “It still ruined our plans. I was looking forward to finishing that show together and now we can’t.”
He takes a sip of his wine, the condensation on the glass proof of the warmth in the apartment. “It’s not like we can’t watch it another time, baby.”
“I guess.”
“Don’t pout.” His bigger hand settles on top of yours on the table, bringing it to his plump lips to plant a lingering kiss on the smooth skin. “I came over to see your beautiful smile and talk each other’s ears off. Don’t make me sad.”
Hyunjin makes a face, dramatizing his sadness and you finally laugh, returning to your meal with newfound vigour. He always managed to make even the gloomiest days happier, and you suspected your boyfriend might actually be an angel in disguise, sent from above to watch over you.
“So,” he starts, happiness radiating off of him at the delicious food, his hand still holding onto yours, “did you finish that new book you were telling me about the other day, yet?”
The rain was hitting your windows heavily, creating a curtain of sorts that kept you and Hyunjin separated from the outside world, protected from all evil in your little love bubble that continued to grow with every moment spent together. Excited, with your whole face lighting up, you stand abruptly and make your way over to plop yourself onto his lap without shame, just so you can snuggle while granting his wish. You were about to talk both of his ears off until he begged you to stop. And knowing Hyunjin, he might actually like that.
Time flies as you’re having fun with your other half, while he listens attentively to your every word, so drawn to you and the way your mouth moves that he can barely look away as he remembers to keep feeding you and himself until both of your plates are empty. If it were up to him, Hyunjin would glue your hands together so you’d never have to be more than a foot apart at all times. But reality is cruel, and spending all your time with your beloved was not socially acceptable – for some reason, you couldn’t make money this way. He really hated capitalism for keeping you away from him.
After a while, you both stand to wash the dishes, with him on your trail and being assigned to drying duty.
You’re laughing together as Hyunjin tells you more stories from work, something that happened the other day at the company, not leaving anything out. He was so honest and open about his feelings that nothing he said surprised you anymore.
Your back is to him as you wash the last glass when you feel strong arms pulling you to a sturdy chest, wrapping around your middle to ground the man as he leans over to hug you with all his might. You smile, genuinely, and rest your head on his shoulder just to plant multiple kisses on his cheek. He giggles, and you quickly shake the water and bubbles off your hands to turn around in his embrace and face him.
“Hi.” You smile, briefly kissing his nose. Thanks to the smaller windows, the kitchen was even darker than your dining room, creating a cosier, more intimate atmosphere one could only dream of basking in. Romantic with a pinch of tension neither could shake off - the pleasant kind.
The rain showed no sign of stopping any time soon so for the time being, you were the only two people in the world.
“Your smile is my favorite.” He’s staring deeply into your eyes, strong hands following the outline of your body downwards to rest on your hips and bring you closer, wanting to make you one. The butterflies start going crazy, flapping their colorful wings against your ribcage in a desperate attempt at being let out, longing to be touched by him just like you were.
Your arms come around his neck, and you’re nose to nose now. “You’re my favorite.”
Hyunjin breaks into a grin, one he can’t contain before closing his eyes and burying his face in the crock of your neck, hugging you close.
“You know what I really want right now?” His voice is low, the vibration against your skin sending a shiver down your spine as his hold on you tightens.
You shake your head, one of your hands moving to tangle into his hair and massage his scalp. “Tell me, so I can make it happen.”
He chuckles, thumbs drawing random shapes on your sides you could make out if concentrating on anything else other than his voice was possible. “You don’t even know what I want to ask for yet.”
“It doesn’t matter.” You respond a little too quickly, tenderly coaxing his head out of hiding just so you could see his eyes again and marvel at their beauty. “I’ll do anything for you.”
“Anything?” Hyunjin leans closer, trapping your body between him and the sink as he towers over you, few strands of his hair tickling your forehead. Your breath catches in your throat and you try shallowing, anything to get rid of this sudden lump that’s preventing the oxygen from reaching your brain.
When you nod, his eyes soften, warm hand sneaking beneath your shirt to feel skin, needing this contact to remind himself you are real and the possibility of you disappearing right before his very eyes were slim.
Then, without waiting for his next line, your hand grasps at his fluffy sweater and yanks him forward to connect your lips in a sweet kiss, one that has you both releasing a relieved breath, that acts like the lifeline you need to cling to, to survive.
