#I forgot their name and have to look it up

[sttoru]

𖠵 I’M YOURS.

𝝑𝑒 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you visit your husband during his work hours to hand him his lunch which he forgot at home. his subordinates are surprised to see their superior act so gentle with you—a total opposite to how he usually is when finding and punishing outlaws.

tags. wild west sheriff!kento nanami x wife!female reader. fluff, smut. set in the wild west (1860’s - 1890’s). blǒwjob. size difference (reader short), p in v -> unprotected, breeding themes, creampié, semi-public, hair pulling. traditional views of marriage. nicknames: darling, sugar, sweetheart. wc: 6.4k

the southern parts of the county are sweltering under an unrelenting sun, and most of the townsfolk have retreated indoors to escape the heat. kento nanami - the town’s sheriff - is taking a quick break, having just returned from breaking up a violent brawl at the local saloon. damn drunkards, he thinks as he shakes his head. they have been causing havoc all afternoon, threatening to turn the place into a shooting gallery. he had to put them in their place.

kento strolls to a nearby window, silently critiquing the poor job done on the grimy glass. his eyes scan the wagons that roll in and out of town to keep watch for anything out of the ordinary. but before long, his thoughts wander, and he found himself thinking of you. his dearest. his beloved. his world— his wife.

the blonde man wonders what you’re doing right now. are you preparing supper, or perhaps knitting him another one of those scarves in preperation for the colder weather?

one of his hands slips into the pockets of his slacks, fingers brushing against the handkerchief you gifted him. he smiles as he traces the embroidered flowers. their colors are still vibrant despite the constant wear. it has become his lucky charm over the years.

kento sighs as he catches a glimpse of a couple in the distance. they share a kiss, the woman waving her partner off with a handkerchief of her own as her husband leaves on his horse. the sight has his jaw clenching as guilt creeps in. he had left home in such a hurry this morning, that he hasn't kissed you goodbye properly. he hopes that you didn’t take it personally.

it is a small thing, but he makes a mental note to apologise for that later.

kento turns around from the window he’s been staring out at for the past couple minutes as one of the deputies hustles a trussed up outlaw into the office. the other male slams the wooden door shut behind them which rattles the place. the outlaw is a scruffy looking fellow and his wild eyes dart nervously between kento and the shotgun-toting deputy.

the blond sheriff pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. just when he thought he could have a peaceful break... duty calls.

“got ourselves a lil’ troublemaker here, sheriff,” jake says and gives the outlaw a rough shove forward. the man stumbles, nearly falling to his knees before catching himself.

kento’s jaw clenches as he looks the outlaw up and down, his hazel eyes hardening. he aims to keep the peace in this small town, and that means dealing with the dregs of society from time to time. anything to keep the folk safe. especially if it meant protecting his dear wife.

“ye damn pieces of shit,” the outlaw spits, glaring defiantly at the two authoritive figures standing in front of him, “i ain't done nothin’ wrong, ya hear?”

there it is; the cliché line nearly every sentenced outlaw utters whenever they’re caught. kento runs a hand through his hair and scoffs as a muscle in his jaw ticks. one thing he hates are shameless outlaws who claim to have done no wrong.

this man before him has been on countless bounty posters, plastered all over the county. wanted dead or alive, for assault, murder and robbery. bart cavanaugh, the thug’s name is.

kento barks out a harsh laugh, but his face doesn’t show an ounce of emotion. the deputy shifts on his feet. the young man had seen that face on the sheriff countless times before. it’s intimidating and scary, the tension in the room palpable.

“done nothin’ wrong? boy, y’ve been stealin’ and killin’ yer way through half the damn county. and now y' got the audacity to stand there and lie to my face?”

kento steps forward and looms over the outlaw, his broad shoulders squared. his hand drifts to rest on the butt of his holstered revolver. the metal is cool and reassuring against his palm.

“jake, go fetch the preacher. tell him to start diggin' a new grave,” kento orders without taking his piercing eyes off the outlaw. his free hand shoots forward to grab a good handful of the man’s matted hair, yanking it back roughly. the sheriff’s eyes are cold and calculating, “looks like we got us a hangin’ to do ‘fore sundown.”

the outlaw’s eyes widened in fear and he tries to take a step back, but kento’s strength is not to be matched. “but... but you can’t!” he stammers, “i got my rights, i-i'll have ya know that!”

“rights?” kento huffs and releases the thug with a rough shove, dusting his hand off on his blouse as if he touched something filthy. “the only right ye got is the right to wait here and take what's comin’ for ya.”

it did not take long before the outlaw is sentenced, hauled outside and led toward the gallows. kento stretches his arms above his head, feeling the tension slip from his shoulders. another task crossed off the list. he can only hope that the rest of his break will pass quietly without any more disturbances.

the exhausted sheriff drops into the wooden chair behind his desk and leans back with the nth sigh of the day. his fingers fumble with the drawer, and after a moment of rummaging, he pulls out a cigar. he strikes a match and lights it up before placing the stick between his lips. kento closes his eyes and inhales deeply, letting the burn of the tobacco settle his mind.

minutes slip by in silence—just the quiet flicker of the lamp and the rhythmic sound of his own breathing. then, the front door creaks.

kento’s eyes flicker open. a loud prayer sounds in his head; please lord above don't let it be another caught outlaw. not another deputy or bounty hunter with some new problem to throw his way.

however, when he looks up, all the weight on his shoulders vanishes in an instant. there you are - his wife - standing in the doorway like an angel sent to pull him from the depths of his workday hell. the stress, the frustration, all of it fades away in your presence.

kento squints through the haze of cigar smoke as you walk inside with a beaming smile on your face. fuck, you're beautiful. a dream come true.

he takes a long drag and holds it in his lungs before exhaling slowly. the smoke curls around his tired face. his hazel-colored eyes narrow as they rake over your figure. a little provocative, he thinks, not wearing a shawl on your exposed shoulders. especially around these parts of town—with other men lurking that aren’t your husband.

“well, well, if it ain’t my sweet lil' wife,” the blonde rumbles, setting the cigar down in the ashtray. kento leans back in his chair which causes the wooden furniture to creak under his muscular frame. “what brings you ‘round these parts, darlin'?”

it is unusual for you to visit him during work hours. normally, you’d be at the house, attending to your duties. taking care of your cozy home, or perhaps socialising with the other wives around town at one of your regular gatherings. kento didn’t expect to see you here, yet the sight of you is a welcome surprise. even more so when you look so radiant, as if the sunlight itself has wrapped around you.

“ah, you forgot your lunch dear,” you explain with a warm smile. your voice carries a familiar tone that always seems to soothe your husband. you nod politely to his colleagues who’re staring at you in awe and curiosity. you continue, “i started to worry. i can’t possibly have my husband starvin’ at work, now can i? ain't so proper as y’r wife.”

your words make kento’s heart lighten. the smile that has faded from his face the second he left you this morning, finally finds it way back. his entire demeanour softens and his body relaxes.

the two deputies, who have been going about their duties in the background, can’t help but glance over at the scene unfolding. they exchange a bemused look as they watch kento’s demeanor shift the moment you walked into the office. it’s almost comical how quickly the stern, commanding sheriff transforms into a doting and affectionate husband.

kento stands up, his tall, imposing figure towering you as he approaches. the gun belt slung low on his hips clinks softly with each step along with the spurs on his boots. he reaches out, taking the cloth wrapped box from your dainty hands. his calloused fingers brush against your skin, sending a jolt of electricity through him.

“well, much obliged, sugar. yer a real sight for sore eyes,” kento comments, his deep voice lowering to an intimate rumble. he sets the box down on the desk before stepping closer to you. his eyes search for yours while his hands gently rub your sides.

“any time,” you shyly duck your head as you sense the tension between kento and you building up. it’s always like this between you two. the honeymoon phase? for you it’s not a phase, it’s a forever thing. until death do you part.

your hands reach up, slithering from his sides to his chest to straighten his sheriff’s badge. “has work been okay, hun?” you murmur in a honeyed voice, the one that drives kento crazy. neither of you seem to care about his co-workers standing around, lost in your own little bubble.

kento’s hand slides from your side to your throat, fingers skimming over your pulse point, enjoying the rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his touch. “work’s been a pain in the ass, darlin’. same ol’ song and dance,” he replies while his half lidded eyes dart all over your pretty face, “but now that y’re here, it's startin’ to look up.”

your conversation is casual, yet the underlying tension tells you there is more to it. even the deputies become aware of what’s playing in the middle of the office. or more so, what's about to happen if the passion in both kento and his wife’s eyes come to life.

kento can’t help but smirk as you press yourself against him. your soft curves mold to the hard planes of his muscular body, a stark contrast to the gentle hands that hold you close. his eyes darken once he catches you looking up at him through those long lashes of yours. that’s his damn weakness.

“y’know, seein' you here, lookin' like sin in that dress—it’s making me think all sorts of improper thoughts,” he starts in his deep voice. your husband lowers his head to whisper in your ear, “thoughts about bendin’ you over my desk and showin’ ya what happens to naughty little wives who distract their husbands at work.”

a shiver runs down your spine even though this is exactly what you wanted. you came here to deliver kento’s lunch, yes, but you've also missed his attention, affection and most importantly his touch. due to his job, he’s not at home for almost the entire day.

you don’t want to come off as clingy, but when you have a man like kento to call yours, you can’t help but want to be greedy.

the same goes for him as well. kento is ever the devoted lover, head over heels for you, and that includes feeling a great sense of physical attraction to you. he can’t help it—especially when you look so adorable, playing the role of the dutiful wife, visiting him at work to drop off his lunch. it’s a massive turn on.

“l-later. there are others here,” you try to play your erotic interaction off, even as you feel the insistent press of kento's clothed cock against your lower belly. your cheeks heat up as you realise that this bit of proximity had already turned your husband on.

kento licks a stripe up your earlobe, his teeth grazing the flesh before he soothes it with his slick tongue. he knows he shouldn’t be so explicit with you, not here in his office where anyone could walk in. but he simply cannot resist your charms. that pretty body and voice of yours are like a siren’s call to him.

however, he also notices your hesistance because of the company you have. kento, ever the thoughtful man, glances up at the deputies sitting around the office. his gaze hardens and his voice is filled with authority, “don't y’all got better things to do than sittin’ ‘round here?”

it’s a hidden message that all men in the room clearly understood. kento wanted them out and as soon as possible so he can take care of his wife. his duties are put on hold for as long as you need him by your side. he trusts his coworkers to deal with the rest while he’s busy attending to your needs.

the deputies scramble to their feet and grab their stetsons, hurrying out of the office with a chorus of 'yes, sir!' and 'right away, sir!' some smirk knowingly as they make their way out into the muddy streets. they know all too well about kento’s soft spot—the one woman he’d do anything for. even if it means that he ignores his work for a while.

within seconds, the office clears out, leaving kento and you alone. he turns back to you and his eyes instantly roam over your feminine curves. from the swell of your soft breasts to the flare of your hips. oh, his mouth immediately starts to water.

“now, where were we?” the blond man hums. he stalks forward until your back hits the wall with a inaudible thud. you swallow thickly as you look up at kento, who’s staring back at you like you’re a five course meal.

but beneath that passionate gaze is something so intimate. so much more gentle and loving. with every touch, his eyes still search for yours, wordlessly confirming your consent. it’s a habit of his—ever since he took your innocence on your wedding night.

kento’s hands slide down to grab your thighs. he hoists you up and encourages you to wrap your legs around the dip of his waist, holding you between his body and the wall. his eyes flicker downwards to where the skirt of your dress rides up and exposes more of your soft skin to his greedy touch.

“i need you,” your lover breathes against your lips. his mouth is an inch from yours, eager to capture it in a kiss. kento groans the second he feels your clothed cunt press against his throbbing bulge. his fingers dig into the plush flesh of your ass, “shit. i need you now.”

not a second more is wasted as your husband crashes his lips against yours. he presses you back against the wall, moaning into your mouth. this is what he missed the most. your touch, your taste— it makes him feel alive. like all his hard work is worth it.

your fingers curl into his blond locks, tugging at them as your lips move in sync. your tongues roll around each other and your lower bodies move accordingly, grinding for fiction. “are ye sure? right here?” you ask between gasps, voice muffled as his lips interlock with yours repeatedly.

kento pulls away, but not fully. he can’t let you go in any way or form. his head instantly dives into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. he immediately latches onto your throat and kisses his way down to your collarbone.

this is exactly what he needs after a hard day. the familiar perfume mixing with the faint scent of your arousal and something so homey—it’s dizzying.

“never been more sure,” your husband groans once he feels your nails gently drag down from his nape to his back, slipping beneath the collar of his blouse. little minx, he thinks, knowing exactly what makes a man weak.

kento tilts his head back so he can look into your eyes. your gaze catches his and you’re taken aback by how handsome he looks. he always does, of course, but this sight just makes you clench around nothing. it leaves you throbbing in your underwear.

the way his neat hair has now turned messy, locks covering his half-lidded eyes, biceps straining against the material of his blouse, sharp jaw clenching with the effort to hold himself back from completely ravaging you. . .

you’re soaked.

kento grins at the way your kiss-swollen lips fall apart in a small ‘o’ as you admire him. he knows he looks good and it boosts his confidence. “keep lookin’ at me like that,” he encourages as his lower body grinds against yours.

you can feel the thick outline of his dick pressing and rubbing against your clothed cunt and it causes you to jerk in place. your moans get swallowed by your husband’s lips once more, his mouth not giving you a moment to breathe as he kisses you more demandingly this time.

kento carries you to his desk, not once separating your lips from his. he sits down on his chair and settles you down on his thick thighs. your arms immediately wrap around his neck to deepen the kiss.

the steamy make out session continues for a while, both of you breathless. you finally pull back for some air and open your eyes to meet your husband’s. the way he’s looking at you, like you’re his entire world, makes you weak in the knees.

“let me take care of ya first,” you suggest in a hoarse whisper against his lips. you feel kento stiffen beneath you, his cock throbbing impatiently in his slacks at the implication.

“go right on ahead,” he bites his lip and watches your wandering hands drag down from his shoulders to his chest. the muscle in his jaw ticks as he tries his best not to intervene—to grab and bend you over his desk already.

kento’s breath catches in his throat as your delicate hands worked at his belt, the leather creaking softly as you undo the buckle. he watches, transfixed, as you tug his pants down.

suddenly, his large hand reaches out to wrap around your smaller one, squeezing it. “wait,” kento hisses and his adam’s apple bobs in his throat. he’s trying so hard not to lose control.

he takes a deep breath after closing his eyes, hips bucking lightly against your warm palm as it rests against the deliciously big bulge in his undergarments. you gently drop to your knees in front of him while giving him some time to regain his composure.

when kento opens his eyes again, he lets out a low growl from the back of his throat at the sight of you looking up at him with those big eyes. so ready, so eager to please your husband. it can make him bust a nut in his underwear.

“go on,” he whispers gruffly, letting go of your hand but not before giving it a quick kiss. that gentleman side of his never fails to make an appearance, even during sinful moments like these.

you nod and smile in excitement. you lick your lips before hooking your fingers beneath the material of the jockstraps. you slowly tug it down and free his aching cock from its confines. the thick length springs up, gently slapping against his lower stomach and leaving a smear of sticky pre-cum on the fabric of his blouse.

kento’s cock was a thing of beauty—long, thick, and girthy, with a bulbous head already glistening with arousal. veins puls along the shaft, and a faint clump of blonde curls dusted the base. the musky scent of his desire fill your nostrils, making your head swim with need.

the pre-cum trickles enticingly from the slit of his tip, a drop slithering down slowly to his heavy balls. it’s evident how much you affect the man and it makes your tummy do a flip.

“mmh— kento. y’re so hard already,” you moan as your pink tongue lolls out to lap up the sticky liquid from the head. you give it a couple small licks to tease your partner, a coy grin playing at your lips.

kento growls, one hand coming down to tangle in your hair at the contact. “fuckk, sugar,” he instinctively thrusts his hips forward, the swollen head of his cock brushing against your soft cheek, leaving pearly drops of pre-cum on your skin. “been thinkin’ about this sweet lil’ mouth all damn day. dreamin’ about them pretty lips wrapped around my dick,” he breathes heavily.

the once composed sheriff is a total mess. he squeezes the base of his dick as he gently taps your cheek with it, trying to coax your lips to part. “c’mon. ye can’t keep this from me any longer,” kento grunts with his brows furrowed.

when you blow some warm air on his tip, he throws his head back at the contact. he’s aching for relief and sitting there teasing him. he could manhandle you to comply, but he’s simply too needy for your touch to do so.

kento gulps before looking down at you. his expression is a mix of frustration, pleasure and neediness. his cheeks are flushed, blonde locks covering his eyes. he breathes out his plea in a shaky tone;

“please.”

your jaw drops at that unexpected moment of vulnerability. it’s thrilling and causes you to immediately give in to his charms. you silently hum in agreement before wrapping your lips around his tip, swallowing inch after inch slowly.

a guttural groan tore from kento’s throat as your hot, eager mouth engulfs his twitching cock. the sensation of your tongue swirling around the sensitive head, lapping up the pre that still leaks steadily from the head, was almost more than he could bear. his fingers tighten in your hair, gripping the strands as he fought the urge to thrust deep into your throat and take his pleasure.

“awh shit,” kento growls. his voice is strained with pleasure at this point, not even able to say things properly. “yer mouth feels so fuckin’ good ‘round my dick.” he watches through heavy-lidded eyes as you take him deeper, his thick length disappearing inch by inch between your plump and kiss-swollen lips. the sight of you, on your knees before him, servicing him with such enthusiasm, sends a surge of pure primal satisfaction through him.

you redouble your efforts and bob your head. up and down, up and down—a hypnotic rhythm that has the man in front of you wrapped around your little finger.

“such a good little wife—yeah, jus’ like that,” kento’s hips rock up to your downward movements, driving his cock deeper into the tight, wet heat of your mouth.

he can feel the wet muscles fluttering around him, could hear the obscene sounds of your gagging and slurping as you struggle to take him all the way. but you didn’t stop, didn’t pull away. instead, you start sucking him with a fervor that has him seeing stars.

kento’s eyes roll back and he’s trying his best not to cum on spot. he wants to last longer, wants to relish the feeling of you pleasuring him and most importantly—he wants to spend his cum well. in a place where it can take root, where it’d serve its intended purpose.

inside you.

but it’s hard. so hard. especially when you’re watching his every reaction, eyes so captivating and alluring as you suck the soul out of him.

“don’t—oh lord,” kento grits his teeth as your hands cup his balls and squeeze them, rolling them in your palm. the dual sensations of your mouth and hands working in tandem had his breath coming in harsh pants, his muscular chest heaving with the force of it.

your husband’s head tilts backwards, the chair creaking beneath him as he grips the armrests with white knuckles. he’s lost in the sensation of you worshipping his dick, your moans vibrating around his shaft as you slurp and suck with abandon. he knows he will not last much longer at this rate, knows he is going to paint your mouth white with his seed any second now.

kento doesn’t really want to, but he also does. he’s conflicted, though it’s already too late. one particular suck and his tip hitting the deepest parts of your throat sends him over the edge.

“ah, fuck! cummin’, sweetheart!” he moans loudly, his eyes squeezed shut as the first spurts of his hot seed flow from his cock. he can’t stop it, even as he tries to pull your head off due to the overstimulation.

when you finally let his dick go with a lewd, wet pop, kento gasps for air, pushing the hairs away from your face. you’re looking so debauched, so lost in the pleasure, it sends his blood rushing southwards. again.

“there ye go. swallow it all down f’ me,” he mutters quietly, voice rough as his thumb swipes away at the cum on the corners of your mouth. he watches your throat work as you drink down the taste of him.

before you can catch your breath, kento hauls you up off the floor and onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist tightly. he feels the renewed throb of his erection pressing insistently against your thigh, already aching for more.

“dammit, darlin’,” he clicks his tongue, his voice rough and ragged with lust. “y’ve got me so fuckin’ worked up— can’t hold back no more.” his callused hands slide down to grab your round ass, kneading the flesh roughly as he grinds your clothed cunt against his wet dick.

kento stands abruptly and sweeps the contents of his desk onto the floor with a crash. papers flutter everywhere as he bends you over the now empty surface, the rough wood digging into your soft skin. he can’t care less about those important documents. not when he has his wife in front of him.

he flips the hem of your dress up, the material pooling around your waist to bare your underwear-clad ass. you’re already so wet, your pussy lips clinging to the soaked fabric of your undergarments, outlining your cunt perfectly. it’s a sight that makes kento weak in the knees.

“look at this sweet lil’ ass,” the blonde man rasps, delivering a sharp smack to one cheek. the sound echoes through the office, followed by your startled yelp. “she’s g’nna be hurtin’ when i’m done with her, i bet.”

you arch your back in response to the slaps against your bottom, “mhh, kento. need you real bad.” your ass rippling with each smack to it, along with your soft voice begging for him, makes your husband dizzy.

with a muttered curse, kento rips your underwear off, the flimsy fabric tearing like tissue paper in his large hands. he tosses the ruined garment aside, leaving you bare and exposed to his ravenous touch. his callused fingers delve between your thighs, finding you dripping wet and ready.

“tsk. would ya look at that,” he groans, plunging two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your tight cunt. “yer fuckin’ soaked. practically beggin’ for my cock like the needy lil’ slut you are.”

you can only moan in response, your hips bucking back against his invading fingers. those nasty words being said by your usual sweet lover makes you crave more. the obscene squelch of your arousal fills the air as he pumps his digits in and out of your fluttering pussy. you can feel every ridge and vein on his fingers as they stretch you open so well, preparing you for his thick cock.

“that’s it, baby,” kento encourages, his thumb finding your clit beneath its hood and rubbing the sensitive nub in rough circles. “get this sweet cunt nice and ready f’ me. am gonna make you feel so good, i promise.”

kento’s fingers pump faster, plunging in and out of your dripping pussy with wild abandon. the wet, sloppy sounds of your arousal fill the room as your slick walls clench greedily around the invading digits. he can feel you getting closer, your body tensing and quivering as he worked you towards a peak.

