#Second hand Desktop Computers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luveline · 9 months ago

Note

do you have anything more from office frenemies with james? i just read it and i loved it so much

yes! love u ty

—you and James don’t get along until you kind of, sort of do. fem!reader, 1.5k

James listens to the most obnoxious playlist in the mornings. There’s about a fifteen minute window between when he arrives and when the workday officially starts, which coincides exactly with your window. He often gets the same elevator ride, walks a pace beside you, and decides whether he’s going to let the ‘lady’ go first through the door depending on the day.

That morning, he’d opened the door widely, grinned at you with music blaring loud enough to make a normal person deaf from his earphones, and let you pass. Then he pretended to stick his foot out to trip you up, pulling it back at the last second.

Jerk, you think, angry even now as he tucks himself into his desk, his earphones still ridiculously loud. He actually, genuinely, is going to get hearing damage. You’re not being bitter. Human ears aren’t meant for that.

You click onto the workplace Outlook and open a tab on your desktop. How loudly can you listen to music? you google. A few articles appear straight away that fit your purpose —you drag them each into an empty email. Then, smiling to yourself, you find an article on the negative effects of workplace noise pollution and how this sort of selfishness can affect your coworkers’ mental health and add that at the very top.

To: [email protected]

Hi James,

please find attached a few articles I felt might be important for you to read.

Worst,

Your unhappy adjacent desk.

You know he’s received it when he laughs loudly, turning down his music with a few quick clicks on his phone.

An email comes through to your inbox shortly after.

Hi bestie,

I’m so so sorry for the noise. Please find attached a few articles I, in turn, felt you might enjoy.

Best,

James Potter :)

He’s attached an irksome variation of articles. Why music can help you get ready for the day. Ten ways workplace friendships are important. Can you really find your soulmate at work?

You open your personal messaging system. You tend not to use it with James, but this morning he’s winding you up.

I could report you to HR for that last one, you send.

He replies quickly. You try very hard not to look up at him from over your desktop. I didn’t mean me.

You’ll be deaf by thirty.

Jealous you don’t have such great taste in music?

Jealous of everyone in the annex.

Want a cup of coffee?

You meet his gaze finally over the computer, find him already looking at you. You shake your head scornfully. In what world would you ever want him to make you a coffee? He’s never actually offered to make you one before, to be fair, but he’s awful to you so what are you supposed to think? He’ll probably poison it.

He stands to leave. Remus, the other accountant to complete your trio, arrives while he’s gone with his boyfriend Sirius in tow. They’re also James’ best friends, unfortunately. It makes for some awkwardness.

“Where is he?” Remus asks you, in the midst of a quick goodbye kiss before Sirius makes his way to his desk further down the office.

You nibble your lip and give a dispassionate shrug. You hate talking about James. You hate his stupid mess of hair, his reading glasses, his lips when he smiles crookedly and worse when he’s glaring at you. You hate the way he sighs as he clicks his neck, the quick lap he does every other hour complaining of tired legs, the genuine tenderness he shows you whenever you’re sick. You hate James. You don't like to think about him too much lest you get caught, a fish in a net.

Or a fish with a painful hook in its lip.

“Ah, you’re here,” James says, two cups of coffee in his hand.

You’re only a little heartbroken when he puts one on his desk and one on Remus’. Didn’t want one anyways.

Remus grins as James comes up behind him for a rough hug and hair ruffle. “How was last night?”

“I wish you’d come. Sirius spent all night trying to out drink Marl, you know he can’t, so I spent all night holding his hair out of his face. I wasn’t gonna talk to him this morning, but he was being very pathetic.”

James laughs. You pretend you aren’t listening to them, pretend you don’t feel left out even if they have no reason to be your friend, clicking at random things on your screen and scrolling through spreadsheets long finished and filed. “You know I couldn’t come, Moony,” —no point starting on their awful nicknames— “what if she needed me?”

You still. She?

“James, there’s not much you can do,” Remus says gently. He’s a quiet, soft sort of man, but they’re all so loud about loving one another. “You have to let her… you know.”

You feel them both looking at you, your gaze steadfast on your screen.