His lips are soft and warm, and you can faintly taste the wine he indulged in, lingering on his skin. The hand that isn’t under your shirt finds solace at the back of your neck, gingerly deepening the kiss as thunder strikes once again. Not like you care anymore; not when he’s kissing you like he’s trying to burn to memory every nook and cranny of your physical existence.
Heads tilted, his tongue sneaks in to greet yours for the briefest moment before Hyunjin pulls away with great difficulty, chest heaving as he struggles to regain his composure.
“A blanket fort.” He almost croaks out, voice raspy and heart very much disappointed when he tears himself away from you to make some room.
You blink, confused and a little dazed, hands darting to latch themselves onto his sweatshirt so he won’t go too far. “What?”
With a laugh, he throws his head back for a moment, calming down before clarifying. “I want to build a blanket fort. Since the power isn’t back yet, I thought we could have some fun doing that.”
You’re bamboozled, almost spinning around in search of the hidden camera that will confirm this is all a prank.
“But I thought…” You trail off, arms falling to your sides as you look down in embarrassment.
Hyunjin is quick to raise your head, with a finger under your chin and another dazzling smile. “Didn’t you just say you’d do anything for me?”
What a fucking tease. How were you ever supposed to say no to that smile?
#stray kids#skz#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#stray kids headcanons#skz headcanons#stray kids fluff#stray kids fanfic#skz fluff#stray kids imagines#stray kids soft thoughts#stray kids soft hours#hwang hyunjin x you#hwang hyunjin x reader#hyunjin x you#hyunjin x reader#hyunjin fluff#hyunjin imagines#hyunjin scenarios#hyunjin#skz x you#skz fanfic#stray kids x you
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New Year's Kiss - p.b
‣ paige bueckers x reader
‣ wc: 3567
‣‣ synopsis: you were known as one of the calmest, most well-tempered players on the ucon wbb roster. so what happens if you lose your cool for the first time in a game? takes place at the uconn vs notre dame game on dec 31, 2022: based off this post/req from my nonnie 🫶, and lowk inspired by paige's bloody nose at the uconn vs seton hall game!
‣‣‣ a/n: hey guys.... i'm so sorry for being so inactive but the writer's block hit me HARD. I have a few more drafts in progress I hope to release this week, thank y'all SO MUCH for the support and patience! Also, for the opponent in this game i refer to her solely as the, "marquette girl", as i don't know their players that well and don't want to use an irl girl!
Up until the second half of the game, everything had been going decent for you. Sure, this game was one of the most aggressive of the season, but you were right in the peak of your season, so it made sense that emotions were running high with the pressure to do well.
But that didn't excuse the fact that the Marquette girl that had been assigned to defend you had been playing dirty the entire night. After the fucking hellish week you had just gotten through, this girl was about to be the straw that broke the camel's. your, back.
After Paige's acl tear in August and the work and energy you had been endlessly pouring into your game from the past two and a half years till now, you had basically solidified your place as one of the main starters on the team, which meant you were receiving a lot more consistent playing time. The thought of being a more prominent player on the team didn't panic you the way it might others, as you you were known for always being a very level-headed, reliable player under pressure, as you had been dubbed by the media as the "Silent Assassin". But tonight was proving to test your limits to the max.
Any time you were on the court for the first two quarters, the Marquette girl had been glued to you, illegally all up in your space, pushing and shoving at you, taunting you over and over again, and even tripping you once when you lunged for the ball. All of which she had done without receiving a single foul, which not only pissed you off, but also your teammates on the court, the players on your bench, and your coach.
And of course, the one time you had defended yourself against her in the second quarter was the only time the ref called a foul on both of you. She had nearly pressed herself up against you the second your hands came in contact with the ball, leaving you with no choice but to pass to your teammate Aaliyah to sink a layup, when she hooked her arm through yours and pulled just as the ball left your hands.
Her unnecessary aggression caused something to snap inside of you, as the second you felt her yank on your arm, you turned around to push her off of you, hard. She stumbled backwards a little bit, not tripping or hitting the ground in any way, but the damage had been done in the, very biased, eyes of the refs.
The two of you rapidly reacted, approaching each other as you were yelling out meaningless threats and a long string of curses. Thankfully, your teammates holding the two of you back firmly, preventing any further physical altercations.
The two of you both received technical fouls for the unnecessary physical contact and unsportsmanlike behaviour. However, the foul you received only irked you more. Why were the only fouls called on her when it involved you pushing back? Could they not see the way she was treating you the entire game?