“cummin’ already? naughty girl,” kento growls, his voice a low, dominant rumble, “can’t have that.”

with a harsh tug, he yanks his fingers from your weeping cunt, leaving you empty and aching. “kennnn,” you whine as your fingernails dig into the wooden desk beneath you. you wiggle your hips back in frustration, needing more.

kento can see your hole clenching around air, trying to draw something back inside. the sight makes him groan, his cock throbbing painfully between his thick thighs. he’s such a weak man when it comes to you.

“i hear ya— i hear ya,” he mutters, giving in quickly to your needy whine. your dear husband can’t tease you when you’re basically begging him to take you. he grips himself in one hand, stroking his shaft as he rubs the swollen head over your dripping slit.

kento slides the engorged tip teasingly along your slick folds to coat himself in your arousal as he aligns your lower bodies. with a single thrust of his hips, he buries himself fully inside you. his heavy balls slap against your ass with a faint, meaty smack.

“fuuuck!” kento cusses and his voice echoes off the office walls as he hilts his dick in your wet pussy. no matter how many times he ruins your cunt, it’s still as tight as the first time. “fuckin’ hell, sugar,” he breathes out shakily.

your silken walls grip him like a vice, the slick muscles fluttering and clenching around his fat dick. he pauses for just a moment to savore the exquisite sensation of being buried inside his wife's perfect little cunt.

however, he cannot hold back for long. gripping your hips hard enough to leave finger-shaped dents on your flesh, he begins to move, his thighs flexing as he sets a relentless rhythm. the obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room as he fucks into you. the ancient desk creaks and shakes with each forceful thrust. it’s a wonder that old thing isn’t breaking.

“tha’s it, take it,” kento snarls. he punctuates each word with a sharp snap of his hips. the feeling of his slick dick slamming into you over and over has him nearly tearing up from pleasure. this is the way to forget about all his earlier problems

“doing so good, honey. yer squeezin’ the life outta me—good girl,” he praises in-between movements. no matter how much he gets lost in the haze of lust, he’s still the sweet nanami kento you know.

his fingers dig into the meat of your ass, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh as he drives into you again and again. you’re overwhelmed by the stretch, the pure pleasure of his dick molding your insides to fit him and him only.

your toes curl as you struggle to lay steady on your tummy. “o-oh, mmh. right there,” your eyes roll back and your body jolts back and forth in sync with his thrusts. your lower tummy and cunt are tingling, needing more stimulation to build up to that mind-blowing orgasm.

“faster, deeper, please— please,” you mewl. you can’t bring yourself to care about the possibility of others hearing you outside the sheriff’s office. let the town folk gossip and whatnot. at the end of the day, you’re the one winning by having a husband like kento.

your lover leans over your arched back, his sweat-slicked chest pressing against your shoulder blades. he kisses the back of your head with a smile playing on his lips, “as you wish.”

one hand slides up your back, tangling in your hair. kento fists it tightly, using it as a handle to yank your head back, forcing your spine into a deeper arch. the new angle lets him drive even deeper into you, his hard cock kissing your cervix with each rough thrust.

kento’s dick plunges inside your cunt with wild abandon and you’re loving it. your sweet noises intensify and you can’t think about anything else but the feeling of you being split open. the tip of his dick touches the deepest parts of you and it’s painful—but the pain is nothing compared to the mind numbing pleasure.

“there we go. gotta get all up in there, aye?” kento pants harshly against the side of your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin. his other hand reaches around to flick your clit before coming to rest on your lower tummy, “that way i can ensure y’re g’nna end up with a swollen belly.”

the implications of his words make you shudder. you know kento’s always been a family man. always dropping hints of wanting to start a family with you when you’re ready. and he never misses the opportunity to pump you full of his potent cum when you do try for a baby.

“k-ken,” you bite your lip at the thought of it. of succeeding to conceive this time. it’d be because of this lewd moment, in his office out all places. it’s so naughty to the point it’s driving you insane.

kento notices how your body is reacting to his dirty talk and grins to himself. he isn’t clueless—he can feel the way you clench around his dick, as if you’re trying to suck every drop of cum out of his sack. “hm? yer cunt is agreein’ with me, it seems,” he hums.

your lover bites your shoulder as his hips pound against your rear with a strength that’s nearly inhuman. your insides are being turned to mush while you’re drowning in ecstasy.

“yer g’nna make such a good momma,” kento continues to whisper those words in your ears, simply to drive you to the brink of an orgasm. he kisses your earlobe lovingly as his deep voice carries on, “can’t wait to see this beautiful body change to carry my child.”

the dirty talk sure is working. he can feel you tensing, could hear the breathy moans and whimpers spilling from your lips as he brings you closer to the edge. he knows your body—knows every inch of you—and he uses that knowledge drive you utterly mad.

“ah, fuck, ken! honey,” you whine. the contrast between his honeyed voice and rough thrusts that send electric jolts down your spine, is maddening. you can feel the knot tightening in your belly, threatening to snap any second now.

kento’s eyes darken and he grunts in response. the hand that’s been playing with your clit moves to hold onto your hip again for leverage, pounding into you with a passion you’ve never felt before.

“i know,” he mutters gruffly as he watches his cock disappear into your greedy cunt, “i know, sugar. just give yerself t’ me. let go.”

that’s all it really takes. kento feels your body go rigid beneath him as your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave. your walls clamp down around his pistoning cock like a silken vise, fluttering and rippling as you cum hard.

you cry out due to your mind-blowing orgasm. your thighs tremble and your body convulses uncontrollably on the desk—eyes closed as your senses focus on the remaining pleasure.

“fuck, yes— yes yes yes,” kento grunts as your slick fluids gush out around his dick. he can feel the warm, slick heat of your juices splash against his balls and drip down his thighs. the sight of you coming undone on his dick, the sound of your screams of ecstasy filling the room, pushes him over the edge as well.

kento slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt in your spasming, sensitive pussy. his cock jerks and throbs inside you as thick ropes of cum erupt from the tip. he can feel each spurt of his load, can count the pulsing jets of cum as he pump you full with it.

“take it—let me breed ya real good,” he pants while grinding his hips against your ass to properly empty himself inside your pulsing cunt. kento shudders as his hips lazily move in small, shallow circles, “get it all nice ‘n deep in there.. yeaaah, good job.”

his grip on your hair tightens for a moment, forcing you to arch you back even more as he slowly rides his orgasm out, his release seeming to go on and on. he senses his hot seed sloshing inside you, can already picture it flooding your fertile womb and taking root.

finally, with a shuddering groan, kento collapses against your back. his large frame easily blankets your smaller one. he notices your body trembling beneath him, could hear the soft whimpers and mewls spilling from you lips as you came down from your high as well. despite that, he stays buried inside you, not wanting to lose a single drop of his cum.

“yer so perfect,” your lover whispers and nuzzles his face into your neck, “the most perfect woman a man could ask for.” that gentleman side of his now makes a full return, as it always does after a particularly rough session. kento takes aftercare quite seriously.

his hands rub your sides and massage your body in places he knows will be sore later on. his lips leave trails of kisses from your neck to your shoulders and back—a testament of his love for you.

after making sure you’re okay, kento eases himself up off your back, his softening dick slipping from your tender folds with a squelch. he looks down to see your combined fluids leaking out from your slit, dripping down your thighs to pool on the rough wood beneath you.

the sight makes him bite back a groan. if it wasn’t for the ounce of self control left inside of him, he’d go for a second round. but he can’t. his coworkers will be back soon anyway.

kento helps you up as well, his hands gripping your waist to steady you as your shaky legs find their footing. “mmh, my lovely wife,” he smiles at you as he cups your face into his hands. he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and pulls you into a hug, “thank you so much. don’t think i would’ve even survived today if ye didn’t show up.”

you giggle at kento’s dramatics and hug him back tightly, body slowly recovering from the intense passion you two just shared. the fog on the nearby window, the steamy tension and the scent of sex still lingers in the air—something you have to take care of soon before others come to visit.

but for now, you’ll just enjoy the warmth of your husband’s embrace. that’s all what really matters.

[pearlispunk]

Never took you for a pervert, Miller.

pairing: dbf! joel miller x female reader summary: you borrow a jacket from joel, and it returns to him with a stain. he goes crazy over your scent, and he wants more. warnings / contents: 18+ (minors please dni!), big unspecified (but legal!) age gap, brief mentions of alcohol, smut, f masturbation, dbf! joel, perv! joel, dom! joel, spanking, choking, dd/lg dynamic (kinda), daddy kink, praise kink, light dacryphilia, pet names, unprotected piv (wrap it before you tap it please!), creampie, no outbreak, no sarah word count: 4k a/n: i recommend listening to every girl gets her wish by saint avengeline while reading this! it really sets up the whole vibe >< enjoy °༄ !

It all started with that damn jacket. 

“It’s so cold, Joel. Please.” You whined, skin shuddering from the breeze. “Told you to bring a coat or somethin’, y’never listen.” He huffs, shedding off the outermost layer of his clothes. He holds it over you, eyebrows raised combined with pursed lips. 

You smile at him, quickly grabbing hold of the jacket and putting it on. You waste no time, zipping up the front of the jacket and tugging the ends of it to try and fit your body. It felt huge wrapped around you– it extended past your torso, and you had to tug the sleeves up just to use your hands. 

You looked so cute like this, he thinks for a moment, staring at you blankly. His eyes raked over you, eyeing you from head to toe. “Anyone ever tell you it’s bad manners if you stare?” Your voice chimes in like a chirp of a bird, and he’s back to reality. 

He shakes his head, walking past you, “Shut up.” He mutters. And you smile. 

You were fully aware of what effect you had on him. Ever since moving across his house a few months back, you’ve made it your life’s mission to make him fuck you. 

It didn’t take long for him and your dad to form a friendship over football and beer. However, ever since meeting Joel, he was always just this stuck-up, grumpy– presumably lonely– middle-aged man to you. You were just determined to help him, what’s wrong with that? Every time your dad invited him over for dinners or outings, you made sure you wore something that caught his eye. 

Even if that means wearing something skimpy during a cold weather. 

“I’ll wash this up for you and bring it back tomorrow morning, promise!” You say, looking at him with a glint of mischief in your eyes. He nods, shaking his hand in the air, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 

Is it wrong that he turns you on?

Is it wrong that you’re thinking about getting stuffed full of his dick? Of his cum? 

“Come on, girl.” He calls out to you, and you follow. 

For the evening, your dad had invited him to an outing. A fancy word your dad uses for just ordering take-out and eating it in the truck by the woods. They talked for a while, with pauses and laughs in between. 

“.. Anyway, I have to drive back to our old place tomorrow.” Your dad says, biting down on his food. You nod before tilting your head, “Why?” He finishes his food before wrapping the packaging and throwing it in a piece of plastic, “Forgot some of my boxes, kid.” He shrugs casually then turns to Joel, “Keep an eye on her, would ‘ya?”

When you get back home, you rush up to your room. You sigh in relief, welcoming the warm air while taking off his jacket. You lay down on your bed, holding the jacket close to you and taking a deep breath of his scent. It was so distinct, so unique, so.. him. Your fingers trace over the fabric, a mental image of him appearing in your head. Your breath hitches in your throat, and your other hand hooks your panties down. 

You take a pillow, placing the jacket above it. You straddle over it, forcing the pillow between your thighs. You lean down, burying your face in the jacket as you start grinding on it. Your pussy rubs over the cloth of his jacket, and you can’t help but whimper at just the thought of that. 

You were like a woman possessed, chasing your own high as you kept his jacket close. It didn’t take long– his scent drives you mad, almost crazy, and just a few moments later, you let yourself unravel.  Sweaty and tired, you collapsed on top of the jacket, coating it with your sweat and essence.

You woke up in a panic, your dad’s knocking alarming you. You sit up straight, tossing the jacket to the side and yanking your blanket over your legs. “Yeah, dad?” You clear your own throat, stretching out your limbs. “Joel’s here, and I’m going.” He says from the outside of the door. “Alright, drive safe!” You call out. 

You make out the thuds of his boots down the stairs. You then eventually hear the engine of his car. You look out your window, waving your hand as your dad honks the car before driving off completely. 

You get up, picking a pair of shorts from your drawer and putting them on. You grab the jacket from the side of your room, sighing to yourself before stepping out. You walk downstairs to the smell of a fresh coffee pot and some pancakes. 

“Figured you could eat somethin’.” Joel’s voice grounds you, his back facing you as he finishes cooking the last pancake. “Coffee’s there, if ‘ya want.” He points towards his right, the tone of his back muscles visible through his shirt. You nod, setting the jacket on one of the table chairs. You help yourself to a cup of coffee, taking a sip before sitting by the table. He turns around to face you before slipping the plate of pancakes in front of you. 

“I have to head out to the hardware store, d’ya wanna come?” He asks, sitting on the chair across from you. You nod, taking a fork and getting a bite out of one of the pancakes, “Mhm. Should let me change though.” Your voice is muffled, you haven’t finished the bite. “Now, sweetheart, I believe it’s bad manners to talk with your mouth full.” He grins at you, a smug look spreading across his face.

You roll your eyes, swallowing it before locking eyes with him. “Let me shower and change, Miller.” He chuckles, nodding as he takes a bite of a pancake. You finish your cup of coffee along with the pancake with a satisfied hum before standing up. 

Oh! You almost forgot his jacket. 

You reach over to the hunched cloth on the chair, grabbing it and sliding it in front of him. You’re off to the shower now, your footsteps echoing throughout the hallway.

He swears you’re trying to fuck him over. 

After your little banter, you slip him his jacket and you’re off on your feet. He shakes his head with a smile before his eyes glaze over his jacket.

Just as he was going to turn his gaze away, something caught his eye. A stain. A dried-up stain that left a darker patch on the hem of his jacket. It couldn’t be water, it would’ve dried up normally. He’s familiar with it. After fucking around with multiple women in a variety of compromising situations, he’s all too familiar with what it was. 

Dirty. Fucking. Girl. 

He takes a deep breath, the confines of his shorts tightening around his hardening erection. He looks down at it, shaking his head. 

This is fucked. He thinks, his hand going down to palm his cock through his shorts. He grabs the jacket, bringing the stain close to his nose to get a whiff of it. 

Fuck. You smelled amazing. Something sweet, something fresh. By now he’s rubbing his cock with his hand, hips bucking up into nothing. 

“Joel! Mind handing me a towel?” 

Your voice cuts through his heated session. A grunt caught in his throat, shaking his head and trying to shrug it off by clearing his throat. “Yeah, erm,” He lets go of the jacket, “Where?” He stands up quickly. “Should be one by my room.” You hum from the shower.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He mutters to himself, dragging his feet up the stairs and towards your room. He creaks open the door, scanning the room for your towel. He sighs, walking in and looking at every corner. Your scent is everywhere, making his head spin and cock harder. 

He finds your towel hooked on the back of your door, and relief washes over him. He grabs it hastily, pulling a top you discarded days ago with it. It drops down to his boots, and he stares at it. A white lacy tank top, one you wear at home only. He takes a deep breath, every fiber of his being screaming no. 

This isn't right, he's too old for you.

He was just going to put it back where it came from. What’s the harm in that? He was just going to put it back nicely, as if this never happened. He scoops it up, the soft feel of the fabric a contrast to his rugged hands. Then it hits him. Your scent. He can smell it all over the top. Didn’t even need to bring it close to his nose to be able to get a whiff of it.

He folds it neatly before tucking it in his pants. 

Oh, he was going to hell for this.

It took you days to notice that some pieces of your clothing went missing. First were the tank tops you wore at home, you always tucked them away by the first drawer of your cabinet. Second were the laced bras you bought from a city a long time ago, you mostly just use it when you’re out. Then finally, your favorite white lace thong. 

Joel started to come over more frequently, always by the front door with a pack of beer. Your dad was more than happy to let him in. It was strange, some pieces of your clothing came back during the days Joel was over. You thought nothing of it. 

Not until you saw him sneaking about the door of your room. He had just excused himself to go the the bathroom, a routine you picked up on ever since he came over more. It was like a tick in your brain– you just needed to know what he was truly doing in there. 

Instead, you catch him by your room, thong in hand, nose-deep, and cock hard. You were by the lower part of the stairs, enough to get a good view of what he was doing. Your eyes widen in shock, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips. 

You had him hooked.

Joel knew how fucked up it was. He was inviting your dad for drinks and a good time, only for his main objective to be to sneak into your room and snatch a few pieces of your garments. All for what? Jerking himself off late at night, when all of his pillows are covered in your scent, when all he can think about is the way your hips move, the way your tits bounce. 

He knew how fucked up it was, cumming on your garments, moaning your name, and imagining how sweet your pussy would feel wrapped around his cock. He knew how fucked up he was. 

But it was better than actually touching you, than actually crossing the line and fucking his friend’s daughter. He kept a safe distance, he kept boundaries, and he made sure he never stepped the line. So, surely, this was better, right? He’d slip into your room, grab a bra, a thong, or a top, and he’d be satisfied. And that was enough. 

It had to. 

But goddamn you were making it hard. You were making him really hard. 

You knew how to push his buttons, knew how to drive him to his limits. Every outfit you put on for him just got more and more enticing. And for tonight, his eyes are now shamelessly scanning every curve and dip of your body. 

The hour was late, your dad had excused himself to his room– his head was hurting. It was only you and him now, sitting on the couch, in front of the television. The past few moments were pure torture for him. Every skin-on-skin contact with you made him go crazy, and every time you walked past him, he could just inhale your scent.

He has one of the couch pillows set over his thighs, a weak attempt to cover up the hard-on he earned just by looking at you. Your eyes were glued to the screen, a knowing smile displaying itself on your lips. 

20 minutes pass, and so far, he wouldn’t budge off the couch or even get a new bottle of beer. “Would you like a new one?” You turn your head towards his direction. He hums, nodding, “Mhm, sure.” You walk over to the table, grabbing a new bottle of beer before walking back to him. You bend over a bit, handing it out to him.

His eyes lock in on your chest, the soft flesh of your boob peeking out through your low-cut top. And for a moment, he stays like that, mind completely distracted by the view in front of him. “Joel?” You ask innocently, beer bottle still in hand. He clears his throat, nodding his head before taking it out of your hand. 

He quickly takes a sip, trying to focus on what shows the television is playing. You smile to yourself, taking a seat beside him. You have a finger over your mouth– you feel the tension, and you scooch closer to him. “What’re ‘ya doin’, kid?” He asks, his voice low, eyes never leaving the screen. “It’s cold.” You shrug. 

He turns his back on you, his body facing the other way. Your eyes graze down on his back, admiring the way his muscles bulge through his shirt. Then, you catch a glimpse of your thong in his back pocket.

That was it.

“You know, it’s weird..” You start, looking at him. He looks over at you with his eyebrows raised, “Hm? What is?” You hook your finger on it, pulling it towards you in one swift motion. You dangle it in front of him, a smug look on your face. 

“Never took you for a pervert, Miller.” 

He looks at you, eyes wide with shock as his grip on the pillow tightens. “M’kay- fuck, I can explain–” He starts, standing up and letting the pillow fall to the ground. Your eyes lock with his boner, a smile forming on your lips. “Yeah?” You tilt your head to the direction of his boner. 

His eyes look down for a second, assessing himself. He sighs, running a hand over his face. “Been sneaking around and stealing my things when you could’ve just asked nicely.” You tut, standing up on your feet. “I know you want to fuck me, Joel.” You take a step closer to him. He looks at you, unsaid thoughts crossing over his eyes. He sighs before shaking his head. 

“Not here.” Is all he says before picking you up and placing you over his shoulder. You giggle quietly,  feet dangling in the air as he makes his way to your room. He fumbles with the door knob before clicking it open and setting you down on the bed. He locks the door behind him, turning around to face you properly.

You’re on your knees, fingers hiking up and glazing over your thighs. He eyes your movements, shaking his head. He walks closer to you until all you can see in front of you is just his tall frame. He grabs your chin, forcibly tilting your head to make you look at him. You don’t utter a word, your eyes scanning the entirety of his face. 

“Makin’ it so fuckin’ hard to control myself around you, angel.” He rubs his thumb by your bottom lip. You poke your tongue out, eventually taking his thumb in your mouth. “Just so happens you don’t have enough clothes to cover yourself with when ‘m around, is that it?” He looks at you with a dark gaze, his other hand reaching to unbuckle his belt. You nod, the sides of your lips curling into a smile. 

He takes his thumb out, tossing his belt to the side. He sits down on the edge of the bed before unbuttoning his pants. 

“Bend.” 

His voice drops an octave lower, his hand gesturing to his lap. You’re dumbfounded, lips parted with shock. “What are ‘ya, deaf?” He glares at you. You shake your head and do as you’re told, bending over his lap. He yanks your cotton shorts down, the cold air hitting your bare ass. “No panties?” He asks, his hand groping and getting a feel of your ass. You shake your head, squirming under his touch. 

You flinched as the sharp sound echoed throughout your room, a sting following– hot and immediate. 

“Words, baby. Let me hear ‘ya.” His gruff voice cooed from above you, his hand soothing over your flesh. “Deliberately wearin’ nothin’, hm? Is this for me, angel?” His fingers rub against your pooling hole. “Y-Yes.” You shook out the word, your hands pressing against his thighs. 

Another slap. “Yes what?” Oh, he sounds pissed. 

“Yes d-daddy-!” You whimper, your knees pressing together. He leans down on you until his lips are just by your ear, “Now you’re gonna have t’be quiet if you want me to fuck ‘ya properly, understood?” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. You nod your head, a tear slipping out of your eye. “Aw, poor baby.” His thumb brushes over your cheek, wiping your tear away, “Does it hurt?” He hums. “N-No daddy, promise!” You say earnestly, trying your best to be good for him.  

“Count for me, sweet girl.” He orders, his tone leaving no room for protest. 

His hand landed on the flesh of your ass, sharp and unyielding.

“O-One.” Your voice trembled under the contact. 

“Wearin’ nothin’ but short skirts and cropped tops, tryin’ to kill me.”

The next landed with no hesitation, your cheeks retracting at the contact.

“Two!” You bite your lip, muffling your whimpers. 

“Intentionally wearin’ nothin’ underneath those pretty white bottoms.” 

The next was harder than the last, more painful– the impact of it spreading heat through your skin.

“Three..!” By now you were crying, your pretty pink cheeks glistening with tears. He pulls your body against his, letting you lean against him. His hands were brushing against your ass, a tender touch– a contrast to his earlier actions. “Did so good for me, angel.” He kisses your cheek, his arms wrapping around your waist, “Makin’ me so proud.” 