“Try not to think about it,” Remus says.

“I’ve been distracting myself,” James agrees.

Oh, you think. Oh. I’m such a dick.

“You could go home?” Remus says, putting his face in his hand. “I could cover you.”

“It’s too much work.”

“I know, but, you know, I’ll do half, and you’ll only have half to catch up on when you come back.”

You’re not sure who she is, and you very much still don’t like James Potter, but you're not heartless. He sounds awfully upset, fragility to his voice and a foreign balling of his fist by his hip. “Um,” you say, clearing your throat weakly, “well, with me and Remus, we could cover for you.”

James’ face is unreadable, looking down at you. “You’d cover for me?” he asks.

“Your work isn’t exactly hard, James.”

“But you’d do it?”

“How long will you be off for?”

James frowns. “Like, two days?” he says quietly.

“That’s fine. We can do that,” you say, checking with Remus from around James hip. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” Remus says quickly.

James looks at you long and hard. “You’re not kidding?”

“No, James. Not kidding. You’d do the same for me, right?”

James leans down to hug you before you can stop him. His arms wrap around your shoulders, a perfectly amicable touch made up of sleeper muscle and the attractive smell of almond oil, nearly sweet, slightly woody. He laughs against your cheek as he pulls away, turning back to Remus for a similar hug. “Thank you. I’ll go tell Danny right now.” He beams at you. His relief is thick as honey, palpable in his warm tone. “Thank you.”

You can’t look at him very long.

The memory of his fingers linger, the weight of his arm behind your head. He excuses himself to go talk to your boss, and you and Remus sit in a semi-awkward silence, of which you’re wholly responsible.

“His cat is dying,” Remus says eventually.

You wince. “Oh, no, really?” you ask.

“He’s had her since we were kids. It’s really nice of you to do this.”

“I really do think he’d do it for me,” you interrupt. “I’m not, you know, cruel, because we don’t get on.”

“I know. James knows that too.”

You want to get defensive. Why does it matter if James knows? But Remus is too nice to argue with, and secretly, strangely, you’d wanted James to know you aren’t mean. You wouldn’t have sent him that email this morning if you’d known, and maybe this is apology enough for that.

Still, it doesn’t feel right when James returns, gathering his suit jacket from the back of his chair. “Thank you guys, so much. I will bring you the most amazing desserts of all time as a thank you. I won’t even put your mug on the top shelf the next time I wash it,” James promises you.

You bat aside the rage of knowing he’s the culprit and instead get out of your seat before he can leave. “Uh, James?” you ask.

He raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

You look at the floor by his shoes. “About earlier…”

James stands subtly between you and the bulk of the office. “You okay?”

“I just– I’m sorry for complaining about your earphones. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive.”

“You weren’t insensitive,” he says, “I was being obnoxious. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“I–” You hate yourself for all your stammering. “Hope whatever is wrong, that you’re okay. I’ll cover for you for the week if you need me to.”

“Please stop feeling sorry for me. It looks weird on you. I much prefer you when you’re frowning, you get these super deep wrinkles in your forehead that I just love.”

You turn away without looking up. “I’m gonna input all your sales information wrong.”

“And I’m gonna bring you the best donut you’ve ever tasted to say thanks, sweetheart.”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

1K notes · View notes

kairoot · 27 days ago

Text

NO GOOD FOR ME ──── PJS.

ׂ ִ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬．𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾．． 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 — 𝐩. 𝖼𝖾𝗈！𝗃𝖺𝗒 𝗑 𝑓．𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 — 𝐠. 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡，𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑥𝑒𝑠，𝑠𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 — 𝐰. 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗒，𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗒，𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀，𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈𝗑𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇，𝗅𝗆𝗄 𝗂𝖿 𝗂 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀．𝐰𝐜. 𝟤.𝟧𝗄

✉️ ──── jay fic from kairoot, we cheered !!

HOME.

The building was bustling with its usual noise, the sound of keyboards clicking and the employee’s chatter. The familiar scent of coffee and freshly printed paper hung in the air as everyone occupied themselves with answering old emails or discussing the company’s next design.