And of course, Geno wasn't thrilled about one of his starters getting a tech in the first half of the game. While benched, he had chewed you out for losing your temper at her, especially for cursing, which was something refs never let slide. But his reprimands didn't hold the usual level of anger or frustration, as he internally agreed that the Marquette girl had it coming for her, but, he had to remain professional.
Of course basketball was a physical sport, and with aggression came some conflicts with other players, but her behaviour tonight was unprovoked and incredibly aggravating to you. Which only worsened in the third quarter.
After your tech, you had been trying your best to ignore the incredibly annoying actions of the Marquette girl, but you simply couldn't anymore after she had purposely elbowed you in the nose to make her shot.
You immediately stumbled backwards, folding over at the waist as your hands came up in an attempt to alleviate the intense throbbing your nose felt. You could feel the blood begin to dribble down to your lip as you walked over to the bench with Lou escorting you, awaiting the ref's call.
The refs decided to not call a foul on the other girl, claiming that she hadn't reached backwards on purpose, it was simply the angle of her basket and granted UConn two free throws. The call enraged you, and something inside you snapped. You very quickly forgot about the tissue you were firmly holding at your nostrils as you approached him, insisting with him that the call was blind and blatantly biased.
You hadn't noticed the blood resumed to flow down your face while arguing until it hit your mouth, but you paid no mind to the taste of iron that filled your mouth as you persisted angrily speaking to the ref.
"Paige, go get her before she gets another tech," Geno whispered into Paige's ears over by the bench.
She nodded at him, making her way over to you to pull you away from the ref who was now threatening to eject you from the game.
"Okay enough, you need to get checked out by the team medic," Paige wrapped her arm around your waist to pull you away from your heated conversation, despite your struggle against her. She wasn't that much taller than you, but the extra two ish inches she had on you were proving useful right now.
She dragged you over to the bench, ignoring your many protests. She pried the used, bloody tissue out of your fingers to toss to the medic waste bag, grabbing new ones from her hand to help your bloody nose. It was apparent to everyone on your team, even the fans watching, that your stubbornness wouldn't allow you to accept the call that easily and allow the medic to clean you up. So, Paige would just have to do it herself.
Since your first day on the Uconn campus, you and Paige had become extremely close. With the two of you being assigned roommates your freshman year, the COVID year, it would've been impossible to not become best friends, considering the fact that you spent all of your time together.
If not at practice or hanging out with the team, the two of you were trapped inside your dorm, forced to find company within each other for the entire year. And with Paige's injury her sophomore year, you were one of the only people she was able to open up to, other than Azzi, and you had become her comfort during her rehab time, both then and now. Despite no longer being roommates, you two still always hung out at each other's respective dorm, even having frequent sleepovers.
Your incredibly close relationship wasn't left unnoticed by the media either, especially social media platforms like tiktok. When Paige and Azzi denied the relationship allegations at the same time you made it clear that you liked girls, the internet quickly refocused their attention onto you and Paige, and neither of you had the heart to deny any rumors circulating. Considering that after Azzi, you were the least active on your social media when it came to anything other than basketball, it wasn't too hard to ignore the internet's speculation.
All of which to say, Paige had made it incredibly easy for you to catch feelings for her. Until her, you had never known what it was like to be completely head over heels for someone. The way your heart skipped any time the two of you made eye contact, the way your cheeks flushed when she brushed against you, and the chemistry the two of you shared on and off the court was undeniable.
Unbeknownst to you, she felt the exact same way, and for the last two years, everyone but you two could see the feelings you harbored for each other.
If only you could feel the way her heart was beating as she held your face in one hand, using the other to apply pressure to your nose and wipe away at the blood on your face, neck, and jersey as she listened to you rant about the refs and how they were cheating you guys out of fouls the entire game. Although, she wasn't able to focus on the words coming out of your mouth, only the plumpness of your lips as they moved, something you noticed as your verbal attack slowed down so you could take a breath in between your sentences.
"She's literally fucking stuck up my ass and the refs ignore her which is actual bullshit, the amount of times this girl has literally made unnecessary contact or-, Paige are you even listening to me?"
Her lingering gaze on your mouth quickly snapped up to your eyes, a sheepish smile settling onto her now flushed cheeks.
"Yeah, yeah sorry."