You straddle on his lap, taking one of his legs between your thighs. You start moving, eager for the friction. “What’s this? Pretty baby beggin’ to get fucked?” He coos against your ear, the palm of his hand on the back of your head. “Y-Yes please, please.. been so g-good for you..” You whine, moving your hips faster. His hands travel back to your waist, holding you in place before flipping you over and letting you lay on your back.

He pulls away, tugging his pants along with his boxers. Your mouth waters at the sight of his cock, long and girthy, twitching and begging to get buried inside of you. Your legs unconsciously spread open, your pussy all on display for him. He smiles at you, leaning over you before kissing your forehead. 

“Keep quiet. Think you can do that f’me, baby?” He whispers, his hands on the back of your knees. You nod, your pussy pulsing against the tip of his cock. He leans down, pressing your thighs to your chest as he pushes his cock deep into you. Your knees touch your shoulders, and your hands find their way to his. 

Your pussy is stuffed, and you lightly tap him as a signal for him to give you a few seconds to adjust to his size. “Little girl taking me in so well.” He breathes, his hips staying in place. You bite down on your bottom lip, trying your hardest not to make a sound. 

Just when you thought he was all in, his hips pressed further against you, driving the extra inches of his cock inside you. “D-Daddy..” You hiccup, tears flowing from your eyes as your legs tremble in pleasure. “I know baby, I know.” He kisses the tips of your eyes, nodding, “Don’t worry. I’ll stretch you out real good, angel.” He whispers by the side of your ear. “Have you beggin’ for more in no time, you want that, yeah?” He lets out a low moan, burying his cock deeper. You try to relax your body, nodding at his words.

His grip on your legs tightens, his hips rocking into you. A moan slips out of your mouth, and he’s quick to cover it with his hand. You look up at him, beads of sweat forming around his forehead, some of his hair sticking on his skin. He looks down at you, his eyes gazing at your chest– your hardened nipples moving against the fabric of your top. He removes his hands from the back of your knees, relocating them to grope on your tits. 

He grabs the fabric, tearing it into two impatiently. You gasp at the contact, his hips snapping rapidly as he grunts by your ear. Your tits bounce, and this only fuels him further, “You’re so beautiful, angel,” He praises, peppering kisses on your hands, “Always so good for me.” Your legs hook around his waist, his other hand making its way to your neck. He puts pressure on your airflow, your hands wrapping around his arm.

The obscene sound of your squelching pussy and his invading cock fills the room, and you start to feel light-headed. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your back arching against his towering body. You clench around his cock, your legs pulling him closer to you. “Need me buried deep in your pussy, yeah, angel?” He smirks, his other hand teasing your nipples. Your pussy pulses with his words, your head nodding frantically. “M-Mhm- mmfh..” 

“You needed this so badly, huh?” He asks, his fingers glazing over your clit. You buck your hips up, desperate for his touch. “So pretty for me.” He rubs your clit with a soft and teasing touch. “M-More.. pleasepleaseplease– hngh–” You gasp, “So close, daddy!” He nods, adding more pressure to your clit. 

He looked so perfect right between your thighs, his large frame towering over yours, his hands exploring your body. His hips staggered, “This pussy is mine, understand me?” He lets go of your neck, hands pushing the back of your thighs to your chest. You nod, biting your lip while tears threaten to spill from your eyes. “D-Da- haaah– yours, all y-yours..!” He speeds up the pace, his fingers working their way on your clit. 

Your hands fall to your sides, your mind solely focusing on your release. “Just needed t’be fucked stupid.” He whispers, pulling his cock out before slamming it back in. Your back arches, and you’re met with your release. His hands land on your hips, pulling you towards him as he thrusts his cock into you one last time. 

He holds you still, his hands kneading on your hips as he leans over you. You feel his cum seep into you, steady ropes of it shooting inside you. He keeps still, making sure that you got every last drop. You feel breathless, your hands finding their way to his chest. 

He brings one of your hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on your fingertips. “So good for me, sweetheart.” He pulls out, collapsing by your side. He snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

He scans your face, his hand cupping your face. He rubs his thumb over your cheek, leaning closer to kiss it. He was so tender, so sweet with you– like you were the most precious thing to him. His hand rests over the back of your head, cradling you to his chest. You sigh contently, your eyes fluttering as your breathing steadies itself. 

He kisses the top of your head, muttering sweet nothings and praises as you drift off to sleep in his arms.

Every girl gets her wish. 

white lace divider by @chilumitos , cupid divider by @ioveartfilm ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ !

a/n: my second work! tried to do something new DOMJOELAHA, please feel free to correct me about any mistakes i made! i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! reblogs, comments, likes, or any kind of interactions are deeply appreciated!! xo, pearl!

tags ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ @pedrostories @syd-djarin @knockk0ut @joelscowgirl @rav3n-pascal22 @joelsdagger @joelmillerpascal @joelmillerihardlyknowher @tokkiwrites @taeslarityy @tcmmysheiby @magpiepills @joelsrose @slowdivinqs @mssalo @il0ve-urm0m @ladybirdswritings @fuckyeahdindjarin @joeloverture @wannab-urs @amyispxnk @yxtkiwiyxt @littlcdarlin @joelscurls @goldenispunk @coquettepascal @hellishjoel @joelslastofus @punkshort @iamasaddie @almostempty @gutsby @arcanefox207 @sanarsi @pedrohub @katiexpunk @lover-of-books-and-tea @joyceyayo @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @anenay @ashleyfilm @inept-the-magnificent @skullieispunk @iknowisoundcrazyreads @callsignmedusa @pixelspunk @puduvallee

[islandheartprincess]

bully!rafe ༚⁠ᵕ˖⁠♡ pt. 3

part 1 ✧ part 2 ✧ part 3

‧₊˚ ⋅ summary: he wasn't your boyfriend, why did he get so pissed seeing you talk to another guy. you put him in his place, but not long before he reminds you why you can't forget him

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ pairing: bully!rafe x sassy reader

୨ৎ .ᐟ a/n: ik this was long awaited, drk know how I feel ab this 1, feedback highly appreciated!

‧₊˚ ⋅ c!w: swearing, p in v, fingering, unprotected sex, reader is that bitch, switch sub & dom, reader makes fun of rafe, name calling

in an attempt to get your mind off things, especially about your last encounter with rafe, you found yourself out and about with your friends.

you guys spent a whole day having fun, ending your day at some nice little food spot that most kildare teenagers you knew hung out at. it was until your day took a turn when you were reminded of your actions from last week.

it's not like you exactly regretted what happened, quite the opposite. being stuck in a state of disbelief, you were still struggling to process what even happened.

yet everytime you saw rafe, it was like it never happened. you still saw him acting as the same playboy flirt as always, the same dickhead.

for rafe, he knew that one encounter wouldn't satisfy his need for you. being the man he is, he tried to shut you out. when fucking some girl he couldn't remember the name of, it was your face he was picturing. and, your name he moaned on accident.

he also knew you seeing him with random girls wouldn't sit well with you. convincing himself, how the poor girl you are, you would just sit there and wait until he came back to you. you weren't pathetic like he was, he should've known better.

so when you saw his face, it almost felt as though the people around you disappeared. your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly regained control of yourself, and came back to reality. turning back to your friends, laughing and returning to the conversation.

no, he wasn't disappointed in your underwhelming reaction, was he? hm, trying to play cool, that must've been your plan. not for long though, he was determined on getting back your attention.

rafe was seated down with his friends, hoping nobody would notice his odd behavior. his eyes were on you, pretentiously watching and waiting until your gaze landed on him. you couldn't have appeared more unaware and unbothered, it was like he wasn't even there!

"hellloooo? you there bro?" he was snapped out of his trance by toppers hand waving in front of his eyes. he honestly forgot there were other people around him, "huh? yeah- uh, what?" his friends around him snickered, "dude, did you even hear anything we were talking about?" topper continued.

"nah man, he was too busy staring at those chicks over there." kelce teased, tilting his head in your direction. your friends noticed their stares, nudging eachother with giggles.

"really guys? ignore them! there total losers...." you shunned the girls around you, with a pout on your lips. one of the girls continued her giggling, "kelce is like, so cute tho! i really hope they come over here!!"

that would be your last wish. there is no way you'd want rafe Cameron and his stuck-up friends to come over here. rafe, ugh, he would just look at you, thinking of some snarky comment to say. with his annoying, stupid, gorgeous, soft, lips. huh?

their swooning quickly settled over. "im gonna go order a snack or something" you mumbled to your friends. you stood up, and made your way over to order. you took notice to the familiar cute taller boy standing next to you, waiting on an order. perhaps you'd seen him in one of your classes before

for some reason, you felt a little confident today. wanting to spark up a conversation, you turned your head over to him. "hey, i think I've seen you before?" he looked to you, before his lips quickly raised into a smile. "yeah, you go to [school name] too! i think we have some classes together!" his face lit up, as you two conversed getting to know each other a little.

he flirted a little, you flirted back, and before he picked up his order, he gave you his number. unbeknownst to you, rafe was watching you the whole time. he felt his fists tighten into a ball, feeling furious as he watched the boy smile at you.

who the fuck was he to be talking to you like that? and who the fuck were you to be whoring yourself out to him. it was just a conversation, right, but he thought he made it clear, you were his.

rafe quickly stood up when he saw you headed toward the bathroom, "gotta piss guys," he said quickly departing from his table.

he jogged a little to catch up to you, grabbing your arm and pushing you into the bathroom.

you gasped, ready to scream at the sudden ambush, but rafe quickly slapped his hand onto your mouth. when you saw it was him, you were a little relieved. then you remembered it was rafe cameron, and returned to your state of panic.

"did you forget what I told you? hm? last time in the hallway?" his voice was highlighted with fury, your mind quickly pinning what he was talking about. the memory replaying "you're only my slut, kay?" his voice echoing in your head. you shoved his hand off you, catching your breath.

"what the fuck, rafe? are you insane?" panting, thinking that he truly must've lost it. "holy, we literally just talked, that's it." you shouldn't have been defending yourself, he had no right to an answer. he looked at you with confusion, placing his hands behind his head.

"y-you just talked? really, so, you didnt get his number or anything." you couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth "if i did is that your business? are you stalking me or something?" you shoved him backwards, making him stumble and continued your rant.

"also, i don't remember you being my boyfriend or anything. you've also been having fun with your fair share of chicks isn't that right?" he went silent, anger fueling up.

"nothing to say now? c'mon you had a lot to say to me before, fucking dragging me into a bathroom." rafe opened his mouth, trying to find the right words but just ending up stuttering in his fake confidence

"right, how could I forget, you're just a pussy. always will be." laughing in his face, watching the way his lip quivered very seemingly furious. "don't fucking call me a pussy. 'm not a pussy." his fists balled at his side.

"mmm, no i think you are baby. too pussy to talk to me normally, too pussy to ask me out, too pussy to fuck me?" the way you spoke made him almost forget he was supposed to be in control.

rafe finally grabbed you, eager to shut you up. you yelped and knew you were gonna get what you wanted. he slammed you over onto the sink of the bathroom, roughly grabbing your ass. "god, y'just don't know when to stop talking." he groaned into your ear while unbuckling his pants.

you bit your lip, hiding a giggle. he pulled down your pants, and harshly slapped your ass. "fuck, that hurts!" you squeaked, but he barely heard you. "it hurts? im gonna make you hurt a lot worse sweetheart."

it was almost unbelievable how aroused you were hearing him talk to you like that, and when rafe pulled your panties aside, he was also in disbelief. "damn, you're wet." letting out a moan in response as he put two fingers inside you.

"fuuuck you're even tighter than the first time, can't wait to break you in" humping back into his hand, your patience faltering.

he quickly pulled his fingers out, shoving his boxers down and spitting onto his dick. you looked up into the mirror, watching him jerk himself off before meeting his tip to your entrance.

you felt a slight burn when he first shoved his tip in, the penetration feeling odd and uncomfortable. "ngh, oh my-" gasping, when he slowly shoved his length more and more into you.

rafe had to resist the urge to fully slam into you, but he wasn't that mean. when he finally was fully into you, he moaned so loudly into your ear. "you're squeezing me so tight babe"

the uncomfortableness quickly turned to pleasure as he started off slowly pacing into you, and you knew it wouldn't last long before he started slamming in and out of you.

quickening his pace, you could feel the counter of the sink digging into your hips. your fingers tightened around the countertop, rafe's roughness pushing you into it everytime he fucked into you.

rafe latched his hand onto your hair, yanking your head back. "look at how well you're taking me, fuck!" your eyes were forced up to the mirror, looking at the unreal scene in front of you.

the room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping and groans. his cock doing unexplainable things to you, you felt yourself black out when your high was nearing.

"oh my- rafe, fuck, rafe im close" blabbering, as your vision went out only feeling him inside of you. "yea? cum on my dick princess"

his eyes were focus on the mirror, how good you looked being fucked out of your mind. he should've lasted a little longer, but with a girl like you he could cum in his pants. not the first time it's happened.

his breathing was heavy, hearing your moans made his cock twitch inside of you. he was sooo close, unable to hold himself back.

you felt yourself cum all over his dick, your sight returning as your brain started functioning again, heavy in ecstasy. he kept slamming into you, aware that he was close.

"m' close, so close baby" groaning out, his grip on your waist was harsh. "yea? cum inside me rafe." you said with a stern tone, a tone that made him release in seconds, his cum shooting up into you.

slowing down, he pulled out and watching your shared semen drip out of you. he grabbed a paper towel, and cleaned you up with minimum effort.

you finally picked yourself up from your bent position, knowing you would have some bruises next morning. pulling your pants up, and turning around to face him.

he looked up at you, heart beating a little faster when you stepped over to him.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing his jaw "maybe you're not as pussy as i thought" you giggled into his ear, grabbing his face and kissing him before walking out of the bathroom.

it couldn't get better than this for rafe cameron. the woman of his dreams, but it wasn't that easy to work it out.

part 1 , part 2(≽^•˕• ྀི≼)

i think this will be the last part, sorry im not as active but please give feedback <3

[takes1]

newest drop was fire bro🙌🔥🔥🔥

oikawa crushing on quiet!reader

ts made me smile. much appreciated ❤️ no smut this time; i'm getting smut fatigue. needed a short palette cleanser. thinking about doing some short form stuff while i work through the pre-january requests.

warnings. none, sfw

details. fem!reader / fluffy, feel-good fic / quiet!reader / oikawa crushing / 'weird'!reader / nerd x popular trope / oikawa is obsessed with you / based off of the 'hi wayne/bye wayne' audio / whipped!oikawa / iwa being a good person / 800 words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3.

"Hi, Tohru," You said, just as you did every day, to turn in your homework to the teacher's desk.

Oikawa was leaning forward, engaged in finishing a hushed story with Iwazumi. But your light, airy tone -void of any old, tired motive- took precedence with no further thought.

"-And then he was-- Hi, (Y/n)."

He perked up in many ways, just in time for you to walk by his desk again. Eyes wider, an uncontrollable smile brightening his former, serious expression- his brow softer, as he twisted to watch you return to your seat.

It was unclear why you felt comfortable enough to be on a first-name basis. Oikawa didn't mind. It distinguished you, like many things did, from the girls who only spoke to him because they were after something.

"The fuck was that?" Iwa searched his expression, finding some kind of emotion, or thought pattern at the very least, that he had never seen on his friend before.

Oikawa turned back around, confused, but not defensive.

"What?"

"That," Iwa asserted, shortly before he was called to face forward. He muttered, under his breath, "-That look on your face."

Oikawa was left to figure it out, a hint of effort on his brow, for the remainder of class.

Lunch eventually came around. He was still feeling different, and wasn't sure if it was what Iwa pointed out, or not.

In the process of standing to grab his lunch from his bag, and go eat outside like he usually did with his friend, he caught a quick glimpse of you. You were folding another addition to the row of tiny, paper cranes on your desk.

"C'mon," Iwa shouldered his bag.

Oikawa took a step, but lingered a moment longer.

You were sitting alone, but you didn't look sad about it. The seat in front of you was empty.

He filled it, despite Iwa's quiet protests, and sat backwards to watch you. The bench they usually chose to sit at sucked, because it was regularly bombarded with people he didn't know, all trying to talk to him. He usually never got to eat his lunch.

"Hi Tohru," You smiled, choosing not to look at him, in order to focus on your craft.

His reply was a fond sigh, "Hi, (Y/n)."

From here, he had the privilege of finally getting a good look at your face.

There was a sort of mild, unbothered, pleasantness to you. You weren't worried about anything else. You didn't give a damn that he was here, much less that he couldn't take his eyes off of you.

Iwa flicked him, hard, in the back of the head. It was after he shot back upright, rubbing the sore spot, that he realized he had been leaning slowly forward.

"Don't be a dick," Iwa muttered.

The assumption was such a leap in logic that Oikawa had no idea what he meant. You added another crane, that tiny, permanent smile on your pretty face.

He ignored him. Instead, he opted to try talking to you for the first time, "Um- are you going to eat your lunch?"

Still not looking at him, you were tearing off another page-- "I forgot it."

Again, you didn't seem like you minded such a dismal thing. Without much further thought, he grabbed his and set it in your workspace.

This was the only time you would look up at him.

A shudder wracked down his spine, rendering his voice a bit weak, "Yo-u can have mine."

There was some consideration in your eyes, before you pushed it back towards him, and refocused on your paper, "No. You need to eat. Aren't you playing a big match, soon?"

The way you asked made it seem like you weren't looking for an answer.

"Uh-," He did you the liberty of freeing up your desk space again, lunch box in his clammy hands, "Yeah- yeah, we are."

Iwa was getting tired of standing- you heard him shift his weight and sigh. He was still under the assumption that Oikawa was trying to flirt for some useless, and cruel joke.

"You can sit there," You motioned to the desk next to Oikawa.

His inflection was stilted, and his cadence was slow as he, hesitantly, took a seat.

"Thanks..."

It was quiet for a while, aside from the other students chatting from further back in the classroom. Iwa watched his friend face forward and eat slowly, slouched at the shoulders. It was an unusual sight.

Gradually, it dawned on him that this superficial pretty boy -in a rare, natural phenomenon- held a deeply genuine and innocent crush.

When they got up at the ring of the next bell, you were about 20 cranes deep. Oikawa left you, with another wistful stare, to head back to his seat. Though he loved how you didn't need to fill the silence, he wished he could make more conversation with you.

The classroom began filling up again, getting louder, and crowded for the next subject.

He was flitting his pencil between his sluggish fingers, a frown deep and heavy against his knuckles, when you came into view once more.

Another precious moment of hopeful, heart-pounding glee.

You placed a crane on his desk, then straightened it up, "Bye, Tohru."

This time, you waited long enough for him to properly respond, dawning that uncontrollable grin again, "Bye, (Y/n)."

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu

[secretmaniacc]

AAAA I love your writing so much!!!

HEHE I have a smut request for The Salesman

Backstory; Female y/n always see the salesman doing his job at the station. She even played with him one time and won however she never accepted the card. As the days goes by they will greet each other with a simple nod gesture or smile sometimes even small chat before he finds his new victim and she’s heading back home.

UNTIL

She overheard the two recruits Gi-hun hired (I forgot their names oops) planning to hurt the salesman (I know the plot they weren’t supposed to approach him but let’s pretend Gi-hun give them a task to kidnap and torture salesman hehehe)

So y/n ran back to the station and disrupted salesman while he was in the middle of slapping the poor homeless dude. Talking gibberish to him. He has no clue what the hell she’s talking about bc she’s out of breath from running and talking too fast. He’s just confused. When y/n saw the two men again approaching their way. She grabs salesman head and kissed him. [I hope you seen the scene of captain America and black widow kissing to display discomfort so the bad guys won’t catch them at the mall hahaha basically like that scene]

He pulled back looking even more confused. She said display of affection make people uncomfortable, as soon as she said that he looked up and saw the two men walking past them. Y/n felt embarrassed and ran home. In the middle of the night someone was banging her door. She opened it and…..SMUT TIME HEHEHE

Also I’m terribly sorry for my grammar English is not my native language :’)

[also if you do accept can you send me a message 🙈 ty heheh]

SLOW DOWN

pairings: the salesman x Fem!reader

Summary: A routine night at the train station takes a dark turn when you overhear two men plotting to attack the mysterious salesman you’ve casually crossed paths with before. Acting on impulse, you intervene in the only way you can—by kissing him to throw off his pursuers. What seems like a reckless moment of instinct pulls you into his dangerous world.

Warnings: language, violence (kinda), Dom!salesman x sub!reader, praising, whipped cream kink, kissing, mentions of blood, fingering, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex, talking you through it.

Wc: 3k

A/n: you ask I deliver, hope you like it, not proofread <33

The sharp snap of skin colliding with skin echoes through the crowded station. You barely flinch. You've heard it before. Too many times.

Across the station, he stands on the cold tile floor—immaculate suit, polished shoes, that same unsettling grin. He raises his hand and slaps the man across from him again. Sharp. Precise.

Another one hooked.

You lean against the metal pillar, watching. You know this game. You’ve played it before.

It was a week ago.

The station hummed with the dull buzz of flickering lights and the occasional metallic screech of trains crawling in and out. You were late. Work had dragged on longer than usual, and by the time you reached the platform, the last train was dragging its heels. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and damp concrete.

That’s when you saw him.

The man in the pristine suit.

He stood out like a polished coin in a pile of rusted change. His black hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place, and that too-perfect smile stretched across his face like it had been painted on. He leaned casually against a pillar, holding two small folded squares of paper—one red, one blue.

He caught your eye, tilting his head slightly in acknowledgment. Then, with a subtle flick of his wrist, he gestured to the empty space across from him. His movements were practiced, smooth, as if this routine had been rehearsed countless times.

Curiosity gnawed at you before logic could interfere. You found yourself walking toward him, footsteps echoing off the concrete walls.

“Want to play a game?” His voice was smooth, almost melodic. He held up the two folded papers between his fingers, the colors dull under the harsh station lights.

 “Seriously?” You eyed him warily.

“It’s simple. Flip my tile with yours. If you win, I’ll give you 100,000 won. If I win…” His smile widened, just enough to feel unsettling. “I slap you.”

You scoffed, folding your arms. “That’s it? No tricks?”

“No tricks.” His tone didn’t waver.