You, on the other hand, had just walked in the building, already wanting to head straight back to your car and drive home. Everyday was a struggle, coming into the job that your now ex-boyfriend had given you. Now, you worked for him but you weren’t together.

It drove you insane. You were so used to driving to work with him, your favorite song playing on the radio while his hand was placed on your thigh as he sang to you. Or picking up a quick meal from a nearby cafe as you both talked about your future. It was sickening to think that you couldn’t do that anymore and things were only strictly business between the two of you.

It hurt to have to converse with him, even if it was just a quick greeting or him telling you about the plans for the company’s next fashion show.

You just couldn’t bring yourself to hold a conversation with him. Or even look at him. Any time he tried speaking to you, you uttered a one worded response before quickly walking away to resume your duties.

You were still angry with him. He ended it all. He put an end to what you thought was your happiness.

You sighed, walking over to your desk as you placed your belongings down on the smooth surface. You hadn’t noticed the presence behind you, too busy with powering up your office computer and pulling out your sketchpad full of possible designs.

“Y/n,” a deep, but familiar voice spoke from behind you. You froze, closing your eyes before forcing out a response.

“Jay.”

He walked toward your desk, standing in front of it so he could look at you. He cleared his throat before speaking again.

“Did you, uh, finish the fall collection designs? Ms. Lee and I are planning a meeting for the show, so we’ll need final designs by Monday.”

“I have most of them.” You replied flatly, sitting in your chair and opening up your files. Jay hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether he should continue speaking or not.

“Well, just.. email me when you’ve finished.” He finally said, before walking away. He glanced back at you for a second, before walking back in the direction of his office.

You let out a relieved sigh, not realizing you were holding your breath. The smell of his cologne was still lingering around your workspace which only frustrated you more.

Peering into the far corner of the building, you could see Jay laughing with his executive assistant, Ms. Lee. You couldn’t stand her. Even when the two of you were together.

But now it was worse, considering that was no longer the case. Now that you and Jay were separated, she took matters into her own hands. Literally.

She’d always squeeze his hand or place her hand on his arm, letting it glide up and down in a sweet, gentle manner. It made you fume with anger, but there was nothing you could do about it.

Knocking you out of your trance, your coworker and best friend, Chaewon came knocking on your desktop.

“So,” she began, following your gaze over to where Jay and his assistant stood.

“That’s gross, am I right?”

You sighed, turning back to your computer, “Not today, Chae, please.”

“What? I’m just saying—once you two aren’t together anymore, little Ms. Perfect has to swoop in and finally make a move.” She said, rolling her eyes.

You don’t respond, only shaking your head.

“Speaking of which, how are you?”

You shrug. “It’s been almost two months, Chae. I’m fine.”

“A month and two weeks, to be exact. And no, you’re not, Y/n. I see the way you look at him.

She sat on the desk, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“You can talk to me. You know that.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, only resting your head in your hand, rubbing your temple.

“After work.. but right now, I really need to get this stuff done.”

She smiled down at you before hopping off of the desk to walk back to her own.

“Right, well, I’ll see you later, Mrs. Par—“ she cut herself off, a wide grin plastered on her face.

You turned to look at her, jaw dropped. “Chaewon!”

“Oops! I mean, Ms. L/n.”

The day had finally ended, the clock reading 5:36 pm. You stood up from your chair, stretching a bit before starting to gather your things and head home.

You turned off your computer, letting the machine rest before you came back the next day.

As you walked out the door, the cool autumn air brushed against your face, making you shiver a bit. You walked to your car, the clicking of your low heels echoing as you walked.

Before you could open your car door, you could see Jay standing by his car, taking a phone call. You stood there, just looking at him for a moment. Not to eavesdrop or anything, but just to admire and think about him.

He paced slowly as he conversed with the person on the other line. You hadn’t realized how long you were staring until he looked up at you, catching your gaze.

You looked down to break the tense eye contact, fidgeting with the things in your hands so you could find your keys. You clicked the unlock button on the remote, quickly opening your door and throwing your bag to the side.

You placed the key in the ignition, turning it to start your engine.