She wiped the remaining blood from around your nose before calling over the medic to check your nose. A small bruise had formed near the bridge, but thankfully it wasn't broken. While she was checking your nose, Paige did her best to avoid meeting your curious stares.
Of course the two of you had small moments where you could envision that Paige felt the same for you. But never one that was so blatantly obvious as her staring at your lips, especially so publicly.
Nonetheless, you barely had time to analyze the interaction before the medic was clearing you to return to the game, Paige patting your butt (this) as you jogged by her to sub back into the game, which, until the handshake line, went without any further incidents, despite your team beating them by 13 points (HVL VS TEXAS Y'ALL).
When passing by you, you heard her mutter under her breath, "fucking bitch," in response to your half-hearted, "good game". It was safe to say you didn't take that well, responding to her with, "you wanna come say that to my fucking face? Pussy ass bitch." For both of your sakes, Dorka and one of her teammates were able to keep pushing the two of you down the line and out to the lockers before the post-game conference with Lou, Nika, and Dorka, which Geno insisted you attend to apologize for your behaviour.
***Small Time Skip***
"So Y/N, the multiple incidents that occured tonight with you and (BLANK) from Georgetown, do you have anything to say about them? I mean, you're known for being a very calm and collected player, but tonight we saw a very different side of you," a reporter questioned you. The questions for you from tonight's post-game conference mostly avoided the fight, treading the waters carefully as it was unlike anything you had ever been involved in.
"I'm not gonna try and cover for myself or anything, it was unprofessional and unacceptable for me to lose my temper on the court like that. Like you said, I've always tried to place an emphasis on just basketball when playing and avoid any other personal feelings or problems, but I guess tonight I didn't do as good of a job on that as I could of. This is something that I will keep in mind for all of our upcoming games as that's not the kind of image or reputation I want to set for myself or the team I represent. I would never want this kind of behaviour to be defining moments from our games because my teammates really put their all into every single one of their games, especially tonight's, and I don't want to create any personal animosity with the girls on the Marquette team, as I have a lot of respect for them."
Your diplomatic and cordial answer had appeased majority of the reporters, along with Geno and the team publicist in the back corner of the room. Except for one nosy reporter who seemed unhappy with your tactful response and was practically feining for drama.
“This one is for y/n, but with the events of today, you mentioned that you try to keep all personal feelings off the court. Is that an implication of some external underlying tension or problems between you and number (BLANK), as the two of you got quite physical today?”
What the fuck? Now they really were trying to start something between the two of you that never existed in the first place.
“No not at all. I have no connection with number (BLANK) off the court and don’t even personally know her. As I mentioned before, I have nothing but respect for the girls at Marquette and there are no hard feelings on my end. You know, basketball is a physical contact game and that just means that there a few rough moments here and there, it’s just part of the game.”
If they ask any more stupid questions about you and the Marquette girl you were actually gonna lose your mind. Especially if they somehow tie in the fact that you like girls with the fight.
Which, thankfully, they ended up dropping the fight for the rest of the interview, and you and the others were finally allowed to go out and celebrate New Year's Eve the way they had originally planned to.
The whole team, and Kayla of course, was prepared to celebrate at your favorite local bar, Ted's. All of the girls who were taken were bringing their partners along and those of you who were single were all ready to hunt someone down for a drunken kiss at midnight. Except you.
You were far too down bad for Paige to even fathom kissing someone else at the moment, especially not while going out with her and the rest of the team, who all knew about your ginormous crush on Paige.
Nonetheless, you still did your best to get ready quickly, wearing your baggiest pair of low-rise cargo pants and a very cropped white halter tank top in an attempt to cheer yourself up from the fact you wouldn't have a New Year's kiss this year, again.
But by the time you were throwing back shots at the bar like they were water, you couldn't find it in you to care about how single you were. It was common knowledge that you weren't the best at holding your liquor, as the team often made fun of your ability to get drunk off of two to three shots, which is exactly the position you found yourself in.
Until, of course, "guardian angel Paige" decided she needed to intervene in your drinkfest, walking up to your barstool and effectively cutting you off by having the bartender replace your drink with a regular shirley temple just before midnight so that she, or any of your other friends, wouldn't have to deal with you throwing up at four in the morning.
"You gotta go easy on the shots y/n/n, you're gonna hate yourself in the morning if you keep drowning your liver in alcohol."