Against better judgment, you stood. The game was straightforward, deceptively so. The first round, you won. The second, too. His tile moving frantically under your strikes. His face remained unchanged, though, as if he expected this. Not a single slap coming your way. He handed over the cash with a flick of his wrist, the money slipping into your palm like silk.

Then came the card.

A brown rectangle with a circle, triangle, and square etched in black. He held it out casually, like an afterthought.

“What’s this?” you asked, fingers hovering over it.

“A bigger game. A chance to win more.”

His voice dipped, something darker coiled beneath his words. A chill crept up your spine. You smirked, flicking the card back at him with two fingers.

“Not interested.”

The card fluttered to the ground, but he didn’t look offended. No, he only chuckled, kneeling down and slipping it back into his pocket.

Since then, you saw him often.

Always at the station. Always playing his game with some poor soul desperate enough to take the bait. Your interactions became routine—brief nods, and smiles the occasional quip when you caught him mid-game.

But tonight was different.

You are leaned against a pillar, letting the cold seep into your back. The station was quieter than usual, the shadows thicker. That’s when you heard them.

Two men by the vending machines, their voices low but sharp.

“That’s him. The guy in the suit.”

“Yeah. Just like boss said. We follow him out, grab him, torture him, make him talk. He knows everything.”

Your stomach twisted. Shit.

Without thinking, you pushed off the pillar and sprinted across the station, boots slapping against the concrete. Your breath came in ragged gasps, the cold air burning your lungs.

He didn’t notice you until you were right in front of him.

“You need to leave. Now.”

His hand paused mid-slap, hovering above the cheek of a nervous man. Slowly, his head turned to you, one brow lifting.

“Excuse me?” His tone was calm, almost amused.

You leaned in, speaking low and fast. “Those two men by the vending machines? They’re coming for you. You need to trust me and leave.”

His eyes didn’t move, but something shifted in his posture. He blinked slowly, considering you.

“I don’t know what you’re saying”

Frustration flared. You glanced back. The two men were moving now, angling toward you both.

“Shit,” you muttered. Thinking fast, you did the first thing that came to mind.

You grabbed his face and kissed him.

His entire body stiffened, muscles locking beneath your hands. The world around you seemed to freeze. The station noise dulled to a distant hum.

You pulled back abruptly, heart pounding in your ears. His wide eyes stared into yours, utterly confused.

“Display of affection,” you muttered, wiping your mouth on your sleeve. “Makes people uncomfortable.”

His gaze flicked past you. The two men hesitated, awkwardly glancing away as they veered off in the opposite direction.

A slow, amused chuckle rumbled from his chest. He straightened, smoothing down his tie.

“Clever.”

Your face burned. "I’m sorry, I had to do that, but you need to get out of the station."

Without another word, you turned and bolted, weaving through the crowd and up the station steps. You didn’t stop until the cold night air hit your face.

---

It was well past midnight when the banging started.

You jolted awake, heart slamming against your ribs. Someone was pounding on your door, relentless.

You hesitated, fingers brushing over the baseball bat by your bed. But you decided to leave it, Slowly, you approached the door, peeking through the peephole.

It was him.

The man in the suit.

Your blood ran cold, before you unlocked the door cautiously, opening it just a crack.

“What the hell—”

He pushed the door wider, stepping in uninvited. That same unnerving smile stretched across his face.

“We need to talk.”

His tone left no room for argument.

You stared, unsure whether to slam the door in his face or listen.

“About what?” you asked nervously

His smile widened just a fraction.

“About why you tried saving my life.”

His voice was smooth, but something darker lurked beneath it. You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how small your apartment felt with him standing there. He took a slow, deliberate step forward. And another. Closing the door behind him.

Instinctively, you backed up.

His eyes never left you, scanning you with unnerving precision. The thin fabric of your pajama shorts and the loose strap of your shirt felt far too revealing under his gaze. Like he was undressing you. Heat crept up your neck, but you couldn’t look away.

“You ran all that way... just to save me?” His tone was low, edged with amusement, but there was something sharp underneath. He tilted his head, taking another step closer, as you backed up again. "Tell me, was it bravery... or something else?"

“I—uh... I just thought—”

“You thought what?” he interrupted smoothly, still moving forward, now closing the space between you. “That I couldn’t handle a few men?”

You felt your breath catch. Your heel bumped into the cold tile of the kitchen counter. Shit. Nowhere else to go.

He noticed.

“I killed them, you know.”

Your eyes snapped to his face. The casual way he said it made your stomach twist.

“Oh, yes.” His smirk deepened. “It was... enjoyable.”

Your gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, to the dark stains on his shirt. Blood.

The air thickened. Your breathing turned shallow, chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. He was too close now.

His hands came up slowly—deliberately—and planted themselves on either side of you, caging you in against the counter. The cool edge of the countertop bit into your lower back.

He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted over the curve of your neck. His scent—metallic, faintly sweet, and something darker—wrapped around you. One of his hands slid, gliding over your waist, fingers curling to pull you forward against him, eliminating even the smallest sliver of space between you. And that’s when you felt him.

“You should be more careful who you save,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not everyone is grateful.”

Before you could react, his hands shifted with unsettling ease, gripping your hips. In one smooth motion, he lifted you, setting you on the cold countertop. You gasped, instinctively gripping the edge, your legs parting as he stepped between them, locking you in.

His eyes bored into yours, and for a fleeting second, you couldn’t decide if it was fear or something else that sent a shiver down your spine.

“So, tell me,” he murmured, voice dropping lower. "Why did you really save me?"

His hand traced slowly along your thigh, barely touching, yet burning. You couldn’t answer. Your mind screamed for words, but your lips stayed parted, breathless.

And his smirk deepened, eyes flicking past you to something on the counter that you forgot to remove earlier. Slowly, he reached over without breaking eye contact. His fingers curled around the can of whipped cream, lifting it with casual ease. 

Your brows knit in confusion. "What are you—" 

Before you could finish, he brought the nozzle to his lips and pressed down. The soft hiss filled the air as the white cream curled into his mouth. He swallowed slowly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. 

“Sweet,” he murmured, voice smooth and dark. His eyes dragged lazily over you, settling on your parted lips. “But it could taste better.” 

Before the words could settle, his hand moved—calloused fingers tilting your chin up. His thumb and forefinger gently hooked under your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open. The cool metal of the can brushed your skin, and a soft stream of whipped cream slid onto your tongue. 

You barely had a moment to react before his mouth crashed into yours. 

The kiss was fierce, and unapologetic. His lips moulded to yours, but it wasn’t enough—his tongue pushed past your lips, exploring every corner of your mouth, tasting the lingering sweetness, tangling with your tongue in a heated rhythm. 

Your breath hitched, and your hands instinctively gripped his shirt, knuckles brushing against the dried blood you hadn’t dared to question yet. fisting the fabric as his kiss deepened. He groaned low in his throat, a sound that vibrated through you, spurring him on. 

His tongue teased and stroked against yours, pulling soft, involuntary sounds from you. Every movement was calculated, demanding, as if he wanted to taste every bit of you, not just the sweetness on your lips. 

When he finally pulled back, your chest rose and fell rapidly, lips slick and swollen. A trail of saliva between you.

But he wasn’t finished. 

The can hissed again—this time against the sensitive skin of your neck. A cold trail of cream dripped along your pulse point, making you shiver. 

Then his mouth was on you—hot and unrelenting. His tongue flicked over the sticky trail, licking it up slowly, savouring the taste of cream and skin. His teeth grazed your throat, nipping just enough to make you moan. 

A low chuckle rumbled against your neck as his lips latched on, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. 

His grip tightened around your waist, your legs wrapped around his hips without thinking, drawing him impossibly closer. 

His breath ghosted over your ear, deep and rough. 

“See?” he murmured, tongue lightly tracing the shell of your ear. “It tastes so much better this way.”

He was breathing closer to your ear, lingering over your neck for moments before his lips pressed against you again.

You moaned out softly to how he was kissing your bare shoulders, down to the blade of them, then back up, “damn it,” his notes were so low, “fuck”

“What?” you finally managed to say, pushing against him a bit, the feeling immaculate, you could feel how hard he is pressing against you, and you can barely breathe.

“you’re so fucking sweet.”

The tension is thickening around you, the heat in your bodies is too much to ignore, you couldn’t stand against it, you couldn’t stand against him, he was just so addicting in a way you couldn’t quite place.

The very instant you felt his lips on your skin again, the warmth of his body, you couldn’t hold it back. Arching your back, pushing thighter against him, you could rupture at how he was teasing at the hem of your shorts, “take them off.”

He pulled the fabric down frantically, a thud to the ground, before slipping his fingers below the lace material of your underwear, and you gasped, your body tensing close to his the very instant he came in contact with your clit, “so wet f’me”

You nearly moaned, huffing sweetly at his touch and the circles he made, “the things I have in my mind for you.” His hand gently started cupping your breast. He had you in such a hold now that you could barely move.

Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head, it was the tension his voice held.

He let his middle finger inside you as far as he could reach, you spread your tight a bit further apart allowing him more of you.

“Mhm? Right there, yeah?” he growled, nearly moaning himself at the way you moved. “fuck, you’re so soaked.”

You couldn't even hear him properly. your mind wasn't working further than to what his hand was doing to you. He moved steadily in and out of you, curling his finger right where it would have you shaking. His thumb brushed across your clit every now and then, and you couldn't focus.

''Yeah,'' he muttered, nibbling at your earlobe, ''Be my beautiful girl and let me feel you.''

you reached out tangling your fingers into his black strands, and it didn't take long until you was a moaning mess under his touch. Your hips spasmed. Your breathing levelled heavier, and you gasped repeatedly. It was music to his ears, a never-ending orchestra.

''Now I want to know, do you want to continue'' he withdrew his touch from your core, forcing his hand down between you. “I won’t, if you don’t want to”

Without thinking your fingers intestinally wrapped around the loop of his belt, confidence build up as you tugged at it forward. “I want to.” You breathed before loosening his belt, the sound of clashing metal echoing through the kitchen.

He took over impatiently zipping his pants down, before freeing his throbbing erection from his boxers as he pushed the material aside.

Taking his cock in his hand and you moved with him. You was still facing him, your chest pressed against his front as he lifted your thigh, giving him everything he could need from you.

''To think I’ve always fantasized about this moment,'' he hissed as he dragged his cock up and down your soaked slit. Teasing by pushing forward and creating unbearable friction against your clit, ''I thought that after that night, I would never see you again, yet you kept showing up, flashing me those smiles, making my mind drive me insane, fuck—''

You exhaled, thundery. You couldn't shape a word at the pleasure he is putting you through even if you wished to do so. you simply whined. body shaking.

Pushing into you, a bit at the time, he bit down your bare shoulder, needing to ease his own tension, “You're like a cigarette at midnight—dangerous, burning slow, and impossible to put down."

He moved his hand over your hip, lifting your leg more, “And the worst part? You know it’ll ruin you—leave you hollow and wrecked—but fuck, you’re already leaning in, desperate for that first hit, craving the way it burns and numbs you all at once.”

You threw your head back, tensing your fingers into his hair as he fucked you on the countertop. It was hard. He fucked you roughly yet with so much passion. It was intimate, emotional. His body moved with yours— your body obeyed his.

“...and that’s the real addiction, isn’t it? Not the rush, not the aftermath—but the waiting. The wanting. Knowing it’ll destroy you and still craving every second before it does.'' He was speaking so low to you, plunging his cock in and out of you, forcing your body to take what he gave.

You whimpered, your fingers clawing at his neck now, ''please—''

He pushed harder. Forced his cock deeper, reached further.

''And not to speak about this fucking cunt...'' He moaned, drawing his tongue along the arch of your neck, ''I can't really blame myself if I get hooked, can I?''

you breathed out. Your eyes rolling, your back curling, ''Please. I can't take it—''

''One taste of this, and you're fucking addicting.'' The hand supporting your leg slid lower until the back of your knee rested in the curve of his elbow, and he spaced your thighs more, diving into you depths and losing his mind over how hot and tight you were around him.

''I'm—''

He was relieved by that. He could barely hold himself together at the tension between you, the fusion and mix of need and thirst of your bodies. He slowed his movements, not bucking his hips as roughly anymore, and you were close. So close.

''Fucking hell—'' He groaned against your shoulder again, burying his head into the soft spot of your neck. He came the second he felt you pulsating around him. The instant he felt your release around him, he came just as crashing down as you'd done.

Breathing heavily, he pulled out, stepping back just a bit as he dragged your worn out body forward. It was a moment, if so a short, little one, where your cheek rested against his chest, and his lips pushed into the top of your head. That tiny moment felt good. It felt calm and reassuring to both of you.

“thanks, for keeping me alive.”

[teaxeee]

Heaven and back | Park Gunwook

Summary: Just as he thought his birthday couldn't get better, it did 100 times more.

Pairing: Female reader x Park Gunwook

Genre: Smut (as usual, Minors DNI)

Word count: 1262 (IN ALMOST 2 HOURS AAAA)

Warnings: Sub!Gunwook, Dom!Reader, Tipsy!Gunwook, deepthroating, BigDick!Gunwook (kind of), pet names (baby, pretty boy, birthday boy, bun, Y/Nie cause Gunwook called you that), food play, drinking mentioned a few times I lost count-

Notes: Since it's Gunwook's birthday, I thought why not celebrate it by writing a fic for our birthday boy? I still can't believe he's 20 y'all, anyways happy birthday to our cutie and all rounder!

Song recommendation: HEAVEN AND BACK - Chase Atlantic

“Baby, stop…stop teasing…” Gunwook choked out as you lapped at the tip of his cock. He was a mess, his whole length covered with the frosting leftover from his birthday cake. How did you manage to convince him to let you suck his cock?

A few hours prior you celebrated his birthday, just you, him and a group of your shared friends gathered up at your place where you threw a surprise for him. He almost thought that everyone forgot about his birthday, the surprise? That made him cry for at least 10 minutes, with you having to calm him down with kisses before he was back to being giggly and cheerful.

After celebrating (and having a few drinks) everyone soon went home, except you and Gunwook. It was noticeable that he was slightly tipsy, his cheeks flushed as you fed him a bite of the cake. You ordered the prettiest and tastiest cake just for him, and with the way he was humming from each bite, you knew you made the right choice.

“Baby…so delicious…” He says in between chewing, his mouth still full as he had his eyes fixed on you, he was definitely lovestruck.

“I’m glad you like it, pretty boy.” You said as you placed your free hand against his cheek, and he leaned in your touch. He craved your touch, more than usual whenever he got drunk.

The room was filled with silence for a few minutes, you feeding him and him eating happily while you also fed yourself a bite of the cake. It really was delicious, and you took a mental note to order it in the near future again. He looked sleepy, it made you almost laugh at how cutely he was talking, his words slurring slightly but not to the point where you couldn’t understand him.

You took a look at his appearence: his hair was a bit messy with the way he ran his hand through his hair every 5 seconds, his lips parted as he breathed out, cheeks becoming more flushed with the way he kept taking sips of the champagne you bought a while back.

You looked at the cake sitting on the table, then back at him, an idea already popping up in your mind.

That’s how you ended up on your knees in between Gunwook’s legs, his head thrown back against the back of the couch and his whole body slumped against the soft cushions. He didn’t expect you to convince him to let you suck him off just by whispering dirty in his ear and coaxing him to eat a frosting covered strawberry.

As much as he was shocked when you applied the frosting on his cock, he didn’t think it was that bad until you started licking at the base of his cock, a moan escaping past his lips. He never thought he’d be so turned on by the sight of his girlfriend being on her knees and sucking his cock with frosting on it, which made it a huge turn on.

You already made him cum once just by stroking his cock with your frosting covered hand, your nails scratching deliciously against his heated and veiny skin. He was already panting and moaning, letting out occasional whines whenever your tongue poked at his slit, causing more pre-cum to leak from the reddened tip.

The way you looked up at him while swirling your tongue around made him almost cum right then and there, but he held it in longer. He was panting, his eyes half lidded as he stared down at you, fixed onto your tongue. His cock twitched every time your tongue made contact with his skin and by that you knew he was close.

“Bun, please…let me cum…need to c-cum…” He whined as your lips closed around the tip of his cock, sucking on it gently and finally giving him the relief he craved so badly.

His mind felt foggy, filled with the most filthiest thoughts of you, he was definitely going to remember this moment for days, months, probably even years.

Just as he was about to cum you pulled away, a whimper slipping past his lips as he watched the tip of his cock slip away from your lips. That alone made him miss the feeling of your mouth on him.

“Why did you do that, Y/Nie~” He cried out desperately, tears forming in his eyes as he squirmed against the cushions. You knew he was getting extremely needy with the way his voice became more whiny and his breathing became heavier.

“Do what, birthday boy? I didn’t do anything.” You said, acting innocent despite knowing he didn’t like it, but with him becoming submissive with each passing second? It was way easy to rile him up.

“Y-You knew what you did! Don’t act like you don’t have a fucking clue about it.” He said, his words slightly slurred as he glared at you. He definitely was pissed, but that only made him hotter.

He was about to keep protesting when you suddenly took his cock fully in your mouth, deepthroating him as you started bobbing your head up and down, finally sucking him off deliciously. That caused him to groan loudly, his hands gripping the cushions as he let out a string of curses.

“Shit, so good…fuck…baby…” He chanted, his eyes rolling back as you kept bobbing your head, while slowly starting to stroke whatever was left of his length that you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

He felt like he was in heaven, he loved that feeling and would often want to keep going back to it over and over again. It didn’t take long before he was close to the edge and just as he was about to cum he let go of the cushions and grabbed a fistfull of your hair with one hand, pulling you off his cock, watching it slip out while he wrapped his hand around his length the other and started stroking it.

With just a few strokes he came all over your face. Your cheeks and lips were covered with the hot seed, some of it dripping down on the floor. He groaned as he kept cumming and stroking his cock, and he needed a few minutes before he stopped, his cock twitching and the tip spurting out the last of the liquid.

You licked your lips and looked up at him, seeing how drained he was and hearing how much he was panting. It was definitely the hottest sight you witnessed every time, and you wouldn’t change it for anything else.

As soon as he calmed down he glanced at you, watching how you maneuvered yourself onto his lap, your soaked panties pressing against his now half hard cock. He felt you wrapping your arms around his neck, but he was too tired to react.

“Happy birthday, baby. Hope you’ll like the gift I prepared for you.” You said as you pecked his lips, which made his eyes widen at your words.

“There’s more?” He asked, his breath hitching as you subtly rolled your hips against his cock, the friction causing him to groan and you to moan softly against his ear.

“You thought we were done? Not a chance, because I have a lot prepared for you, baby.” You said as you let one of your hands move down from his neck to the hem of his shirt, slipping your hand inside.

That’s how he realized he was in for a long, enjoyable night and endless rounds of pleasure.

[moonjellysfeast]

My Own Galatea- Crybaby x Top Male Reader

cw; (C/n) is Code name, manipulation, abuse, unethical science, dehumanization, Crybaby is @yanderefarm's character

You were probably too young to be involved in such an experiment, not even proper college age nor finished with your classes. But, you were very advanced in your studies, you were still top of your classes despite moving up several grades when you were younger, and they were getting desperate. You remember sitting in the meeting, this company had really only planned to discuss simple matters as a way of showing you how you were expected to interact once you finished school and they actually hired you. They got caught up in more urgent matters and forgot you bore witness to their panic and desperation until you raised a hand to silence the room and flatly announced.

"I have the darling gene... I could probably further his infection. He'd listen to me, I promise" They weren't happy about it, but they were truly desperate, so you were hired.

You first met him in the facility's basement, he was in a large glass room, a small hole cut into the bullet-proof glass to keep you safe when talking with him. You had several psychology classes and so you felt confident in your scheme to make him obedient.

"Hello" You spoke softly and he turned to you, clearly upset, "It's nice to meet you. Do you have a name?"

He glared at you for a bit before walking towards the hole in the glass and quietly grumbling, "I do... A real one..."

You smiled at him, he was only a year or two younger than you, but you would have to treat him more like a child until he knew you were safe. You approached him, ensuring you looked as confident as you felt, you weren't scared of him and he had no need to fear you yet.

"Give me your name, then. We can't be friends unless you tell me at least that much" Your words were laced with honey, he eyed your sweet smile with suspicion and you watched his eyes shift. He was coming around to the idea.

"Elias... I think... no, I am right... I am named Elias..." Even just at the confusion of his name, his eyes were round and damp. You held back the tug of a grin to give him a gentle smile instead.

"You can call me (Y/n). Elias is a beautiful name. It suits you" He looked at you with awe now, like it was the first compliment he'd ever heard, "You know, the people here call me (C/n), isn't that a funny name? Do they call you something like that?"

"Yes. Crybaby... I don't like it" He'd looked so adorable, crouched on the other side of the glass, confessing his thoughts like deep secrets, and watching you with those wet eyes.

You had been completely correct in your assumption that you could further his infection, when you next saw him, his irises were clear heart shapes and he hopped up to greet you at the glass.

"Good morning, Elias~ You seem energetic" You mused as he fidgeted a bit and nodded. "I'd like to play a game today, if you're up for it"

"A game?" He was clearly wary, surely experiments had been done to him in the form of 'games' previously, but he had to trust you.

"It's like simon says. Do you know that game?" he shook his head slowly, "Well, I'm going to tell you to do things, but I only want you to listen when I call you Crybaby, Ok?"

"Why?" He whined

"Because, It'll be fun. Friends play games all the time and we're friends now! We'll start easy; Crybaby, sit down," He sat with little hesitancy, "Very good. Stand up, Crybaby," He stood, "Elias, please come closer"

He walked toward you and you made quite a show of disappointment, causing him to scramble back into place and apologize, already welling up with tears.

"No, no, it's ok. You forgot the rules. Like I said, we're starting easy so it's not a big issue. Crybaby, come here" He hesitated before scrambling to the glass window, tears streaming down his face already.

The games continued each day, once he was good at listening as crybaby, you started referring to Crybaby and Elias as different people, even giving them rules.

"Crybaby doesn't know my name, you only know me as (C/n), right? You pet his head, watching him nod along to your words. "Who am I?"

"(Y)- no... (C/n)..."

"Good boy, you're really learning. I'm sure Elias would be proud of you as well, Crybaby"

You also had begun entering his cell, he adored when you did and would cling to you until you demanded he stop. With becoming so close to him, you also had to begin enforcing all of your rules more strictly.