Today was a bit harder for you to get out of bed, but you did it. The urge to quit your job was getting stronger and stronger as the weeks passed.

As you walked into your workplace, Chaewon came walking up to you in a hurry, ready to talk as if you both didn’t have several different conversations the night before.

“Y/n, did you really buy a new dress just for this meeting..?” She asked, looking at you up and down.

The dress was tight-fitted, the fabric hugging your curves and accentuating your hips just right. It was a beige, neutral colored material with a boat neckline. One of those corporate dresses like in the movies. The ones that Jay likes.

“Um, well,” you bit your lip to stop yourself from letting out a snicker.

“I needed new clothes, anyway.”

Chaewon shook her head in disbelief, a small smile forming on your face.

You both approached the conference room with all of the employees from the company following you in. Jay stood in the doorway, greeting everyone with a smile and ‘good morning’.

When he saw you, his expression flickered with surprise. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, scanning you as he took in every detail.

“Y/n,” he started, letting out a breath. “Good morning.”

“Morning, Mr. Park.” You walked past him without keeping contact once again. You took a seat at the large table while Chaewon placed her things down next to yours, sitting by you.

She nudged you slightly, staring at you in shock.

“What the hell was that?”

“I said ‘good morning’.” You replied calmly, taking out your notepad and a pen.

“No, no, no,” she shook her head, laughing in disbelief.

“He practically drooled over you, Y/n!”

You shrugged, opening your mouth to speak but was cut off by another voice.

“Okay, good morning, everyone!” You looked over to see the woman you despised the most. Her hands were clasped together as she greeted everyone with a friendly grin.

To your right, you could hear Chaewon scoffing quietly, making you chuckle.

“As you all know, Mr. Park and I have called everyone here to discuss our big event.” She said, grabbing her laptop so she could pull up the presentation.

Jay walked in just as she was explaining the concept of the meeting, his eyes wandering over to you again. You tried to ignore the feeling of his gaze on you as you listened to whatever his assistant was saying.

“All of our designs for this season’s show were created by the lovely, Ms. L/n.” She smiled, turning to you. Your employees clapped for you, some smiling in your direction. You smiled back at them, thanking them silently.

Ms. Lee clicked the next slide, which had pictures of some of the ideas you had.

“These are… interesting. Not quite what we were expecting, but you know, creativity is subjective.” The woman stated, sarcastically.

Your eyebrows furrowed at her comment, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her head turned toward you as she flashed another one of her signature fake smiles.

“Well, I just mean that these looks are not as… wearable as we’d like.”

“‘We’ or you?” You asked, tilting your head slightly. Chaewon was laughing quietly next to you, covering it up with a cough, but you were serious.

The room was filled with an awkward silence as Ms. Lee shifted, contemplating on whether she wanted to respond to you. You continued to look her in the eye until she backed down, pushing her pettiness to the side.

“I think Ms. Lee meant that these designs are like nothing we’ve ever seen before, Y/n. They’re extraordinary.” Jay spoke up, trying to clear the tension between you and his assistant.

“No. No, I don’t think that’s what she meant, but we can go on with this meeting.” You replied, clearly irritated at the both of them.

His assistant continued the discussion without making any more snarky remarks on your designs. You sat there silently, seething with rage. She was clearly doing that to embarrass you and you didn’t need Jay’s sympathy to deal with it.

The next evening, Chaewon dragged you to Jay’s office get-together, to which you rejected her offer multiple times but she insisted. You really didn’t feel like interacting with him or anyone that was close to him. It reminded you too much of the past.

The party was your average office gathering, champagne on one table and small snacks on the other. People were scattered around the building, socializing and dancing while you sat on the side, watching and sipping your drink slowly.

“Y/n, come on. You can’t sit here all night.” Chaewon whined to you for the third time, begging you to get out of your seat. You ignored her, downing the whole glass of champagne in your hand.

She sighed, standing up to go straight to the dance area.

“I’m gonna go dance with Jay’s new employee, Sunghoon. You sure you don’t wanna join me?”

You nodded, “I’m positive.”

She gave you a sad smile before heading to her new dance partner. You inhaled deeply, standing up and heading over to the drink station for the second time that night.