"Funny, coming from Storrs's resident party girl, Miss Madison," you teased. There were only about twenty minutes left until bar's tv would depict the ball dropping in New York, and the disparity of your situation had begun to sink in.
Not only would you be suffering through another New Year's with no midnight kiss, but you had no relationships since last year or even a single talking stage, no potential relationship prospects for the future, and worst of all, no Paige.
"Yeah well, at least I can hold my drinks. You, on the other hand, are the most lightweight out of all of us. Besides, what happened to your little New Years tradition, the whole eating the grapes thing to find the love of your life or whatever?"
You went off on a little drunken tangent at this, complaining that it was completely ineffective, but also, the fact that it made you look stupid in front of the entire team when absolutely nothing came out of it.
"I mean it's so dumb. I don't get why my love life is so barren, like actually non-existent, it's not like I'm super unattractive or anything like that. Right? But like, I don't even have a midnight kiss this year, again," you grumbled to Paige, unaware of the way she was staring at your lips for the second time today, mesmerized by their movements.
"You are most definitely not unattractive. You're like one of the most attractive people I know. Besides, it's not like I'm kissing anyone this year," Paige reassured you, and somehow, your drunk brain simply did not process the way she had flusteredly complimented you.
"Yeah but you're Paige Bueckers," you emphasized, "you could kiss anyone in this bar if you wanted. Men and women, single and taken, would literally form a line two blocks down if you even mentioned wanting to kiss someone," you gazed up at Paige from your leaned position against the bartop, watching as the gears turned behind her eyes.
"Anyone in the bar? Like, anyone at all?" She asked you curiously, a small smirk graced her features as she peered down at you.
"Yeah probably, but there's only like two minutes left or something, so you should pick someone soon."
"Oh I already have someone picked out, I just don't know if they would kiss me back."
"Oh?" You felt your stomach drop at her statement, and you couldn't stop the jealousy from coursing through your veins if your life had depended on it. But Paige's unwavering gaze never left your face, and you could feel your cheeks flush at the way she was intently looking at you.
"Quite the staring problem tonight P?"
"Well it's pretty hard to not stare at the prettiest girl in the room," she flirted, scooting closer to you, effectively closing some of the distance between you two.
"I-, what?" You stuttered, taken back by Paige's actions.
"How many hints does I have to drop before you finally start picking up on them? I want to kiss you y/n, I want you."
The ten-second countdown had begun as Paige confessed to you, and you were left gawking at Paige's face, your heart threatening to give out from how fast it was beating.
"FIVE, FOUR,"
You yanked on Paige's belt loop, pulling her flush against your body as your eyes focused in on her lips.
"THREE, TWO, ONE, HAPPY NEW YEAR'S!""
Your right hand reached up to grab Paige's jaw at the end of the countdown, pulling her lips firmly down onto yours. The bar's loud chants barely registered to you as you lost yourself in the intoxication of Paige's lips. Your tongue glided across her lip as your mouths moved in unison, causing her to groan into you. You took it as an invitation to slip your tongue into her mouth, the kiss deepening with unrestrained passion.
Your built-up need for each other was apparent as you made out, sending shivers down your spine at the pressure of her mouth against yours. It felt as if she was the oxygen you needed to breathe, and now that you had her, there was no way you could let her go now.
***The next morning: New Year's Day***
Your eyes fluttered open with a pounding headache, yet, the utterly familiar weight of a certain pairs of hands around your waist provided a sense of comfort you knew only she could provide.
Paige's soft snores rung out throughout the room, and as you gently reached forward to her nightstand to grab your phone off charging, you realize it was still extremely early in the morning, not even eight a.m.
And yet, your phone was blowing up with notifications from all social media platforms, even your text messages had over a hundred notifications.
Confused, you click on the apps to check what all the fuss was about, quickly realizing what had happened.
The entire interaction between you and Paige at the game was recorded by the cameramen and had instantaneously made it's way all over the internet, only fueling the dating rumors about the two of you.
The comments and posts were going feral at the way Paige was the only one who could calm you down, the way she wrapped her arms around your waist to pull you back, her holding your face ever so delicately, her smacking your butt as you ran back onto the court, and of course, her transparent staring at your lips the entire time you were an inch apart from her.
"What are you looking at baby," Paige sleepily mumbled into your neck, tightening her grip around your waist to pull you further into her, slinging her right leg over your waist.
You put your phone down and turned in her hold, wrapping your arms around her body as you peered down at Paige's sleepy face, admiring how beautiful she always looked.