"(Y/n) I don't kno-" He crumpled to the floor the moment you hand landed on his cheek.

"That's not what you call me, is it, Crybaby?" You sneered as he cradled his cheek and began to tear up again.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'msorry- mhhn, Please don't be mad! (C/n), sir, please!" You placed a hand over his own, silencing him.

"I know you didn't mean it, but we can't have you being bad, can we? No, Crybaby, you have to be a good boy and listen to me. Now, you remember where it is, mark the artery I told you to."

He shakily got up and made an x on the mannequin's neck, precisely where you told him to.

"Good boy" you smiled a bit, " We'll have to work on your crying. as much as your name is apt, no one will like you crying so much when you start to actually work..."

There will be more of this fic but I am stuck.

[little-boyyyy-blog]

i forgot!

alessia russo x reader

when alessia meets the one just for her she makes sure she the right one before showing her off. even if there was really no doubt. well. besides your college. but you got her to forget about it for a while.

“are you a model?” you asked the blonde girl that you had been shameless watching move throughout the paris night club you were currently in. people were swarming the bars, leading to arms laying across a sticky counter with debit cards in hand and very close proximities.

a surpsied expression to your bold question came from the girl, her moving her ear away from your lips with a tint to her cheeks that wasn’t there before. you could swear.

“a footballer actually. are you?”

alessia was automatically attracted to you. her eyes genuinely scanned your body painfully slow as her eyes filled with a obsession

“basketballer actually. aren’t you competing?” alessia peaked up at the more familiar accent, she knew she had heard it before. leaning forward towards the american stranger, enjoying her memories of the united stated

“my nation didn’t qualify. but innit that funny, i went to school in america?”

“what a shame. i’d love to watch you play. shame it wasn’t at duke either, i would have seen you before that. i know that for sure.”

“and you lost me there. you were doing well too” you watched as disinterest comes across her face at the mention of your alma mater. not like it mattered to you, the footballer in front of you was all your mind was interested by.

“i never said i hated unc” you had to yell for her to hear, pulling her closer to you by her waist as another body tried to squeeze behind her.

“that’s because it’s the best in the country”

“in my country?”

“your country.” her smile came back, bringing a burn deeper in your stomach. the bartender swiftly dropped off both her drinks and yours. “vos cartes.” you don’t know what came over you; because it definitely wasn’t logic when your hand came on-top of alessia’s as she tried to start a tab. it was early in the night and you were still on a contact in the lowest paid league in america; but you had no problem treating the girl you were admiring for the night.

never had you thanked you agent more for sponsorships.

“mets toutes ses boissons avec les miennes ce soir. tout ce qu'elle obtient, je l'ai” the bartender nodded to your fluent french and turned away without hesitation; only taking your card.

“put all her drinks in with mine tonight. whatever she gets, i got”

“what did you just do? also i thought you were from america? you sound great. ”

“i gotta make my money somewhere, you went to america for experience no? just stay around for a while so i have something to look forward, remember to come say bye too.”

the sharpness to you, your undeniable looks, the free drinks.. how could she say no?

“i just might have to, and who do i come looking for?”

“you’ll find out if you come back. what’s you’re name?”

alessia’s eyes rolled at your secrecy, but bit her lip in enjoyment. she knew she’d be coming back, how couldn’t she. just look at you.

“alessia.”

“less these were out front?” leah announced as she entered alessia flat; confusion being noticed on the kent natives face until her eyes caught onto the pink peonies that we beautifully arranged for her.

leah carried them in carefully; not glancing to hard at them before handing them off. “theyre beautiful”

she would have kept an eye out front for them if she knew they were coming, but she never knew when you’d send them.

her cheeks when flushed and the pink in those flowers were so similar that you had secretly dedicated those flowers to her.

“oh my god, i didn’t hear a ring. thank you le.”

“who gave you those?” a question that gone unanswered.

alessia hadn’t spoken a word about you to her teammate. you were too good to be true in her mind; she didn’t want to ruin that before anything could actually happen.

quickly plucking the card off the floral pick and walked causally into the kitchen. “oh my those are beautiful less, who sent them?”

“someone from the states.” she slipped the card away into her back pocket before the overbearingness of the arsenal women’s team started.

“ohhhh”

“a college fling?”

“how many times have they’ve sent them?”

less pressed her lips together to hide the ever small smile from crossing her face. “once or twice.”

“oh my god!”

“a man sent those??”

“ay dios mío..”

the room continued with the chatter of who they may believe it to be. but surprisingly the room had two silent watchers. ones that alessia noticed instantly.

alessia felt as lotte watched her throw away the same peonies, now a week old. she felt emily watching as she cleaned the vase and put it in a cabinet. a cabinet with definitely more than one or two similar vases. emily would count on at least 7 or 8.

but of course they already knew that the american would have to be someone new to alessia.

they were alessia’s bestfriends at her time at unc; and they knew she spent her time there as a stepping stone to make it where she is now. meaning she was focused, studious, and committed to soccer while there. she wasn’t at unc to date, she was there to become better.

but alessia wasn’t stupid. her eyes meet with lotte’s and emily’s, giving them the look to please keep quiet for now. and that’s what they did. because they didn’t care that much.

well they did. but they knew if they pushed they’d never know. and trust. they wanted to know so badly that they were willing to wait.

alessia didn’t know why people cared so much if it didn’t involve them; but what she did was learn was that people will always want to know too much.

the spotlight makes you learn that damn last.

and as the flowers became a second thought to the arrival to the skipper, that gave alessia an escape from the attention to do something she couldn’t wait to do.

excusing herself to the bathroom from her guests once the timing felt right. her heart beating as she already pulled out her phone from her back pocket to text you a ‘thank you’ for the flowers as she walked through her flat.

pressing her back against her own bathroom door as she locked it. pulling out the card that was placed in the flowers from her back pocket so fast it may have ripped a corner. rubbing her thumb over the similar words as those that have brought her ease for the past 7 weeks.

i bought these flowers the same night i bought your ticket. you’ll be here in a week and these should last you til then. ill spend my days waiting for you until then. xo

you had finally made your way back with lunch for the two of you and less couldn’t hold back her excitement. she had jumped into your arms the second you had entered the apartment, giving you no time but to catch her. and that’s what you did. “finally”

holding her up against you with one arm as you held onto the food bag in your other, you walked the both of you into your apartment. letting the front door close and automatically lock as you walked you both into your kitchen. placing her and the food down on the counter before quickly placing a kiss to the british girls lips.

“hi hun” you whispered against them as she snuck her hand up your shirt, leaving a comforting and warm hand on your side. in a way to remind you she was real. a reminder you were grateful for as you looked at her longer. “hi baby”

“i got us our last american meal for a bit”

“enjoy your messy burger because you obviously can’t live without one for two weeks.”

“that’s why i got it obviously..” you rolled your eyes back at her, “you know you talk a lot of shit for someone who likes being in america”

“that’s because you’re here.” alessia had sent butterflies to your stomach ever since the moment you had met her at club. and over the months you had gotten to learn her; you had learn that her comments like those. meant something. not only to you; but her too.

“is that why you had me push back your return flight?”

“are we not going to mention how you bought yourself a ticket to come back with me” a teasing smile on her lips.

“no we’re not”

your phone rang on the counter taking you both out of your moment together; her eyes moving subconsciously to see who it was. and when she read another woman’s name she automatically sat up straight and let her hand quickly fall off of your waist.

alessia couldn’t help herself. as much as she’d love to say she hadn’t been looking for a red flag in you. she knew she had to be right about you being too good to be true in her mind.

“hey what’s up?..”

and honestly; for a good second. she couldn’t believe her eyes when you picked up your phone so nonchalantly infront of her, answering the call from the girl with not a second thought to you.

“..damn. no i can’t watch tuck this weekend; im going out of town with less..”

but of course she was being dramatic.

of course you had been telling everyone about alessia.

you had been treating her like your girlfriend since the moment she had arrived and alessia loved it. but never admitted it.

a small smile cracking out from your lips and a sly wink was all alessia needed for her cheeks to become that signature pink and her forehead to come planting on the center of your chest.

and as you ended the call and pulled her head away from your chest. there was that light smile still on your lips “jealous over a dog”

all alessia wants to do is kiss that smile off your face too. “it was the girl; and so what about it?”

“you’re all i want less”

“no way. you’re not dating her less.” emily stood firm in alessia apartment. another wide smile coming across your face as you knew why. a laugh coming out after alessia looked at you crazy.

“what?” you stood in the center on alessia living room in a pair of her arsenal shorts and an college college hoodie.

“emily i’ve told her” you had met emily before due to emily’s time in the nwsl and you’re continuing friendship with her u-19 national teammate tess boade.

“told me what?”

“she’s a blue devil?”

“what?” lotte quickly pipped in as if you had killed someone.

“she went to duke? are you kidding less? how could you fall for the rival.”

“oh my god. i forgot.”

“are you actually doing this right now? baby i told you the night we met?”

“i forgot!” alessia exclaimed.

“what do you mean?! how could you forget?”

“she was buying our drinks and she was looking really nice, i guess it just flew right over my head that night!”

“god less you’re kidding.”

she wasn’t. and maybe the enemy wasn’t so bad after all.

[ugh-yoongi]

the great british fake-off | xmh

you thought the guy in the hawaiian-print shirt who seems physically incapable of being quiet would be the most annoying person here, so imagine your shock when it's xu minghao, who has seemingly decided you're the enemy and keeps sabotaging you. a baking competition for charity might have others on their best behavior, but what's a little sugar without some spice?

❆ pairing: minghao x reader ❆ genre: great british bake-off, holiday au; crack, fluff ❆ wordcount: 5.5k ❆ rating: e for everyone ❆ warnings: some swearing, minghao is a saboteur, idiots abound. ❆ credits: this netflix psd template for the banner. this recipe for the yule log; this recipe for the gingerbread house; and this recipe for the entremet. divider from here. this post for the divider. this was roughly edited by me, so any and all mistakes are my own. ❆ written for: the winter with you collab hosted by @camandemstudios. thank you for letting me participate! please make sure to check out the rest of the stories as they're posted. ♡ ❆ author's note: i had this rotting away in my wips since literally 2021, so even though it started as a completely different story, i'm so glad it's finally seeing the light of day even if it's not what i originally intended. (also, i know the banner says 12 contestants but the holiday specials only had a couple, okay. i forgot when i made it and i wasn't going back to fix it.)

The obnoxious one is wearing an aloha-print shirt.

He’s also extremely loud, his raucous, fake laughter filling every corner of the large warehouse you’ve been assigned to for filming. Makes a show of batting his eyelashes, throwing his head back every time someone cracks a joke that’s not even funny, comes up with nonsensical nicknames for the entire crew just to suck up to them.

“John Davies? Mind if I call you Joe?”

Joe doesn’t even make sense as a nickname for John, but John fucking loves it, apparently. Looks at the annoying guy like he just watched him string the stars in the sky.

But it’s the shirt—god, the shirt drives you absolutely crazy. He’s about to go on national television, be a household name, and some ill-fitting, charity shop Hawaiian print shirt is what he woke up and chose to wear. What’s his angle here? Appeal to the public with some sob story about only being able to afford second-hand clothes so that’s why he’s competing? Needs the money to care for a sick relative?

(The expensive watch on his wrist and his limited-drop sneakers tell an entirely different story, but you’re keeping that to yourself for now. No reason to play your hand so early.)

As much as you hate the shirt, you have to admit it suits him. The colors are garish and unsightly, just as obnoxious as he is, and you can’t stare at it too long because you start going cross-eyed. Looking at him feels about the same as stuffing your mouth with a bunch of sour candies: you get that same burn in the back of your jaw, same scrunched-up, grossed-out look on your face; have to squeeze your eyes shut to blink back tears.

You don’t even know his name, but you hate him immediately.

Your eyes scan the other contestants. None of them inspire the same level of animosity within you as the annoying one does; all of them nearly unremarkable. A variety of ages, appearances, backgrounds. You hear one say they’re a retired investment banker. There’s an accountant, a teacher, a fucking aerospace engineer.

And then it’s his turn to introduce himself. He clears his throat, speaks with an easy, practiced confidence. Completely void of nerves. Makes eye contact with everyone in your conversation circle. Gesticulates wildly as he speaks, immediately endears everyone to him.

“I’m Tim,” he says, and you nearly recoil at how honeyed his voice is. “But you can call me Tim. I’m thirty-eight, originally from a small town. Work as a…”

You can barely stand to listen to it anymore, each “Nice to meet you, Tim!” like another punch to the gut. How can’t these people see right through him? How are they falling for his bullshit? You should’ve known. Producers always throw in at least one bomb to up the ratings—a secret millionaire, someone rude and confrontational, a flat-earther. Even if you’re competing in a charity baking competition, of all things, it’s still reality television at the end of the day.

Just because the bunch of you are going to spend the next few days creating confections out of sugar, spice, and everything nice, doesn’t mean you have to be part of that ‘everything.’

Tim thinks he’s got this in the bag. Thinks he’s going to show up and win easily, the rest of you be damned, and even if you are typically a very nice person, you’re also highly competitive. There’ll be no rolling over done by you, and if Tim wants to play dirty—

Game on.

As you introduce yourself, you feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of your head. Probably because you don’t bother with the faux-humility the rest of the contestants have. Polite and charming but firm, just the way your mother had taught you. You’re not boisterous, don’t crack silly jokes to play up to the cameras the way Tim loves to do, and you know he’s scrutinizing you the way you’d done to him, trying to figure out your angle.

Well, joke’s on him—you don’t need one.

And you really, really hope it drives him crazy.

Except maybe the joke is on you, too, because you don’t account for Xu Minghao.

In true reality television fashion, the tent is boiling hot.

As if the universe itself had looked down on all of you and decided what you all needed was a heatwave uncharacteristic of this time of year, just to up the ante. Not even ten minutes in the tent and you’re all fanning yourselves and wafting air up your shirts. Which is great, really, because it isn’t like you need to use ovens or stand over hot burners. It’s not like you aren’t going to be soaking through your clothes with anxiety sweats, either! Sweat dripping off your brow into your eyes won’t matter because you don’t need to use them.

Everything’s going to be fine!

But everything is not fine. Not only has the universe gifted you with sweltering heat, it’s given you the work station directly next to Tim’s. You’ll have to feel his annoying, off-putting aura near you for the entire competition. There’s always the possibility of him bungling it and making an early exit, but you know that’s unlikely. Obnoxious he may be, you also know a strong opponent when you see one, and something tells you you’re going to be stuck with him for the long haul.

Think of the cats, you tell yourself. All of this is for the cats.

It’s not like you never would’ve returned here of your own volition. No, your first go-round with feel-good, competition-based reality television had gone fine. You hadn’t won, of course, because you wouldn’t be here again if you had, but you placed respectably in the top three. Became a fan favorite, too, which was arguably more lucrative than winning. People make a living on social media these days.

So, it’s not the competition itself that has you white-knuckled gripping onto the edge of your station. It’s the man at the one beside you, cracking all these stupid jokes about the weather and how it’s a horrible day for tempering chocolate, so he bets that’s going to be the first challenge!

You suck in a deep breath. Try to remember the breathing exercises from that one yoga class your sister had dragged you to. It had been about the same temperature then, too—well duh, it’s hot yoga, your sister had said, which was news to you, because you never would’ve signed up for something called hot yoga willingly. Still, you endured it, just like you’ll endure this, and a little sweat is not going to get in the way of you delivering a check to all those poor, sad cats without families.

“Psst, hey,” you hear from behind you. When you turn, a man is smirking at you as he finishes tying his apron around his waist—has to wrap the strings around twice, you notice, because only someone hand-picked by the gods themselves would have that shoulder-to-waist ratio.

You don’t really recognize him. Can’t recall his name or where he’s from; can’t remember what he mentioned doing for a living. Probably something artsy, if you had to guess—he definitely has the style and demeanor of a creative, with his trendy shag-mullet and the multicolored, glitter-y snowflakes decorating his nails.

You aren’t sure he introduced himself at all, but the confidence with which he holds himself—easy, like it’d take a national emergency to rattle him even a little—implies he doesn’t really have to. Most of the people here already know him, if you had to guess, and he gives the impression that he’s not fussed with impressing any of them.

If only Tim was so inclined.

You clear your throat, vaguely aware you need to respond. “Yeah?”

“Are you nervous?”

“Ah, I don’t think so? We’ve done this before, after all. We should be seasoned veterans by now.”

He smirks. “Should be,” he emphasizes. “Feels different when it’s for charity. Extra serious, you know?”

“Right,” you agree, taking a look around the tent. “Anything for the cats.”

There’s an immediate shift in the atmosphere. What was friendly and carefree is now tense; where a smile and a floral giggle sat on the man’s lips has been replaced with a crooked scowl. And it doesn’t make sense, all you’d done was agree with what he said, but then the producers are yelling something at the front of the tent, cameramen are rushing to their equipment, and a woman appears at your side and starts clipping equipment to your clothes, and there’s no time to question it. On your right, Tim’s laughing and joking around with some crew members like they’re old drinking buddies. It drives you nuts, has annoyance pricking at your skin, flushing your cheeks—

So much so that the woman at your side leans in and asks, “Should I get hair and makeup over here?”

“I—no, it’s fine.”

The unnecessary members of the production team scatter away after a loud countdown. Hair and makeup don’t come to wipe the sweat tracks from your skin. You already know Man Behind You is standing there looking perfect because he’s equally as attractive as he is mysterious. God truly has favorites, and this guy somehow made the top five.

You stare down at the instructions in front of you, confident in your ability to read but not so confident in your ability to make sense of any of it. And it’s your own recipe, which is the worst part. You’d typed this recipe yourself. These are your hand-written notes in the margins. You’ve conceptualized, tweaked, baked, and eaten this recipe more times than you can count, and now all you can do is thousand-yard-stare into the ether.

In the time since you were on the show, you’d somehow forgotten about the chaos. Not unlike that hormone women have that makes them forget about the pain and agony of childbirth, you reckon.

In addition to being one of the most bothersome people in history, Tim apparently doubles as a prophet.

Because it is a terrible day to temper chocolate, and you’ve got a bûche de Noël on the horizon that requires you to do so. You can pivot, maybe make some kind of buttercream, but a basic chocolate buttercream is not going to win you a world-renowned baking competition even if it is Swiss meringue. A child could make that.

You sigh. Push that wave of panic to the back of your mind. In a setting like this, you have approximately ten seconds to come up with a back-up plan and execute it and you wasted your time thinking, so you’re just going to have to temper the stupid chocolate and stick to your original plan. God, you have a headache.

But the show must go on, so you do too.

Step 1: Preheat the oven.

Easy enough. If nothing else, you can preheat an oven.

Step 2: Make the sponge.

Not as easy, but you’ve made so many sponge cakes throughout your life you could probably do it in your sleep. Whisk attachment on the stand mixer. Four eggs. Sugar meticulously weighed and added to the bowl. Sugar and eggs whisked together until the mixture is the color and consistency you’re looking for. Flour, cocoa powder, and salt sifted in. Metal spoon to fold it all together as delicately as possible. You won’t have a sponge cake if you beat all the air out of it, now will you?

“Good enough,” you mutter to yourself, staring down at the bowl.

At least you’d had the foresight to grease and line your baking tray, because the entire entourage arrives at your station just as you’re meant to be pouring the batter into it and sticking it in the oven.

“Ah, we meet again,” the group choruses, genuine smiles peeking through as if you’re old friends separated only by time and distance.

That’s the weird thing about being on television. For as long as you’re able, you exist within a microcosm of daily life. A world exists outside of your bubble, you know, but you don’t see much proof of it. All of your meals are eaten together; all of your conversations are had with one another. You share temporary living quarters and oftentimes too much of yourselves, and you’re thankful the show encourages teamwork and kindness because that’s the kind of thing that can grow sour if you leave it unchecked too long.

And then it just—ends.

Bubble burst, you all go back to your regular lives. You look back on that time fondly, but the friendships are thinned out by time and distance. Eventually it all starts to feel like a dream, except every now and then something breaks through the haze to remind you it actually happened: a stranger recognizing you at the store, a message on social media, the casting team contacting you to ask if you’d be interested in competing in a holiday special for charity.

“We certainly do,” you retort, smile matching everyone else’s.

All things considered, you are happy to be back. Even if the tent is crowded and far too warm, the atmosphere is unmatched, especially when it’s decorated for the holidays.

“What are you working on?”

You explain the general workings of your yule log: chocolate sponge, hazelnut liqueur cream filling, and chocolate icing to top it off. You aren’t sure how you’re going to decorate it yet—you’ll figure it out once you get there, depending on how much time you have—but you guarantee them it’ll look festive and professional.

Satisfied with your plan, they wish you luck and move on to the man behind you. It’s so great to see you again, Minghao, someone says, and you’re grateful they’ve spared you the embarrassment of having to ask for his name. It still doesn’t ring a bell, and you can’t recall what season he’d been on for the life of you, but he speaks with a patience and a gentleness that is so unlike Tim that you nearly drop to the floor in thanks.

But as the commotion of the tent reminds you, you don’t have time to waste thinking about Minghao. You’ve only been given an hour for your signature, and you’re going to need all sixty of those minutes if you have any hopes of presenting a finished product.

It doesn’t register at first.

It doesn’t register at second or third, either.

In fact, you’re sure you’re hallucinating when you open the oven door to pop the sponge inside and you aren’t hit with a blast of hot air. Room temperature. Perhaps a bit on the cooler side, if you’re being honest.

And that can’t be, because you know you preheat your oven. It was the first thing you did, because it’s always the first thing you do. It’s just… automatic, like opening your mouth to eat or washing between your toes in the shower. Instinctual. Not something that needs to even be considered, because it’s always the first thing you do.

No, this cannot be. Forgetting to preheat the oven is a rookie mistake and you’re not a rookie.

…Could it be?

Perhaps you were so caught up in the lights and buzz, the thrill of returning to the tent, that it had slipped your mind? Perhaps you’d pressed the wrong buttons and turned the wrong dials? While it’s not likely you’d somehow bumped into the oven and turned it off, nothing is impossible, so… maybe?

“Shit,” you hiss through your teeth. The producers are not going to be happy about your swearing. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Everything okay up there?” Minghao asks from behind you. When you turn, he’s got a flour-dusted towel thrown over his shoulder as he nurses a cup of tea, and his composure in the face of your hysteria has your head spinning.