There were people still hanging out by the drinks so you had to push your way through to the beverages. You poured some of the liquid into your glass, sipping some before pouring more.

You turned around to go back to your seat but your drink was knocked into you, the beverage already seeping through the fabric of your dress.

You looked up to see the familiar face of Ms. Lee, giving you a look of faux sympathy.

“Oh, gosh, how clumsy of me.. Maybe you can fix the design of this dress, too?

You looked at her with pure disgust as you scoffed at her words. Your hand tightened around your glass before you flung the remains of your drink in her face, watching as her makeup began to run instantly.

She gasped loudly, wiping the liquid off of her face before opening her eyes to glare at you. Before she could get anything else out of her mouth, you were pulled away by your wrist.

“Jay?! What the hell?” You yelled as you turned to see who was now pulling you into the dimly lit printer room.

“No, I should be saying that to you! What the hell was that out there?”

“I don’t know, maybe get your assistant and new partner in control. She started it!” You shouted at him.

He ran his hands down his face as he stood in front of you.

“Y/n, what are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know. She’s had it out for me since we were dating, Jay. And now that we aren’t, she can finally get what she wants.”

He shook his head at you, chuckling, “You’re unbelievable.”

You scoffed, “Me? You know now it’s true! I know you see it!”

“Gosh, would you stop it already?! This is why I ended things with you, Y/n— you’re so quick to jump to conclusions!” He exclaimed, his words laced with venom that stung more than you expected.

Your eyes began to water as you swallowed the lump that was forming in your throat. You looked at him before taking a step back, blinking away the tears before they started to fall.

Jay didn’t say anything else but you could tell he almost regretted the words that came out of his mouth.

“You always do this,” you sniffled, turning your head so that he wouldn’t see how much it hurt.

“You always blame me when all I want to do is make things right. You know that I—“

You stopped mid-sentence as he stepped closer, his hands gripping your arms to hold your attention.

“What? What do I know, Y/n?” He challenged, his voice low but intense.

“You know that I only wanted good for us both. And that I care about you.”

Before you could get a response from him, Jay pulled you in for a kiss, his lips crashing into yours with a desperation that nearly broke you. For a moment, you let yourself sink into it, clutching his white button up as if holding on could fix everything.

But then he pulled away abruptly, breaking the moment as his hands fell from your arms. He stepped back, shaking his head.

“No,” he said, his voice firm but tinged with sadness. “We’re not doing this, Y/n. It’s not gonna fix anything between us.”

“You kissed me,” you whispered, blinking back the tears once more.

"I know," he admitted, running a hand through his hair as he avoided your gaze. "And I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

His apology felt like a dagger to your chest. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but the lump in your throat silenced you.

"You need to move on," Jay added, his voice soft but resolute. "We both do.”

“But Jay, I—“

“Don’t make this any more difficult than what it already is.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked past you, leaving you standing alone in the dimly lit room, his words echoing in your mind like a cruel reminder of what you could never have again.

• • •

﹙ 🔖 ﹚ ──── @haechansbbg @contyynishimura @sasfransisco @kgneptun @jungwonderz @enha-stars @dioll @jakesangel @cupidscourt @violetwitchmcu @haohaoshoe @randomgirl02228 @wonsdoll @powerpuffstuts @elysianiki @mmygnolia @nshmuras @who-tf-soddhi — send an ask to join

﹙ 🌐 ﹚ ──── @k-films @en-diaries

#𝒮𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑒𝑑，ℳ𝑖𝑙𝑎𝑛 ⊹ ₊˚#kairoot #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #jay enhypen #enhypen jay #enhypen angst #enhypen suggestive #enhypen fic #enhypen ff #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen oneshots #enhablr

320 notes · View notes

usedstore-blog · 6 months ago

Text

How to Upgrade Your Refurbished Laptop for Peak Performance

Identify Limitations: Examine which elements are producing congestion. Use tools like CPU-Z, HW monitor, or special to collect the detailed information about your system. 1. Compatibility Check: Make sure that the upgrades you plan are cooperative with your laptop model. Check the Producer’s website for description and increase guide 2. Upgrade the RAM:Determine Maximum Capacity: Come across the greatest RAM in your laptop can support. Choose the Right Type: Make sure that the RAM matches this type (e.g.,DDR3,DDR4) and speed identifications support by your laptop Installation: Install the new RAM modules, making sure they are securely seated in the slots 3. Switch to a Solid-State Drive (SSD):Choose the Right SSD:

Decide even if your laptop support SATA or NVMe SSDs. NVMe SSDs are quick but cannot be supported by older laptops. Clone Your HDD:

Use cloning software to remove your operating system and data from old HDD to the new SSD. Installation:

We can put it back the HDD with the SSD. Produce certain required tools and screws to fixed the SSD. 4. Upgrade the Processor (If Possible): Compatibility:

Examine if your laptop’s motherboard supports a CPU to make better. A large number of laptops have attach CPUs, making this not possible. Heat Management:

Manufacture fixed cooling system can be hold the heat output of a new processor. We have think about to put in the fresh thermal paste. 5. Enhance Cooling Solutions: Clean the Fans and Vents:

Dust growth can seriously effect on cooling organization. we have to use compressed air to clean out the dust from the fans and space. Add or Replace Thermal Paste:

We have to apply new thermal paste to the CPU and GPU, and it can improve heat transfer. Cooling Pads:

Examine while using a laptop cooling pad for additional airflow. 6. Upgrade the Battery: Check Battery Health:

we can use tools like Battery info view to check the health of your current battery. Replace If Necessary:

When your battery life is poor, consider to put it back with a new one. secure your operating system is up to date with the updated versions and updates. 7. Update the Operating System and Drivers: Latest OS Version:

Secure your operating system is up to date with the updated versions and availabilities. Driver Updates:

Regularly we have to update your hardware drivers, containing those for the graphics card, lowest price, and network adapters, for greatest performance and security. 8.Optimize Software and Settings Startup Programs:

It require extra startup programs to speed startup time. Background Processes:

Use task manager to identify and manage background processes that absorbs resources. Anti-Virus Software:

Use lightweight antivirus solutions to protect your system without outstanding performance hits. 9. Consider External Upgrades External Graphics Card (eGPU):

If you need better graphics performance and your laptop supports it, think about of using an external GPU. Docking Stations:

For supplementary connections options and regularly of use, a reducing station can be a high-priced customization. 10. Regular Maintenance System Clean-Up:

We have to delete unnecessary files regularly and perform disk clean-ups. Defragment HDD:

If you are still using an HDD, reorganize it regularly to improve entrance speeds. Note that SSDs do not require for the compact. Conclusion: By carefully checking out and make better on the key components of your refurbished laptop, especially you can boost its performance. In any case of it’s increasing RAM, convert to an SSD, or maintaining with perfect cooling, these steps will help you achieve a smooth and efficient calculating of the experience. Always we have to check similarity and convertible before making any upgrades, and examine the professional help for more network attachments.

#Used Laptops #Second Hand Laptops #Second hand Desktop Computers #refurbished laptops #Refurbished

0 notes

lovelytsunoda · 28 days ago

Text

love, actually | robert 'bob' floyd

summary: recently appointed admiral robert floyd feels overwhelmed in his new position, and unprepared to fill the shoes of the late admiral thomas kazansky. when he inherts the job, he also inherits tom's old secretary. cue the romance. inspired by hugh grant's storyline in love, actually

pairing: admiral!bob floyd x secretary!reader

warnings: mentions of death and greif was she secretly in love with that old man (because same) we may never know! mentions of addiction (but not with our two main characters!), can be considered to be a minor part of the heather and tommy universe (see 'tell me something girl (are you happy in this modern world)!) so many navy inaccuracies it would make a real admiral's head spin, professionalism simply does not exist in the pacific fleet

the office was barren, devoid of the remarkable life that had once occupied it. the large oak desk that had once held family photos and love notes from the admiral's wife was now empty, save for the top of the line desktop computer. admiral kazansky's wife and kids had been by earlier in the week to collect his things. bob hadn't been there, but he'd heard from natasha that it wasn't a pretty sight. she said that heather kazansky looked frail, and slightly lost without her husband of thirty years by her side. tom was her soulmate, and she'd gone through the pain of watching him die slowly.

cancer was a bitch.

this wasn't how he had wanted to come in to the job. although it was no doubt that he was the best man to lead the pacific fleet (and with an endorsement from maverick mitchell, nobody was going to question his appointment.), he was now wondering if he was really ready.