"Your fans are going crazy about how obviously down bad you are for me P," you teased, running your foot up and down her calf as Paige pressed her face into your chest to absorb your body heat.
"Let them, just go back to sleep with me for a little bit longer."
And of course, how could you ever say no when your girlfriend was asking you so sweetly?
a/n: thank you for reading all the way through, and i'm so sorry if the ending is kinda rushed, i just wanted to finally get another fic out 🤗
#paige bueckers#uconn wbb#wcbb#wcbb x reader#paige bueckers x reader#wnba basketball#uconn huskies#wlw#wnba imagine#uconn lives#wbb x reader#ncaa wbb#wbb#womens basketball#uconn#uconn wcbb#paige buckets#marquette#uconn women’s basketball#uconn x reader#wlw yearning#wlw post#sapphic#lesbianism#paige x fem reader#paige x reader#paige bueckers fluff#fluff#Spotify
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Interlude || The Prize Of A Father's Pride
chapter: 5 chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader
summary: General Acacius is forced to tell his daughter, that she will soon marry Emperor Geta and become Empress of Rome - a trade, which saved her life and that of her family, but at what cost?
warning(s): angrsty themes | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything
Note: We already reached chapter 5 !?!??! Hell, yes! And we're getting further and further. So before this whole plot picks up a little more speed, i thought a small interlude feat. Acacius would be a nice little treat. The next chapter is going to be longer again.
word count: 1.7k
You stood in the archways that led to the inner garden of your family's home. The curtain of the night had already laid itself upon the sky, when you'd reached it, the haunting grin of Caracalla and the words about your father were still on your mind. He had given you no answer on why you should thank the General, and it didn't sound like it was even something to thank him for either. It was more like whatever it was it was about to benefit the Emperors. Yet you knew your father and despite him never speaking it out loud - you've noticed how much he despised the royal twins.
The night was quiet and the villa was softly illuminated by the torches, which the slaves always lit up as soon as dawn came. Your mother knew about your whereabouts, that you went off to the theater with your friends Cicero and Lydia, nothing out of the ordinary. That you met the Emperor Caracalla during your night out was neither planned nor hoped for and yet the time you'd spend alongside him in the royal box still lingered in your head. Should you tell your parents? Maybe it was best to keep it in the shadows, as you didn't want them to worry more than necessary about you.
But when you approached the garden, you heard the quiet sobbing of your dear mother from the distance. You were on your way to your rooms, yet you couldn't ignore something like this, so you stopped beside a pillar and looked down to the inner courtyard with its beautiful pond and the many plants that provided shade during the summer months. You saw between the palm trees, cedars and bushes how your mother kneeled in front of your father, while he hold her in his arms as if something terrible happened - as if someone died.
You were not able to stand it any longer without knowing what happenes, so you stepped out and made yourself noticable.
"Mother? Father? What happened?", you asked quickly, but when Acacius raised his head to look into your direction, there was nothing but pain and suffering in his eyes. The way his eyes were locked on you made your heart sink down to your feet as it was crystal clear that it might have something to do with you. "y/n...", he began, but got disrupted by the sobbing of your mother. "Tell her, Acacius! Please, you need to tell her!"
It broke your heart to see your mother in that state, huddled together and in tears. But what was even worse was the news your father would tell you right in that very moment: "y/n, you... i am sorry," he started and clearly struggled to find the right words. You've never seen your father like this. "I gave my consent to a marriage between you and Emperor Geta."
Your eyes widened and your face went pale in an instant as you froze in your position. "What do you mean?", the trembling words fell from your lips. A marriage?!
"You will marry the Emperor," Acacius repeated, his voice clear but racked with pain. And after a couple of long minutes it finally hit you like an arrow right into the heart. Your breath becme quicker and you had to sit down on one of the stone benches. In this moment you were not even able to bare the sight of your parents, while the realization kicked in. No tears came from your eyes, in fact, it even surprised your own father how you took the news. But the depiction of stoicism came at a high cost, as you clearly had to fight within you against the urge to just scream.
And your father knew that. He knew you better than anyone, you were always his sun and stars, the one person beside his wife to which he tried to come back every single time when he went off to war. Slowly your mother came back to her feet with the help of her husband, but her usual soft face was covered in tears and her eyes were swollen and red as she looked at you. "What have you done, my love... ? You need to be honest with y/n, please... i beg you. She needs to know," she whispered with an urgency in her voice and even a small amount of anger.