Your mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. Minghao is drinking tea without a care in the world and your oven isn’t even halfway to the temperature you need. “I—yes? No? I don’t know. I could’ve sworn I preheated the oven, but—”

“Don’t panic,” he offers, his top lip catching on the rim of his mug. “You got this. Work on something else while you wait.”

Something else. Right, you can work on something else. Both the filling and the frosting still have to be made, and quick mental math tells you there should just be enough time to get everything done if you’re efficient. Of course, that’s a big if, but that’s why you’d chosen a yule log, after all: sponge cake doesn’t need that long to bake, and anything can happen (and go wrong) in this tent.

So, you get to work on something else. Measure out a sheet of parchment paper, dust it with cocoa powder, and set it to the side. Decide to get to work on the frosting, because if one thing has already gone wrong, you don’t trust the universe to let you temper chocolate correctly.

The chocolate is halfway melted when the oven dings. A small harrumph of victory and you’re finally good to go, setting a timer for twelve minutes. Minghao offers you a discreet thumbs-up, fingers covered in something sticky you assume is marzipan.

Time flies after that. You get both the frosting and your filling made, and it’s only through divine intervention that your sponge cake comes out perfectly and with enough time to score and cool. When you dare a look around the room, everyone seems to be in a similar position as you: frazzled and covered in powdered sugar, making frantic trips to and from the refrigerators, chucking seized-up caramel into the trash and starting over for the third time with a pained expression.

A holiday special—it was supposed to be more laid-back, more for the vibes and festivity than actual competition, but it looks to you like everyone’s taking it just as seriously as your first go-rounds.

“Fifteen minutes!” someone calls, and your competitors fade out of focus. You’ve got a yule log to ice and fondant to roll out.

You make it by the skin of your teeth.

It isn’t perfect, of course, as few things on this show ever are, but it’s more than acceptable. It looks great and tastes even better which is all you can hope for. Much to your dismay, Tim also gets top marks, but it’s Minghao that shocks you all. His stollen wreath earns him a handshake and a lot of clandestine, private glares, but he’d been kind to you earlier, helped untangle that knot of pandemonium, so you return the thumbs-up he’d given you earlier with a smile that feels akin to getting away with murder.

Something is wrong.

On its own, this is not necessarily surprising. Gingerbread, tasked with bearing the weight of an entire house, can be fickle. On any other day you wouldn’t blame it if it wanted to rebel and go sideways, but the thing is—you’ve made gingerbread before. Tons of times. Another thing you could probably make in your sleep if you absolutely had to. So it doesn’t make sense when you look down in your mixing bowl and it just… doesn’t look right.

You tell yourself it’ll get better when you knead it. Maybe the color just looks off because it’s underworked, and a few good punches will set it straight.

But it doesn’t. The dough sits at your station like a sad, formless lump, giving you no indication it intends to become anything at all. Which is, admittedly, a problem. Your technical challenge is to build a gingerbread house—one complete with little windows and golden-toned nightlights, a scalloped roof dusted with powdered sugar to look like fresh snow, a working door!—and you’re far from an engineer, but you don’t think you can have a gingerbread house without gingerbread.

You sneak a peek at Tim’s station, where he’s well into measuring an immaculate-looking dough with a ruler. The contestant in front of you is in a similar place, too, so it’s with an oh fuck I’m doomed sigh that you turn around and hope to find a comrade in Minghao again.

“Hey,” you whisper, trying not to draw attention to yourself. “Does this look right to you?” You jerk a thumb in the direction of your dough-lump. Minghao, bless him, looks around you and tries his best to hide his grimace.

He does not succeed.

“Um. Well, no.”

You sigh. Place one flour-dusted hand on your waist and pinch the bridge of your nose with the other. “I can’t figure out what’s wrong with it. I’ve made gingerbread a million times.”

“Looks pale,” he offers. Of course, this is the exact moment he dumps his own dough—his beautiful dough, flawless chestnut brown—onto his station to knead it. “Was the sugar right?”

A strangled, disbelieving laugh escapes you. Was the sugar right—of course the sugar was right! Dark muscovado sugar. Everyone knows that's what you use for gingerbread, so of course the sugar was right because no one, both in their right mind and at this stage of competition, would use anything else.

Before you can respond, Minghao’s pointing at your jar of sugar. Your jar of pale, producer-supplied sugar, which even a blind person could tell does not resemble dark muscovado sugar.

A million thoughts race through your head at once, but it boils down to instinct, you think. Your brain had seen flour, butter, and sugar and went into baking mode, not stopping to take in the color of anything. Maybe a smarter, more perceptive person would put two and two together and get sabotage, but you don’t have enough time to play detective.

“Here, here,” Minghao says, hurriedly handing over his (correct) sugar. “It’ll be close, but you should have just enough time to redo the dough.”

You’re going to throw up.

In the end, a chunk of chocolate buttons is missing from the roof and the piping around the edges is far from your neatest work, but it’s passable. You already lamented your loss during the signature bake, because anything less than perfection was not going to win you much of anything, and you’re now 0-for-2 on showstopping, unbelievable, awe-inspiring confections.

Just like the devil, your fall from grace will be studied.

Overthinking isn’t going to get you anywhere, but you can’t help it.

You collapse sideways into a chair, immediately face-planting into the catering table. Everyone else buzzes around you—animated conversations that have your head spinning, words that jumble together and start to sound like nothing at all—but you’re a million miles away. One mistake is out of character for you, but two? It’s unheard of. Something you would’ve said was impossible if it didn’t happen to you just a few hours ago.

This is something you need to file away for later so you can think about it just as you’re about to fall asleep, horror and embarrassment there to keep you company when it keeps you awake until the wee hours of the morning.

A chill runs down your spine.

“Hi. Do you mind?” You startle. Bang your knee on the underside of the table. “Sorry,” Minghao apologizes, but he doesn’t look sorry at all. You shake your head. Gesture to the empty seat across from you as if to say it’s all yours. “I brought you some tea,” he continues, setting it in front of you. “I find it’s easier than coffee when you don’t know how someone takes theirs. Less chance of getting it wrong.”

You smile. Wrap your hands around the Styrofoam cup and delight in the warmth. “Thank you. This was very kind of you.”

“Seemed like you had a rough day.”

Groaning, you try to wave away his words. “Please don’t speak of it.” Minghao jokingly salutes you before miming his lips sealed. “Anyway. Let’s talk about something that is not reality television or baking or a reality baking competition.”

So, you do. Most of the talking comes from you, to be fair, but Minghao is a good listener: nods along, chimes in when appropriate, keeps the spit in his mouth where it belongs. You talk about your hometown and what made you apply for the show the first time. He tells you about growing up in Haicheng and all the things he grew up baking with his mother. You swap stories from your respective seasons; Minghao shares anecdotes with a straight face that have you clutching at your stomach.

Hours pass this way, and you end the night feeling like you’ve made an honest-to-god friend.

Xu Minghao ends the night feeling the guilt weigh him down like an albatross.

In retrospect, it is probably a bad idea to make another sponge, but no one can accuse you of learning from your mistakes.

“It’ll be a patterned joconde sponge with two mousse layers—chocolate and raspberry—and a raspberry jelly. Then I’m going to attempt to top it with chocolate and raspberry decorations.” The judges blink. Are you sure that’s a good idea? you know they want to ask, but this is a holiday competition for charity, so they’re trying not to be pessimists. “Anything is possible through holiday cheer,” you tack on, hoping your smile doesn’t look crazed.

They nod. “Right, right,” they say in unison. “Well, good luck!”

And then they’re off.

Determined to nail this, you triple-check your oven, which is preheating to a crisp 400 degrees; you double-check all your ingredients and confirm they’re correct; when you can spare the time, you watch your refrigerator like a hawk, making sure no one tries to sneak their own work in there and displace yours when you aren’t looking, but everyone’s engrossed in their respective showstoppers.

Tim’s planning a shadow box of sorts, with blown-sugar baubles and isomalt fire. Someone else is stressing over their three-tiered cake, asking the presenter if they think they’ve taken on too much. From what you can piece together, Minghao is making a three-dimensional house, also made from cake that he imported special pistachios for.

“Special pistachios?”

“Mm, from Iran. They have a better color.”

“Iranian pistachios! Can you believe it!”

But you don’t have time to worry about Minghao and his special Iranian pistachios. You have so much to do and not enough time to complete it. Your paste is in the freezer and the sponge is in the oven, but you’ve still got two mousses to make, a jelly to infuse, and little chocolate trees to create—and all of this wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t pointless, but you don’t want to disappoint the cats by half-assing it. They deserve your whole ass, and your whole ass is what they’re going to get.

The result is stunning—not necessarily in stature, but rather craftsmanship and effort. This is what you’re capable of. This is why you came back to the tent. For all your complaining and wanting to put your head through a concrete wall, there’s nothing like seeing the judges ooh and ahh when you present your work to them. There’s nothing like the ego boost of someone taking a bite and watching their eyes light up. There’s nothing like carrying your cake back to your station feeling proud of yourself.

“Great job,” Minghao says, a genuine smile stretched across his face. He also exceeds expectations, of course. Must be those special pistachios, you think, but your congratulations are also sincere.

Production makes a spectacle of judging, much like they always do.

The set is decorated to look like a winter wonderland, even though you’re still in the midst of autumn: a giant Christmas tree in the center decked to the nines with garland and baubles; warm, golden bulbs strung from every awning they could find; all the participants bundled up tight in festive sweaters and scarves all the way to your chins, cheeks and tips of noses dusted with red-pink blush to mimic the cold that’s nowhere to be found. Fake snow falls from the sky, and it doesn’t feel real, but it does feel magical.

One of the hosts catches you by the elbow, asks who you think is going to win. “Oh, I’d have to say Minghao,” you answer, because you’d rather die than give Tim the satisfaction. “His showstopper was incredible, but he was really great the whole competition.”

In the end, however, neither of them wins—it’s Jeon Wonwoo, three-tiered cake guy, who comes out of nowhere to claim first place. He’s bashful as he accepts his prize and says he’s going to donate the prize money to an organization that provides underprivileged kids with video game equipment. No one has a whole lot to say about that.

Once most of the hubbub dies down (and you give Tim a half-assed you did great, so sorry you didn’t win), you find Minghao near the refreshments table. He’s frowning around another mug of tea. “Alright?” you ask, helping yourself to some cider.

“For some reason, I’m no longer feeling very festive,” he replies, which is a very funny thing to say while wearing a hat with a little pom-pom on the top.

You roll your lips to keep from laughing. Sidle in a little closer and knock his shoulder with your own. “Ah, I know how you feel, but you really did do great. You were my pick to win, for what it’s worth.”

“Please don’t tell me that. It only makes me feel worse for losing.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “Would’ve been nice to donate some money to the cats, but shit, if I didn’t know better, I would’ve sworn some dark force was sabotaging me. Like, come on—forgetting to preheat the oven? Using the wrong sugar? Not even a kid would’ve made those mistakes.”

Two things happen in rapid succession: beside you, Minghao goes very, very stiff, and you realize you had been sabotaged. And not by some dark, evil force, either. You were sabotaged by the very man standing beside you—the man you shared thumbs-up with and thought was your friend. The man whose cake you complimented and picked to win. The man who is now standing ramrod straight, as tense as a corpse, and the thought of sabotaging someone in a charity baking competition is so ridiculous and unbelievable that you just—

You just laugh.

At first, it’s a bark of stunned laughter. Then, the more it sinks in how absurd, how nonsensical all of this is, you can’t stop. Tears are rolling down your cheeks. You gasp for breath as your stomach begins to ache. People are staring, including Minghao, who sort of can’t believe what he’s seeing, but none of it does anything to deter you.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, “I can’t believe it was you—”

Minghao groans. “In my defense, it was for the cats!”

This was not the answer you were expecting. It makes you laugh harder. “What do you mean it was for the cats?”

He swallows. Removes the mitten from one hand to run it through his hair as if that one tic was enough to distract you from everything that’s happened in the last sixty seconds. (It is.) “Listen, you told me you were going to donate the money to a cat charity if you won and I just—so was I, was the thing. I was also going to donate the money to a cat charity if I won—”

“Okay, but which one, though?”

“The Cat’s Paw-jamas.” Much to Minghao’s horror, this sets you off again. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Minghao,” you try to choke out, but you can barely breathe around the cramp in your stomach. “Minghao, that’s the charity I was going to donate to. Oh my god, you sabotaged me and I was going to donate to—to the same fucking place. Jesus Christ, this is some Gift of the Magi shit.”

Your saboteur, who has gone deathly pale, is quiet for a very long time. Every now and then he’ll open his mouth like he’s going to say something before it snaps shut again. When he does manage to speak, what comes out are mangled apologies that sound like gibberish, and you wave all of them away. “It’s water under the bridge.”

“I—I really don’t think it should be?”

“Minghao, it’s fine, trust me, this was just for fun—”

“No, I really insist.”

You sigh, good-natured and exasperated. Something about the fake snow has you feeling romantic and a little bold, so you turn, grab him by the lapels of his coat. “Please tell me if I’m misreading this, but if you insist, maybe you can start by taking me to dinner…?”

This was clearly not what MInghao was expecting you to say. Dazed, he recovers quickly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a half-smirk. “Dinner, hm?” You nod. “I think I can manage that.”

You smile. “Great. How do you feel about cat cafes?”

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Eyes on the Mirror - part 1

Pairing: neighbor!Frankie Morales x f!reader Rating: +18, NSFW Words count: 2631 Summary: You're at a turning point in your relationship with Frankie, he tells you that his mother insists on meeting you. Tags/Warnings: POV second person, no use of y/n, reader wears dresses, heels and uses make-up, no other description of her is given, no mention of her skin tone and she doesn't blush, no description of her hair, Frankie can lift her but he’s a hunk of a men you know, mention of food, established relationship, enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, kissing, mention of unprotected p in v, nipples play (f receiving), oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), panties in mouth (don't know how it's called in English, I just know that I like it lol), Frankie is our canon PEK and also the perfect boyfriend okay, mention of being caught (well, to be more specific, to be heard lol), pet names. Let me know if I forgot something and I'll add it right away. A/N: This has been a long journey and I think it took me longer than expected. Second part is coming tomorrow. It's an emotional work, it's smut, but it's smut with feelings and I think I put a lot of myself into it. So I ask you to be especially delicate. This Frankie is the same guy from You look like a fun place to sit and Give me more Anyway, let me say a few thanks because I can't believe I had two people volunteer to be my beta, I'm very lucky. Kate @aurorawritestoescape and Ally @arcanefox207 The fact alone that you took some time to read and proofread my stuff is so important to me and you have given me so many helpful suggestions and advice, I am very grateful ❤️ Thank you Odi @joelmillerisapunk , to let me blather, to cheer me up, to always have the right words, I don't know how you do it, you're literally a gem ❤️ We’re going back to the emotional unavailable men agenda asap but for the moment I hope you’ll enjoy my lover boy neighbor!Frankie who is crazy about his girl 🥰  English is not my first language, any mistake is still on me, so if you come across one I’m very sorry. Frankie Masterlist I Masterlist

You and Frankie have been together for four months now, and you’re incredibly happy. Your neighbor, the man you spent a year hating, revealed himself as the best man you’ve ever been in a relationship with. 

You haven't said “I love you” to each other yet, you're taking it slow and you're perfectly fine with that, you know you have strong feelings for him but you don't know if he's ready to say it and the last thing you want is to ruin the best relationship you've had because of words said too soon. 

So you respect his timing without forcing his hand. And still you often think you don't even really need to say it, all you really want is to keep being with him, the man who can make you laugh in a second, with whom you like to do everything from the most mundane things like grocery shopping and running errands, to talking for hours and sharing everything with him, cooking, going to parties and concerts, even bickering. 

And sex. 

Oh, Frankie is a fucking magician. 

The most shockingly fiery and at the same time sweet lover you've ever had. 

You feel you can be yourself at all times with him, he knows your flaws and frailties and accepts them. And from where you were starting out it already feels like a considerable accomplishment. You never thought that the man who used to spend time judging you, once you penetrated his armor, was actually such a tolerant and nonjudgmental person.

You haven't moved in together, but you spend almost every night together, and yet, you are still trying to navigate your relationship without making the other one run off before taking the next step.

So when Frankie tells you that his mother would love to meet you, you get a little scared but you try to put on a good face.

"You really don't mind?" he prods you. 

You can never hide anything from him; Frankie has an ability to read your mind, the talent that you had never found in a man. 

His eyes scan you and he has a cunning little smile as he’s standing on the other side of the table, eating the eggs you prepared for him. 

“Yeah, don't worry, it's okay,” you nod, your movement a little forced, and Frankie notices it. 

“You're nervous, huh? Look it's normal,” he tries to reassure you, his hand slides across the table until it meets yours. 

He squeezes it gently and then intertwines his fingers with yours. 

“I'm sorry, she's been nagging me for at least a month now, I've managed to keep her at bay until now but she grilled me yesterday and told me that she was expecting us for dinner on Friday.”

“Yeah...I just feel a little pressure, you know, but it's okay,” you admit.

“Babe, she will like you very much, I'm sure.”

You look into his eyes, those big eyes the color of coffee and chocolate, and the comfortable glow they give off immediately takes away part of the weight you feel on your chest. 

“Are you sure?” you murmur.

“Of course!” he smiles at you, ”Well, you're a little sassy but...”

You slap his hand “Frankie! You're not helping me!” you complain. 

“Come on, I'm kidding. She’s going to adore you, I have no doubt about it,” he chuckles.

“Mmmm we’ll see” you still mumble with uncertainty.

"Come here," he says softly. 

You get up and walk over to him before he welcomes you on his lap and you wrap your arms around his neck. He rests his forehead on yours looking into your eyes and repeats softly, “she will adore you…not as much as I do but she sure will”

The thing is this with him, he's been circling around that word for weeks, so you're pretty sure he's going to confess sooner or later.

"What if she doesn't like me?" you ask him and bite your lip, looking at him expectantly.

“Uh, I don't want to stop fucking you, you know... so, you'll have to stay in a clandestine relationship while I'm dating a woman, personally chosen by my mom.” 

You kiss him, muttering “god, you're so...” 

He giggles and asks "what am I like?" tightening his grip on your waist a little tighter and pulling you closer to his chest, your tits pressed against him. 

“An incredibly lovely fucking bastard.”

________________________________________

You are in the kitchen preparing dinner, which in your case means putting take-out pizza on plates, as you hear Frankie come in. 

“Hey, are you here?” 

He gave you his keys a few weeks ago to make it easier for you to get around.

“In the kitchen!” you shout to him. 

You hear his footsteps approaching from the hallway until he comes in with a bag. 

“Hey, baby.” 

You walk up to him to give him a kiss, he immediately puts down the bag and hugs you tightly. “mmm I missed you. What's for dinner?” 

“Pizza,” you tell him smiling through your eyelashes and stealing another kiss, his beard tickling your cupid's bow pleasantly “And I was thinking about…uhm…your cock for dessert.”

He squeezes your butt, chuckling, “So eager, huh?”

“For you? Always,” you purr, looking into his eyes, veiled with desire.

His stomach grumbles slightly making you giggle, “Do you want to eat first?” 

“Uh, no,” he whispers, and as he does so he slips two fingers under the straps of your dress and pulls it off, letting it slide to the floor. 

You're in your panties in front of him, no bra, he looks at you spellbound with a smirk that unknowingly puckers his lips, "do you know how beautiful you are?" 

His eyes move from your face down to the crease of your neck, your cleavage, your breasts, your stomach, slowly, as if he is drinking from your body, the source that keeps him alive. 

He takes his time, still hasn't touched you but you'd swear you've never felt more caressed than now, nurtured, sensed, accepted in your body's every disheveled and flawed manifestation.

You could swear you could moan from that alone.

When his hands approach your hips you want them so badly that you instinctively lean into them to meet his palms, the warmth of his skin welcoming you.

You cling to his broad shoulders, bringing his body closer to yours.

He lifts you up as if you weighed nothing and lays you on the kitchen countertop, next to the sink. 

Your legs hang over the edge as he commands, “open wide, baby,” and settles in between, still fully clothed. 

“Frankie, please.” 

“You know what I like?” he asks with a smirk, ”the way you light up as soon as I touch you. God, it drives me crazy the way you instantly become a needy little animal, you know that?" 

You feel your eyes heavy and your voice shaky as you repeat his question, “You know what I like? The way you know exactly what I need.”

He smiles, leaning down to your neck to bite the soft skin over your pulse point and soothing it right after with his warm tongue. 

He lowers himself onto you, leaving a trail of kisses on your beating chest, pausing on your tits and spreading his lips over your nipples, first one and then the other, caressing them with his tongue, swirling it around. You moan with each touch, tilting your head back as he sucks them harder, his beard pinching you gently, his warm lips enveloping them.

You pull his cap off and sink a hand into his dark curls. 

He knows you so well, it is as if he has memorized your every little reaction and in his mind has written himself a manual on how to make you completely lose control. 

He continues to work on your nipples, grazing them with his teeth, licking them up and down with his tongue, sucking them between his lips, hard and covering them with his saliva. His tongue goes around your areola, returning to your little pebble every time you pull his hair a little harder and mewl.

He suddenly leaves your tits and returns to your neck, you groan in disappointment but his tongue immediately soothes you trailing up to your jaw and licking over your lips, inviting them to open for him and dragging you in a sloppy, feral kiss that leaves you breathless.

His hips are rocking into you, brushing over your damp underwear while you wrap your legs around his waist, pushing him against your core.

His eyes are dark with lust as he moves one of his hands over your soaked underwear, brushing your folds with his knuckles, “I’m going to make you scream my name so loudly, baby”

“That’s exactly what I want,” you prod him, biting down softly on his lower lip. “Do your magic, Morales.” 

You loosen the grip of your legs, gently pushing his shoulders to invite him to lower himself, and Frankie grumbles jokingly, "bossy". 

He kneels in front of you holding his hands down on your back, just above your butt and pushes you toward him, you falter for a moment balancing on the edge of the counter but his grip is strong and secure.

You run a hand through his curls, tugging slightly.

He licks a strip over your panties, taking the fabric between his teeth, without stopping to look at you. 

A fucking tease. 

He stills for a moment and then kisses your clit. 

Then he moves his flat tongue flat down, almost to your tight hole and then back up, again and again, lingering on your clit with quick flicks of his tongue.

The fabric of your panties is wet with his saliva as a new stream of pleasure floods you, soaking them even more.

“Oh fuck, yes,” you holler.

He looks at you mischievously. “Thinking about it… we should take some measures to make sure you stay quiet, honey, you know?” he nods to the half opened window right behind you. 

You glance back and then blurt out, “oh, whatever, let them hear us.”

Frankie chuckles at your impatience. “Do you really want to put on a show for the whole neighborhood?” 

“There are curtains, they can't see us,” you frown

“But do they need to hear us?” he says as he pulls off your panties, sliding them down your legs.

He sniffs them for a moment- “fucking sweet, darling” - while you wonder what he's going to do, then rolls them and stands back up, sneaking his hand behind your neck and looking at you authoritatively, his lips pursed in a smirk. 

He runs his thumb over your mouth, stops in the center and pushes gently, silently commanding you to open it. The moment your lips part he thrusts your panties into your mouth. “That's it, good girl” he coos.

It’s so wrong, keeping your panties in your mouth like that, your tongue numbed with the taste of it and your body tense under Frankie’s gaze. But also fucking right. 

He graciously holds his power over you, always considerate of your need while he plays with your mind in a delicious nasty way. 

He caresses your cheek, moving down to the column of your neck, wrapping his fingers around it, “Don't try to take them out or you won't get what you want,” he gently orders.  “Can you behave for me?” 

You nod.

He gives you a smirk and gets back on his knees and admires your glistening pussy for a moment. “Always so fucking wet for me,” he whispers before sinking into you again, licking and sucking on your clit and down on your folds, his nose hitting your most sensitive part. 

When you’re basically dripping on your inner thighs, he slides two fingers inside you, so easily moving over the spot he knows makes you see double.

His fingers are inside you up to his knuckles when he curls them, pushing and grasping.

You are thrown into a frenzy almost immediately as he gently hits you with his fingertips again and again, sucking avidly on your clit as you’re stifling your moans by clenching your teeth on your panties.

He laps at your folds so thoroughly, then goes back on your bundle of nerves, sloppy wet noises fill the air mixing with your gasps as he scissors and pushes into you.

He hums against you, whines evenly, you watch him through your eyelashes as he palms himself from above his jeans, seeking some relief.

He doesn’t stop until he feels your legs shake and your stifled mewls trying desperately to get out of your throat. 

Your orgasm crushes over you like a wave, leaving you quivering and breathless.

He gets back up and removes the panties from your mouth, kissing you with his mouth still smeared with your essence. 

 “You’ve been so good, baby.”

You pull him by his shirt protesting, "You haven't got anything yet, though.”

“That’s not a problem, hun, we can eat something and then you’ll eat me. Dessert, remember?” 

You giggle “deal.” 

You steal another kiss from him before slipping your dress back on and setting the table. 

As you eat you notice the bag he left in a corner by the kitchen door.

“What is that?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, I almost forgot, it's a gift for you." 

You squint your eyes “For me? You didn't have to!”

Frankie smiles “I saw it in a store and thought of you. Open it.” 

You get up and go for the bag, not before giving him a kiss.

When you open the bag you find a dress. 

Very simple, black, not too low-cut, with a tulip skirt. 

As you're looking at it, leaning it over your body to see the length, Frankie suggests that you could wear it to his mother's. 

____________________________________________

“Are you ready, honey?” 

Frankie's voice is muffled by the bathroom door as you're finishing putting on your lipstick.

“Almost, you just need to help me with the zipper.”

Frankie opens the door and peeps into the bathroom.

He stops behind you, admiring you in the mirror as you stand there with your lips parted, leaning slightly over the sink, your legs slender from your heels, you wear the dress he bought you, unzipped at the back.

“Jesus, you’re a vision,” he breathes. “Maybe we should skip dinner at my mom’s.” 

He approaches you and settles his big hands firmly on your hips. 

“Come on, Frankie, be serious,” you giggle.

“I'm serious,” he replies in a rough, deep voice.

He leans down to leave a trail of kisses down the exposed skin on your back, his soft lips send shivers down your spine and you are almost on the verge of giving in. 

You set your lipstick down on the sink countertop and turn to look at him pouting

"You can't do this to me now, you know we can't skip it.” 

“Well, it might help you relax though,” he continues to flirt, his lips curved into a little smile.

You’d fall for it any other day but not now that you’re trying to figure out how to impress someone you don’t even know. 

Frankie told you something about his mom, how protective she is and overall pretty conservative, you’re the exact opposite. 

You don’t know why he stays so positive about the dinner, you’re pretty sure she will hate you.

One look from you is enough to let him know how nervous you are.

Frankie leaves a light kiss on your shoulders and says. "Okay, I'll behave, turn around." 

He pulls up his zipper looking at you in the mirror, “Anyway, I wasn’t lying, you look really beautiful.” 

You smile softly, feeling your heart fluttering.

general tag list: @baronessvonglitter , @milla-frenchy , @thundermartini , @harriedandharassed , @almostempty let me know if you want to be added or removed and I’ll do it right away. Thank you so much for reading!

[lavandulawrites]

Autonomy Of a Free Soul ch: 2

Chapter 2: An Eyepatch Wearing Gentleman

You find yourself in the meadow by the giant oak tree at Windrise. You have faint memories of falling into a well which is deeply hidden inside a cave by your home. You get captivated by the tune of the green clad man as he strung lyre high up in the tree.

Alone in a foreign world with hazy memorises, you are sure to encounter various obstacles you would never dreamt of facing. With some admirers with emotions and devotion deeper than what would seem possible, can your journey turn out peaceful?

Chapter 1

Synopsis: It’s your second day in Teyvat and you go out and try to find some work to do. After running a few errands, you met a tall man with an eyepatch covering his eye. His character gives you some indescribable chills…

Masterlist

(This is an yandere genshin men x reader fanfic that will have multiple chapters. This will be cross posted on ao3. It will partially follow the plot of genshin impact.)

Warnings: female reader, Kaeya is oddly eerie

Word count: 1112

The bustling streets of the city of freedom was a welcoming sight as you exited the apartment complex where Venti resided. You were headed towards the Adventures Guild in hope of getting some work to do. You were lacking in mora and what Venti had so kindly given you could only cover your lunch for today.

The Adventures Guild booth was cowered in various posters and maps. Behind the counter hung different trinkets and artifacts you had never seen before. The woman behind the counter was dressed in a green uniform with white frills.

She looked at you with a friendly smile. “Hello, welcome to the Adventures Guild. I’m Katheryne, how may I help you?” her hands were folded in front of her as she bowed.

“Hello, I’m [Name]. I’m new to town and I was wondering if you have some work available for me? It doesn’t need to be much, just so that I can earn some mora” you returned her friendly smile.

You crossed your fingers against your side in hope of her giving you some work. If nothing were available, you didn’t know what you would do. You couldn’t live off of Venti’s earnings. He had already done so much for you and you would hate to be even more indebted to him.

The black haired woman nodded. “We do. Though you would have to register yourself in the Adventures Guild. May I have your full name?” a block of paper was in her pale hands accompanied by a simple green pen. She waited for you to nod affirming before she explained to you what the Guild entailed and all the rules you would have to follow.

You nodded. You sighed your name onto the contract. [Name] [Last Name]. You handed her back the thick cream coloured paper that was off the highest quality.

“Running errands is something that you could as your first you within the guild. Are you in possession of a horse?” Katheryne asked you with a professional smile.

When you answered with a “no”, she nodded. “Alright. Leasing a horse could be rather expensive, so your tasks would have to be within the city. Is that alright with you?”

“Yes, that is alright.”

“Good. Then it’s settled” she handed you an envelope. “This is the list of errands. They’re mostly delivery. When you’re finished, come back here and you will get your payment.”

“Got it” you smiled. It seemed easy enough.

“Oh my, I almost forgot. Here” she handed you a thick little book “This is the handbook. I advise you to read it. There is also tales of previous adventures and tips and tricks that might help you along the way. Should it be necessary, of course”.

Katheryne bid you farewell and you ventured deeper within the city.

The tasks turned out to be rather simple and uneventful. After delivering the fourth package of wine, you begun wondering if they even had a mailman in Mondstadt. You would be sure to ask Venti later.

Your stretched your legs as you leaned your back against the backrest of the wooden bench you had decided to rest on. Your legs were sore from all the walking and your fingers were aching from all the carrying.

You scanned your fingers for any blisters, but to your luck there were none. Yet.

The sound of footsteps broke your new found tranquility. The faint sound of clinking followed. You raised your head at the sound, curious.

Your eyes met the lone eye of a blue haired man. His icy blue eye were bottomless and something deep inside you told you that if you weren’t careful, it would swallow you whole. In the middle of his eye were a star-like pupil. His other eye was covered by a gold trimmed black eyepatch that added to his enigmatic aura. His lips pulled up into a smirk as his eye took in your expression. The smirk turned into a grin when he saw the pale blush that dusted your cheeks. A playful chuckle escaped his lips. It was melodic and you could feel it play your delicate heartstrings.

The clinking came to an halt and you could then see the gold coin he had in his hand. He rolled it over his knuckles as he tilted his head. “I haven’t seen you around here before” his eye scanned your face in the search of something. What, you didn’t know.

“I just arrived” your voice was more silent than what you were aiming for and an unfamiliar icy feeling crept up your spine.

He nodded. “I see. I hope you are enjoying the city, darling” his voice had a distinct purr to it as his lips pulled back, revealing pearly teeth.

You forced a smile back as you swallowed. The rushing sound of your cold rushing files your ears and drowned out the blue haired man’s gentle humming. You couldn’t make sense of it, but there were something about him that had you on edge. It and your throat tighten ever so slightly and it formed a lump in your stomach.

He reached out his tan hand. His fingerless gloves of leather and were clearly high quality. “I am Kaeya. It’s nice to meet you” his purring voice almost hypnotic.

You reached out and took his hand. His grip was firm, firmer than necessary as it swallowed your hand. His skin was cold, but not uncomfortably cold. In the corner of your eye, you could see his light blue vision resting on his hip.

“My name is [Name]. It’s nice to meet you, Kaeya” your smile thin as you shook his hand.

He stared at you for while. Not letting go of your hand. When you tried to pull yours back, his grip only tightened like a boa snake. His smile only widened into a grin.

Fast footsteps got more and more audible as a knight weaved his hands over his head. “Captain! Captain! We got a situation in the eastern woods!” his yell breathless as if he had been running for a while.

Kaeya’s grin fell and he turned his head. His eye never leaving you. “I am coming” his flirtatious tone gone and replaced by a coldness that chilled you to the bone.

His hand released you.

“It seems that I must take my leave” he sighed “It was a pleasure meeting you. May we meet again soon” he smiled. He turned on his heel as he followed the knight. Kaeya waved over his shoulder in a nonchalant way.

You watched as his silhouette faded. Your goosebumps left with him, but the coldness of your veins stayed for a good while.

[sturns-mermaid]

prologue - time traveler ⏰

this goes with my time traveler chris x 80s reader au

you can find it here

no warnings :)

original idea by @forgottxen

proofread by: @throatgoat4u

౨ৎwc: 1.4k? (lowkey forgot)

The three brothers sat in Matt’s room as they streamed for their fans on Twitch. “Hi chat, today we are gonna play a cool game I found,” Nick says as he sits in the gaming chair. “Dude, what? I thought we were playing Fortnite!” Chris protests as he playfully nudges Nick on the head. Nick groans as he spins around in the chair facing the computer. He types the game name in the browser and hears Matt walk into the room and sit on the bed behind them. “Hi guys, how are you?” Matt says waving to the camera and smiling. Nick taps the arm of the chair as he waits for the web page to load. “On our last stream, you guys recommended this game.” The words ‘Time Traveler’ appear on the screen as the game loads up and the menu page appears. “Wait, this looks so cool,” Nick adds, letting out a slight chuckle as he skims through the words on the screen. Chris is now suddenly interested and leans forward in his chair, eyeing the screen and reading the words that appear “Choose a year to travel to” he reads out loud as he watches Nick move the mouse over the options. “Okay, so I did skip over the intro to the game. But you’re a time traveler agent and have to fix certain mishaps that happen throughout the game without creating paradoxes in the universe.” Nick explains as he looks over at Chris, who looks dumbfounded. Chris utters, “I have no idea what you just said,” and lets out a laugh while holding his hands up in mock defense. Nick playfully rolls his eyes as he explains further. “Time traveling by using a wormhole. Creating a paradox is the result of alerting or changing the events in the past that might harm your existence. “What year are you gonna choose?” Matt chirps in as he sees Nick still hasn’t chosen a year in the game. Nick clicks on the 1970s and the screen does a series of animations and explanations. “Oh, we have to make a time traveler ID,” he explains as he fills out the info on the ID before he starts playing the actual game. The game continues as it gives him a backpack with a custom inventory inside and some more rules he has to follow.

An hour passes, and Matt’s now playing along with him as Chris watches. “Wait dang it, I messed up,” Nick mumbles as he accidentally pressed the wrong option, which created a paradox and he failed the level. “I told you not to save that guy!” Matt exclaims as he points to the screen. “Okay, guys, can we play Fortnite now?” Chris chimes in as he groans slightly, shaking Nick’s shoulders as he stands behind the chair.

Later that night, while Nick and Matt were sleeping, Chris lay awake stirring in his bed as he couldn’t fall asleep. He rolls around, annoyed, as he finally has enough and squirms out of bed, grabs his pillow in annoyance and heads upstairs to Matt’s room. He slowly pushed the door open, hearing the wooden frame creek slightly as it revealed Matt sleeping peacefully, his pug stuffed animal tucked safely in his arm. Chris laughed a little at the scene and debated whether he wanted to take a picture and show the fans. As he was about to grab his phone out of his pajama pants pocket, a sudden flashing light distracted him. He turned his head to see Matt’s computer screen light up. He set his pillow down on the end of the bed as he walked over to the screen. The blue light reflecting on his features; he scratched his bare chest as he squinted his eyes at the screen. “It’s this stupid game of course,” he mumbles quietly as he moves the cursor towards the small red x in the corner of the screen. ‘Choose your destination’ appears on the screen just as he is going to exit the game, the same menu he remembers from earlier with the years you can choose from. The screen flashes once more. His curiosity peaked, so he sat down in the game chair and moved the mouse over the screen. Clicking on the 1980s, the screen flashes as the instructions appear. He scoffs slightly, as he doesn’t want to read everything. “Paradoxes, wormholes, blah blah, whatever,” he says as he skims through the words not reading anything thoroughly or the fine print at the bottom which clearly states ‘Don’t play alone at night’. Clicking the accept button, the screen flashes with the prompt to make a time traveler agent ID. He follows the instructions, puts in the info, and clicks the camera to take a picture of himself. The screen flashes as he presses the take button, his eyes widening as he sees the unexpected light capture his tired features and messy hair.

A loading symbol appears on the screen as Chris finds himself entranced in how the circle spins. Finding it oddly satisfying, he feels his eyes start to burn from not blinking. The screen displays an image of swirls and the words ‘You’ve been warned’. He opens his mouth to say something, but the screen flashes repeatedly and a gust of wind appears out of nowhere. He feels himself being dragged into the computer screen. The loud noise of the gusting wind and the loud beeping emitting from the computer muffled his screams. He’s suddenly sucked into the computer screen, his frame spinning around in the air as he tries to grip the edge of Matt’s desk to give him stability. The screen flashes once more and the chair spins as the light dies down, the computer shutting off with a quiet beep. The empty chair that spins slowly and the slight nail marks engraved on the wooden desk are the only things left.

The moonlight casts a dim light over Matt’s room. His sleeping form squirms slightly as he feels a shiver run down his spine. He sits up, the stuffed animal still clenched between his arms as he looks around with blurry, tired eyes. His hand comes up to rub his eyes slightly. “Must’ve been the wind,” he grumbles as he lays back down his groan muffled by his pillow. Chris’s abandoned pillow falls off the bed as Matt stretches to get more comfortable, falling back into his peaceful slumber. Meanwhile, his computer screen lights up once more showing a panicked Chris’ face pressed against the screen as his hands pound on the glass, his mouth moving but no noise coming out before the screen turns black once again.

dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive

-

tag list: @itsmaddielouis , @oliviasthatgirl , @scorpio1205 , @submattenthusiast , @sturniololuv08 , @mattsplaything , @brianna-grace12 , @courta13 , @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan

lmk if you want to be added/removed

a/n: I'M SO EXCITED FOR THIS YAY!! MORE CHAPTERS COMING SOON (๑˃̵　ᴗ　˂̵)و

[admirationandromantics]

A Small Surprise

Another request! Good god, they are piling up, so don't expect yours to be answered soon. Anyways, enjoy some more Josh, this is a bit smutty, to say the least, but if you're wondering about plot, then just read the request underneath! Enjoy <3

Word count: 2k (Unedited)

🍋‍🟩WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT Dressing up in lingerie, a Trenchcoat, black heels with red bottoms and showing up to his workplace or home - Josh LMFAO WHAT WHO SAID THAT… -@b3rryb3t

Josh had gotten lucky. An intern position for one of his father’s upcoming movies, and if he did well, it would do wonders for his future career. He helped with a bunch of stuff, editing, filming and even gave input to the writers every now and then. Everything was going lovely. 

I am about to make myself breakfast when a small brown paper bag catches my eye. Nothing’s written on the crumbling paper, and I decide to take a look. Inside, I find two halves of a sandwich, a small smoothie and a small box of vegetables. This was Josh’s lunch, and judging by the long days he’s had the last couple of weeks, he could really use it. Normally, if he forgot his food, I’d put it in the fridge, and he bought something on set, but considering that I’m not occupied today, I might pay him a visit. I’d been there a couple of times before, his father eager to explain the process, so much that Josh almost didn’t get to talk. They really were the same person. 

I make myself ready quickly, hair set up, a bit of lipstick, my thin black coat and sneakers. I run past the bedroom and into the hall, my headphones on the cabinet. I open the door, and as I’m about to close it, a striking red colour pulls my attention. Inside is a small paper bag with cherry red lace sticking out. Should I look? It’s placed in the common area, so he must’ve known I would eventually peek. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I make my way inside again, closing the door and opening the bag. 

A set of red lingerie and two more in black and blue are in here. Every single one being newly bought. The bodice is absolutely beautiful, a body with flower lace pattern, sewn-in cups, stockings and garters. The thought of using these makes me smile, the fabric flowing between my fingers like silk. Is this silk? 

I run to the bathroom, pulling my hair down and applying my lipstick again, going a little more bold. The set fits perfectly, holding my breasts in place and showing off my ass. Oh god, I look good. I have a pair of heels which would go perfect with this look, black with red bottoms, complimenting my coat and outfit. I take a last look in the mirror, making sure everything is fine before grabbing his forgotten lunch and heading to the car. 

***

The set is fairly empty except for a couple of cameramen adjusting the equipment and someone walking around with pens and paper. I make my way to Josh’s room, which he was kind enough to be given by his father. It wasn’t big, but decent. A desk, chair, small sofa and a coffee table. I make my way there, greeting a couple of familiar faces on the way. 

He doesn’t have his name on the door, but I still recognize it, black with a small white circle. 

I knock three times, waiting for him to answer. He doesn’t. I test the handle, and the door is unlocked. I go inside, mumbling a small “hello”, but no one answers. The room is dark and empty, so I turn on the light, sitting on the couch and pulling up my phone. 

“Hey, you forgot your lunch, I’m here” 

“You’re on set?” 

“Yes, come find me” 

I put the phone away, laying down on the sofa and making a decent pose. Not too much is showing, and I’m still wearing the coat. This would go just fine. The sound of the door opening shifts my gaze, and I grab my hair quickly, twinning it between my fingers as Josh’s face exclaims in surprise. His mouth wide open, eyes round and big, not even closing the door behind him. 

“Joshy, the door” I whisper, trying to zap him out of his haze. He shakes his head, lips turning into a small smirk as he closes and locks it. I stand up, handing him the small brown bag and giving a small kiss. 

“Woah, you came here like that?” he asks, still mesmerised, eyes going over my body continuously. I open the coat, letting it fall off my shoulders and on the ground. Oh, how he was gonna get it. 

“Well, you forgot your lunch this morning” 

“Are you trying to tell me I forgot you as well?” 

“Maybe” 

His hands carefully go over the seams, feeling every inch of my lace covered body. He can’t stop looking, inspecting every single part of it. 

“And you look as sexy as every, oh my lord” 

I smile, hands going around his neck, pulling him in. 

“So, how long is the break?”

“About 20 more minutes”

“Well, that gives us plenty of time” I smile, capturing his lips on mine. My hand travels down his body, cupping his throbbing heat. His breath hitches, losing control just for a second before regaining his strength. I smile into his lips as he tries flipping the dynamic, groping my ass and making my mouth open. Of course he uses the opportunity to stick his tongue inside, exploring my insides and pushing me against the wall. 

“Not as much time as I would like” he whispers, fingers tangling in my hair, and his tongue licking my lower lip. I sigh into him, tugging on his thin sweater, begging him to take it off. 

A knock on the door interrupts us, and we both freeze. I move a bit away, and Josh leads me to the wardrobe, pushing me inside. 

“Give me a second” 

“I’ll be waiting” I smile, fixing the strap on my shoulder while he watches. His cheeks are light pink, a small smirk in the corner of his lips, paired with that sly spark in his eyes. 

He walks over to the door, taking a breath and opening it. I hide behind several heavy coats, feeling like I’m in my own secret Narnia. 

“Hey man, what’s up?” He asks the man, one hand leaning against the doorframe. 

“We’re starting earlier, and we need you”

He gives me a look, and I can see the other man also looking inside, wondering what’s caught his attention. 

“Uhh yeah, just let me get my papers and I’ll be right out” Josh excuses, about to turn around. 

“Five minutes, Washington”

“You got it!”

He closes the door, letting out a loud sigh and leaning against it. I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips, slowly climbing out of the closet. 

“Okay, so maybe when we get home” he smiles, meeting me halfway. 

“You can’t go out like that” I whisper, cupping his rock hard boner. He lets out an involuntary moan, hands going to my hips to steady myself. 

“A lot can happen in five minutes” I tease, kissing his ear and moving down to his neck. 