Your eyes ripped themselves from the pond in front of you, staring at your father, who looked at you like a broken man. "He threatened to kill you and your mother, it was the only option... trust me, i would've never agreed to it otherwise. May the gods damn me for my pride, that i thought i would be able to put them down together with the senate. It was a plan that is nothing more than dust and ashes now." Acacius rushed to you and took your hands into his, pressing them tightly as if he feared you would fade away if he didn't. "I can never forgive myself to put you into a position like that, y/n," he whispered, and for the very first time, you witnessed the fear in your father's eyes. And he feared for you.
But all those words disappeared in your ears, as you tried desperately to numb the anxiety within you. Now the words that Caracalla said to you made sense and they echoed in your head once more. Nonetheless how could you hate your father for this? You knew he did it for the sake of the people, he always fought for Rome and never for himself. This was the way he was and you would've never wanted it to be otherwise. Yet you were now the one to bear the consequences of your father's actions, a sacrifice. For the first time in your life, you were the one to protect this family... and you wanted to take this risk. Not that there was an option anyways.
So you took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in your throat, while you stood up from the bench and looked your father right into his eyes. "There is nothing we can do about it, don't we? The die is cast and we have to live with the consequences," you said, even though your voice was cracking for a moment before you took one hand of your mother and one of your father, pressing them gentle and in a reassuring way, even though you still saw how much they suffered. You were their only daughter after all and even if it wouldn't be the Emperor, a marriage always called for a daughter to leave her parents behind. "Please... i don't want you to look at me like i am already dead", you whispered with a hint of desperation as it hurt you even more that your own parents still treated you like they had to protect you from this world. If fate wanted this to happen, then you would find your way through it.
"I will marry him. If that will save my own life and yours then be it", you said again, while ran down your mothers cheeks once again as she hold your hand in ache. She said your name before her voice stopped. But in that very moment, your father stepped in and pulled you into a tight hug, holding you for a long moment that felt like an eternity. Acacius blamed himself entirely for all that was happening and in this very moment, he promised to himself that he will find a way to get you out of this situation. There was still hope, if he was able to be careful enough.
"You're my daughter, y/n... i know you will not lose yourself in this, i know it...and i will always be proud of you, no matter what...", he mumbled in reassurance, trying desperately to fullfill your wish not to treat all of this as it was your clear funeral. That wouldn't be right, he knew that too. You would live on, but at what cost?
"How much time do i have left?", you suddenly asked, while you slowly removed yourself from your father's arms. Right now the whole situation was still so unreal for you, even though you knew this will change soon enough. The brows of your father furrowed as he took your mother's hand to hold her and give her something of the strength he'd recovered - at least a bit. "Sadly Emperor Geta made sure not to waste any time with this: He expects the stipulatio (engagement promise) tomorrow, a celebration will happen at the palace to announce it publicly... and then the formal wedding will take place in two weeks, still in Juno to avoid that bad luck falls onto your union."
"As if the gods would grant him luck with a forced marriage like this," your mother mumbled, while she tried her best to wipe away her tears and regain her posture. "There are not even enough sheep in all of Rome that he could sacrifice for this..." She was still pale like a corpse due to this news, but at least she was able to regain her anger again despite the helplessness.
Your fingers buried themselves into the fabric of your pale blue toga as you recollected your thoughts. There was no time left, no real time. But did you expect it to be otherwise? In a way, a lot of women would envy you for this opportunity. Marrying an Emperor meant that you would rise up to be an Empress alongside a God, nothing was more noble and meaningful. Men fought wars to earn power and honor, women needed to take a different path in this world, marrying and bearing children - only to be sidelined by history nonetheless. You didn't want to face the same fate. And in the end you were still your father's daughter through and through, carrying the family name like a ritiualistic armor.
“Whatever anyone does or says, I must be emerald and keep my colour," you whispered a quote and your father instantly got it. With an understanding nod, a weak smile appeared on his lips.
"Marcus Aurelius...", Acacius noticed right away as it was a quote from his 'meditations' which your father had given you to read. It helped you now more than ever and the same could've been said about Acacius as well.
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#gladiator 2#gladiator ii#emperor caracalla#emperor geta#general acacius#geta x reader#caracalla x reader#joseph quinn#pedro pascal#fred hechinger#gladiator ii fic#kabuki writes
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