“You’re underestimating me, darling”

“Oh, am I?” I smirk, fingers dipping under the hem of his pants. He gasps, letting me slide down him, bending my knees and dragging his pants down with me. 

“Oh, you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into” 

“Four minutes Joshy, it’s now or never” I whisper, stroking his dick slowly back and forth, leaning a bit forward to show off my breasts in the skimpy outfit. His face is tomato red, one hand still on the doorframe, and the other on my shoulder. He’s breathing heavily, head falling back into the wall as up my pace, causing a hoard of whimpers and low moans. A small click on the door makes me look up, and he has locked it. He made his decision. 

I take a long lick over his shaft, making sure to drag it out, leaving him a mess above me. One of my hands goes to massage his balls, bringing that extra stimulation. To stop his sounds from getting too loud, his hand goes to his mouth, almost biting down on his flesh. I take him in, realising that we don’t have that much time left. I work efficiently, taking him with both of my hands, as well as my mouth. He whimpers from the touch, legs struggling to stay up as he melts in front of me. 

“S-shit, fu-fuck” he mutters, his hand coverage making it harder to hear. I can’t help but smile, the pleasure I bring him being too good to pass on, even if he could get it tonight instead. I would be lying if I said his sounds didn’t turn me on, small muffled harmonies filling the small room, still sure that no one else outside can hear it. I lift my head, making eye contact with him. 

“What would everyone outside think if they knew the reason they had to wait for you?” 

He whines in reply, craving my mouth around him again. I oblige, taking him in, so far I start to gag, before continuing the quick, but steady rhythm. A loud knock is heard on the door, but I continue my assault, waiting for someone to speak. 

“Josh, two minutes left, are you coming or what?” 

I lift my head again, looking up and catching his conflicted expression. He’s unsure of what to say, he might not even get the words out if he tried. I continue stroking him, his throbbing heat red and twitchy in my grip. 

“Tell him that you’ve almost gotten all the papers and you’ll meet him there” I whisper, tone seductive and commanding. He nods, lifting his chin and leaning over to the door. 

“Still looking for the last papers!” I put my lips against his pelvis, kissing his lower stomach and down to his inner thighs, making his breath hitch. 

“I-I, fuck, I’ll met you there” He manages to word out, and I giggle silently, sending vibrations all over his area. 

“Josh… are you okay?” 

“Um, yeah. J-just stressed about t-today’s work”

He grabs my head, forcing his dick down my throat again, making me suck him faster and longer. Oh, how desperate he is. 

“Yeah, me too man. Just let me know if you want some new copies of yesterday’s planning, I know we aren’t supposed to give extras, but it’ll be fine. It can be arranged, and I know you’re stressed, but this is a tough business. Let me know if you need anything!” 

The voice sounds further away now, which means he’s probably gone to the filming area. Josh looks down on me, face still flustered, and maybe a bit sweaty. He starts twitching roughly in my mouth, and I brace myself, holding onto his thighs for support. He lets go of my head, letting me finish him my way, and making him come inside my mouth. I take it all, swallowing when he’s finally done. 

He leans back on the wall, sliding down until he’s sitting on the floor, breathing heavily and quickly. Pulse is probably high, and he needs to calm down a bit. 

“You’re amazing” he breathes out, and I laugh a little at how worked up he is. I lean over, capturing his lips on mine, hand behind his neck to pull him further in. His heart is beating rapidly, my hand on his chest, feeling every pump. We both pull away, my eyes glossy and watery, makeup probably a bit out of touch. 

I get up, taking a quick look at myself in his mirror, and putting the coat back on. He has places to be, and I need to get home. 

“You need to get back to work” I smile, unlocking the door and looking outside. No one’s here, they’re probably on set, still waiting for him. If he ran, he would make it in time for those five minutes. 

“I’m getting you back tonight for this” he whispers behind me, pants zipped up and the signature cocky smirk on his lips. I give him a quick peck before walking out. 

“Looking forward it”

[captain039]

Conventional Alpha

Alpha!Jayce x omega!reader

Jayce version!

Warnings: AOB, light swearing, ruts, heats, older Jayce, bearded Jayce, Professor AU, age gap reader in their 20s Jayce around 30s, plus size reader, self-esteem issues, reader has chronic pain, reader is a writer, smut? Probably xD

Professor Jayce Talis, man of progress, creator of hextech along the side of his partner Viktor, and one of the top professors at the Academy, known for his skills in the forge and hextech magic and currently your alpha crush of the entire two years you’ve been at the academy. He’s everything textbook-based an alpha should be, strong, rugged, handsome, caring, passionate, protective, and you may or may not have written a few characters based on him, but…. who needs to know that? You only see him around campus, never having talked to him properly apart from a few polite greetings of acknowledgement. It’s stupid, you know to be so obsessed with a man who probably forgot you exist and would never look at an omega like you. Omega, you hate it, hate being one, you should’ve been born a beta both your parents are betas, but no, the universe screwed you over and here you stand, in the middle of a gathering against the wall invisible to everyone’s eye. You managed to outrun your parent's polite talking with other members of the council and academy, now you lean against the wall, hips and legs aching in these gods-forsaken heels with a glass of horrid champagne in your hand acting like you belong there. You figured you should be safe here for a few hours before you can go home and return to your bed. That is until a hard back runs into you and champagne goes down your front. You gasp at the sudden wetness and coldness down the front of your dress, people turn at the commotion and you want the world to swallow you up. You don’t even realise till a scent hits you that Professor Jayce Talis is the one who ran into you. You also hate that this dress is a very light cream colour.

“Oh fuck” you frown at the sudden words before you notice Professor Talis shrugging off his jacket and wrapping it around you to save your modesty.

“I’m so sorry” he says standing in front of you so nobody can see.

“It’s- fine” you manage out.

“Let’s get you out here” he says smiling sheepishly and you nod your brain not quite catching up with the situation. As you exit the party Professor Talis sighs.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even look where I was going” he says his face ridden with guilt.

“It’s fine, I was blending in with the wall, seemed it worked” you joke and see him break out into a brilliant smile before laughing.

“You were indeed blending” he says and you swear you fall in love with the sound of his laughter.

“I’m so sorry for ruining your dress” he says again his hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly the muscles in his arms bulging.

“It’s fine, got me out of the party anyway” You shrug a bit tightening your hold on his jacket his scent enveloping you.

“Do you stay here at the Academy?” He asks and you nod.

“Let me walk you to your room?” He offers a small smile on his face.

“It’s fine really-“You break off going to take his jacket off but he quickly keeps you covered and you flush.

“Right, uh champagne down my now see-through dress” you nod gulping a bit.

“I’ll walk you to your room” he says and you nod not daring to open your mouth as you begin walking. You curse your heels halfway through the walk and stop leaning against the wall kicking them off before bending to grab them. You feel a shoot of pain go up your spine and stifle a curse leaning against the wall before forcing yourself back up.

“Are you ok?” Professor Talis asks worried his eyebrows furrowed.

“Fine, just walking in heels isn’t fun,” you say and he nods offering a small smile before you continue walking.

“Uh, this is me,” you say once you reach your dorm room.

“Right, I’m so sorry again-“ he trails off with a frown and you tell him your name.

“Right, I’m sorry again Miss Y/n,” he says.

“I’ll go get changed and give your jacket back,” you say pulling out your key card.

“Just bring it to me tomorrow, I’ll be in my office most of the morning if you’re free,” he says as he glances down at his watch and you blink in surprise.

“Yeah, that’s fine, I’ll uh wash it for you,” you say.

“You don’t have to” he chuckles.

“It’s got champagne on it, it’s the least I can do” you offer a smile back.

“Alright, goodnight, Miss Y/n, I’m sorry again” he nods his head before walking away leaving you stunned.

You enter your dorm still in shock, you can’t help but bring the jacket to your nose and breathe in his alpha scent that’s covered on it.

“Nope, we don’t do that, that’s weird” you say to yourself shrugging his jacket off and lying it over the small couch you have in your room before going to the attached bathroom to have a shower. As you shower your mind replays the whole situation and you silently hate yourself for everything, blending in on the wall. You dry yourself and get dressed before taking his jacket and you go to your dorm's laundry.

“Do I need to wash it a special way” you mumble to yourself before shrugging and putting it in the washing machine, you put in your detergent before turning the machine on and sighing.

“There you are” you internally groan at the sound of your mother’s voice and heels clicking against the floor.

“You found me” you force a smile.

“I saw what happened with Mr Talis! Are you alright?” She fusses.

“I’m fine mum, just some spilt champagne” you shrug.

“Well, good of him to let you borrow his jacket and save some dignity you have” She smiles and nods and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. According to your mother, writing is not a proper career a ‘young omega such as yourself’ should take, no you should be preparing for being a stay-at-home wife with ten million children running around in a white picket fence.

“Right well, I must head back to the party I see you’re not going to return” She eyes your PJs.

“No Mother I’m not going to return” she nods curtly.

“Well, goodnight,” she says.

“Night mum” you mutter as she walks away the click in her heels echoing the halls. You run a hand down your face and sigh glancing at the timer on the washing machine before heading back to your dorm. You set a timer and lie down in your bed sighing in relief at the tension easing off your hips and legs. You grab a book from your bedside table and begin reading.

You must dosed off because the timer scares the hell out of you and your book flies to the ground with a thud. You groan and stand up slowly picking your book up and putting it on the bedside table before heading to the laundry again. You pray no one’s there, your current resting groggy bitch face is not a pleasing sight. You take out Professor Talis’s jacket and put it in the dryer a yawn leaving your lips before you head back to your dorm once more.

[in1-nutshell]

Can we have G1 Ophelia please? You can choose to write her with Ironhold or not(o^▽^o)

Ironhold is in this one!

Hop you enjoy!

G1 Ophelia (Ft. Ironhold)

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Hinted Romance, Cybertronian reader

G1

Ironhold was not the only child Megatron had.

The war lord had another child of his in the ranks.

Chief archivist of the Nemesis.

Soundwave’s right-hand Con on the Nemesis.

Megatron’s eldest daughter and potential heir to the Decepticon army.

Ophelia the minibot.

Many Cons often forgot that Ophelia was their leader’s daughter with how… different she was.

With Ironhold, things made sense.

They were tall, a great warrior, feared by the enemy, and loyal to the Decepticon cause.

Even their little soft spot for humans was overshadowed by their achievements.

Ophelia was the opposite of Lord Megatron.

She was small, a decent fighter, kind, soft spoken, and someone easily forgotten.

Her soft spot for humans as clear as day.

Spike and Mirage escaping from Decepticon base. They turn the corner and barrel into Ophelia who was carrying a stack of data pads. Ophelia rubs her helm in pain. Ophelia: “Do you mind watching where you’re going next time Mirage!” Mirage: “Umm… do I know you?” Ophelia: “You broke into the base last week. You heard my name.” Spike: “Umm…” Ophelia: “Spike, you were kidnapped yesterday. I introduced myself to you 7 times!” Spike: “… Rumble?” Ophelia blinks slowly before facepalming. Ophelia: “Next door to your right, you’ll find the exit.” Ophelia stands up with all the collected data pads. Mirage pulls out his blaster. Mirage: “Freeze! You’re not telling the Decepticons anything!” Ophelia sighs tiredly. Ophelia: “Its too early for this… they are not going to be happy about this…” Meanwhile outside the base with Ironhold. The ‘Sibling Sense’ starts tingling. Ironhold: “…Ophelia needs me!”

While Ophelia did not achieve battle victories for Megatron, her victories in the achieves and on deck medic made up for it.

Megatron was proud of both his children.

Both making so much progress for the Decepticon cause!

Is secretly happy that Ophelia stayed the same size.

He already had enough trouble with Ironhold being taller than him.

The War lord does not tolerate anyone disrespecting his children.

Last Con who tried to disrespect Ophelia got a beating of a lifetime from Megatron and Ironhold.

He did try to take Ophelia to train, but Ironhold never allowed them both to fight.

Megatron and Ironhold are in a room by themselves. Megatron: “Where are you hiding her this time?” Ironhold: “Not telling you.” Megatron: “Ironhold, she needs to understand how to fight. If you haven’t forgotten, we are at war! Would you rather have her depend on you to fight her battles?” Ironhold: “Yes! She shouldn’t even be near the fights! And I just know that your ‘training’ is aligned with bots of your stature.” Ironhold sighs a bit before crossing their arms. Ironhold: “Look me in the optics and tell me you weren’t planning on training her like you did with me?” Megatron: “Iron—” Ironhold: “Look at me and tell me you’ve taken her size into account!” There is a harsh silence. Ironhold: “… She isn’t like me or any of the bots you’ve trained before Father. One wrong move during training and it could be detrimental to her. Imagine the look of fear she’ll have when she sees you after hurting her?” They let out a tired vent and uncrosses their arms. Megatron is silent and places a servo on their shoulder. Megatron: “… All right, you win. I won’t teach her.” Ironhold blinks a bit in surprise. Megatron: “But only if she is to be accompanied by a trusted Decepticon at all times or—Ironhold! Are you even listening?!” Ironhold has a datapad out and is rapid messaging on it. Ironhold: “And done! Ophelia officially has a bodyguard!”

His name was Steve.

A Vechicon that had recently been transferred to Earth.

Ironhold trusted the Vehicon enough to leave him with Ophelia, not like she needed the protection.

They would be there to fight for her.

Ironhold loved their sister with all their spark, but they weren’t going to actually say it.

Instead opts to show ingthe love through acts and quality time.

Ophelia is walking with Megatron and Ironhold. More Ophelia speed walking trying to keep up with the others. Ironhold stops for a second before snatching Ophelia up from the back. Ophelia: “ACK! Ironhold! What have I told you about doing that out of no where!” Ironhold places her on their shoulders. Ironhold: “Not to.” Ophelia: “And what did you do?” Ironhold: “Did it and I’d do it again.” Ophelia playfully whacks their helm. Megatron smiles a bit at them. Later… Ophelia is in her habsuite when Ironhold barges in. Ophelia: “Iron—WOAH!” Ironhold flops down on her berth, narrowly missing the minibot. Ophelia: “Umm… ‘Hold? Are you okay?” Ironhold groans before scooting closer to Ophelia’s side and burying their face in her lap. Ophelia’s optics furrow in concern and gently starts subbing small circles on her younger siblings helm. Ophelia: “… You want to talk about it?” The shake in her lap gave her the answer. Ophelia sighs and does her best to hug Ironhold’s helm. Ophelia: “Stay as long as you want ‘Hold. I gottcha… I gottcha…”

Ophelia was often forgotten in her sibling’s shadow, but she is just happy that they are happy.

They deserve some happiness in this war.

The minibot is the first to know about Ironhold’s crush Rumble.

Does she tease them?

Yes, but it’s all lighthearted.

Does she play as Ironhold’s wingbot?

Also, yes!

Has she given Rumble the shovel talk because Megatron is too dense to know that his youngest has feelings?

Yes!

Rumble left that talk seeing a part of Megatron installed in the minibot.

Ironhold still doesn’t know that Ophelia did this and will stay that way.

Places bets with the other minibots and Soundwave on who was going to confess first.

Ophelia is happy Ironhold found someone to call their own.

Not that she would find someone someday…

Steve walks over to Ophelia. Steve: “Did you win the bet?” Ophelia: “Not exactly, everyone was off by a bit on the date.” Steve: “That sucks.” Ophelia sighs. Ophelia: “Welp, its over now. C’mon, I need some help in getting these crates to the Main room.” Steve: “Sure!” Both walk and chat as they head to get the crates. Soundwave and the cassettes in the distance. Soundwave: “Frenzy: Contact Rumble and Ironhold.” Frenzy: “For what Boss?” Soundwave: “Operation: Not Hamlet. Bets must be placed.”

[lame-cameoliob]

You have some really fire points actually!!

I wrote my post at like 3 AM last night so the gears werent turning at 100% but you're absolutely right

Kallus is absolutely intensely biased and predjudiced throughout seasons 1 and 2 there is absolutely no question about it. Like, he has obviously done fucking insane and horrific shit in the name of the empire and he needs to be held accountable for his actions because his (probable) mental health issues do not excuse it, and that's absolutely the whole point of his character.

Honestly, I think that's what makes Kallus' redemption arc so palpable; he holds himself accountable with little to no prompting to do so. Zeb tells him to ask questions in an off handed comment, but Kallus listens, and once the bubble that he built around himself-- which is essentially just an imperial echo chamber that excuses xenophobia and colonialism-- once that bubble pops he takes it upon himself to attempt and right his wrongs by becoming fulcrum.

When I was writing my main post I think I managed to leave out a whole lot of stuff (again, written at 3AM) but i totally forgot to make a point about how the Empire IS the perfect indoctrination machine-- in fact, the empire employs indoctronation and propaganda tactics that are not dissimilar to those seen in 1930s Germany, with how it pits non-human species against the empire and paints them as "other"-- and i think the fucked up part about that indoctronation pertaining to Kallus is that we can see that Kallus really does want to do good (again, hence why he became Fulcrum in the first place) but he exists in a Xenophobic echo chamber of the Empires design. I mean, if he did have PTSD post-Oderon the empire absolutely took advantage of whatever vunerable mindset by not providing tools that would allow him to identify Onderon as an isolated incident. He truly genuinely beleives that he IS doing good in the empire. I mean everyone around him is telling him so, he is rewarded for batshit insane behavior, while others are punished for asking questions, ect ect.

Its really interesting that it took like... the smallest suggestion to challenge his beliefs ("look for answers, maybe youll find the truth") for him to not only do so, but to also--in lieu of realizing the heinous system that he's become complicit in-- hold himself accountable for his actions.

Anyways, yes OP, you brought up some stuff that 3AM me didnt think of and you are like 110% correct

Kallus' motivations are so interesting

I just need to get these thoughts out so I’m throwing this ramble here:

Now, this may totally just be me thinking too much (fork found in kitchen) but I feel like when it comes to how we tend to think about Kallus’ characterization, the implications of Kallus’ experience on Onderon are very overlooked. 

So he goes to Onderon with “the boys”-- which, the term “the boys” has its own set of implications about how Kallus must have really cared for those troopers under his command but I digress– and on a patrol they’re attacked, yada yada, we all know the story. 

But Kallus becomes fully paralyzed. He doesn’t describe the extent of his paralyzation but given that he had to watch as his squad was “finished off one by one” it’s pretty fair to assume that he could not move whatsoever. The fear that any person would experience in that situation is completely indescribable, that is genuinely some shit straight out of a night terror. 

He is– as we know– spared (albeit we don’t get exact details (did the merc try to kill him but reinforcements arrived before he could? Did the merc think that Kallus was already dead? Secret 3rd option?)) and he makes a full physical recovery, but there is no way in hell that he is not coming out of that encounter with some crazy PTSD. 

There’s not a whole lot of info on Imperial mental health services but I don’t think it’s a longshot to assume that they are probably close to nonexistent.

So the empire now has… an ISB agent with field experience… with untreated PTSD… where said PTSDs inciting incident pertained to a Lasat… and they’re looking to make an example out of Lasan……….. Are you picking up what I'm putting down here…...?

If you aren’t; it is BY NO MEANS a wild assumption to say that the Empire– essentially– weaponized Kallus’ PTSD, given that he would be less likely to question the moral atrocities happening on Lasan since he was already biased against Lasat as a whole. 

Now, we don’t really have a solid grasp on what Kallus’ exact role in Lasan was since he’s  kiiiiinnnd of an unreliable narrator– I mean we’re given the line in Droids in Distress where he takes credit for giving orders during the siege, but Kallus routinely just runs his mf mouth whenever he’s throwing hands so it’s like…  that could either be the truth or a crazy exaggeration, we as viewers have literally no idea what’s going on there– but it goes without saying that Kallus is obviously not excused from his participation just because of (likely) untreated mental illness, but that is literally like the whole point of his character so like we all knew that

Now, after Lasan, Kallus does something really bizarre for an imperial to do; he accepts the borifle given to him through the Boosan Keerah, and even though he doesn’t know about the cultural significance of that, he still takes it upon himself to learn how to use this weapon. I think that literally any other imperial would have tossed that shit out on sight, so I think it does kind of imply that Kallus did have a good deal of respect for Lasat culture.

Now we can all recall how Kallus is so annoying and also batshit insane whenever he fights Zeb for the first season and a half of rebels, and ME THINKS that this is because he wants to prove to himself that if he were not paralyzed on Onderon, he could have saved the members of his squad. He had to sit by and watch them die, and I think that he just wants the vindication; now you may be thinking, But Emma, he beat the Lasat who gave him his borifle, why would he still be obsessing over this– say it with me now– he is mentally ill. No victory will ever be enough to prove this to himself. Point blank period. 

To double down on that point, Kallus never actually says anything xenophobic about Zeb or the Lasat as a whole. (At least not that I can remember). He says “Lasat– never know when to give up,” but that’s not like… a crazy thing to say– in fact, in a fucked up sorta way, it almost sounds like a compliment???? Like, Kallus completely sees Zeb (and the Lasat in general) as equals, he’s not operating under the usual xenophobic imperial mindset that other species are lesser than. This weird obsession that he has in seasons 1 and 2 is just there because he wants to outwit and outfight Zeb (and the rest of the Ghost crew… but especially Zeb)

And after the Honorable Ones???? It’s literally never brought up again. He chills tf out so hard after that it is high key uncanny. And like, yes duh that is because– for writing purposes– that’s the beginning of his redemption and they want viewers to root for him as fulcrum, but it also implies that after finding common ground with Zeb, and understanding where he’s coming from and who Zeb is as a person, he realizes that he’s been CRASHING TF OUT for basically no reason. 

And he is SO QUICK to switch sides?? Like, he is fulcrum at least a decent time before the beginning of season three. The whole point is that the second he asks questions and delves deeper into what the Empires motivations are he is disgusted enough that he doesn’t just drop everything and disappear, no, he became a spy for the rebels because he wants to help. I feel like that just goes to show that, at his core, Kallus is a good person. A deeply confused, and hurt, and misguided person, but a good one. 

I dunno, this is just a really long winded way of saying that Kallus is the perfect example of an imperial pawn. Like the Empire is an incredibly effecient indoctrination machine that exploits people at every turn, especially their own soldiers, and I think that Kallus’ relationship with that indoctrination along with his own motivations is just super super interesting and I think about it literally all the time