"admiral floyd?"

bob turned around. standing in the doorway in a skirt that was certainly not navy issued, was a tall young woman with round glasses and soft features. she wore no makeup save for the mascara on her eyelashes.

"hi, i'm y/n. i was admiral kazansky's secretary. and, i suppose, i'm now yours." her voice was soft and gentle, like music to bob's ears. "i brought your welcome packet and agenda for the day."

"admiral robert floyd." he stuck his hand out for her to shake, ignoring how clammy his palms suddenly seemed to feel. "but please, call me bob."

"that's your callsign, right? does it mean anything?"

bob rolled his eyes. "baby on board. they call me that because of my youthful appearance."

she laughed briefly, a cheerful and somewhat abrupt sound, before she looked at the empty office, her face falling again. "he was a good man."

"he was." bob agreed somberly.

"i loved that old man, i really did."

for a second, bob felt like something had tripped in his brain. she loved him? it seemed so cliche when he thought about it, but weren't cliches there for a reason? the pretty young secretary with the silver fox admiral. but what about heather? and his kids? he'd been married to heather since 1987, and from what bob knew of the admiral, he was an honorable man in all aspects of life.

this confusion must have shown on bob's face, because the secretary simply laughed, turning to face him with her arms crossed over her baby blue blouse.

"like a father, admiral. admiral kazansky and i were never involved. he was a family man. i'm the same age as his middle child." she didn't know why she was spitting out words like this. divulging too much information would be unprofessional and- "i actually used to go out with his eldest son when i first started working here. i was young and dumb and mitchell kazansky was a few years older and smooth talking. and then i broke up with him and he went to rehab. he's doing good now. he got married four years ago, i think. i've met his wife, she's a sweet girl." stop. fucking. talking. y/n.

in truth, bob only caught half of the word vomit. he was too preoccupied with the way her eyes sparkled behind her glasses, and the way her crossed arms accidentally pushed up her cleavage. she was totally wearing a push up bra. jake and bradley could probably even accurately guess her boob size. bob couldn't, but didn't need to to wonder what it would be like to rest his head against them, feeling her arms wrap around his tired frame.

"anyways." she exhaled, cheeks rosy with embarrassment. "i'll let you settle in. just so you know, your friday meeting with the commanders got moved up. it's nothing to worry about. come find me at lunch and i'll give you the brief. i used to make them for tom all the time, especially when he got sick."

"thank you." bob said graciously. "i really appreciate it. would you actually mind staying with me during the meeting? just to make sure i don't put my foot in my mouth."

she smiled, passing him a file folder. "of course, admiral. i'd love to."

the afternoon meeting came faster than bob would have wanted, and he was still struggling to make heads or tails of half the reports that his secretary had left on his desk. having a meeting this soon into his tenure seemed unusual, and for a moment he wondered about the severity of the content being discussed.

of course, he couldn't worry for long. through the panes of glass in the office doors, he could see y/n out at her desk, applying a thin layer of chapstick while she waited on hold with someone. her desk was filled with little baubles and a few small plants were on the filing cabinet behind her.

she looked calm and carefree, unbothered. and bob was smitten. completely and totally smitten. sure, it was a workplace harassment suit waiting to happen. and yes, it was never a good idea to get involved with people at work, especially when you outranked them.

but in that moment, bob floyd simply couldn't care less. especially when she gave him a flirty little wave from behind her desk, and even more so when the collar of her shirt dipped just enough that bob could see the edge of her lacy white bra.

this woman was going to be the death of him.

"bob?" she called out, poking her head through the doorway. "the commanders are here earlier than expected. have you had a chance to look over the notes?"

fuck. he couldn't admit that he was so distracted that he forgot to read the file. "uh, about half of it?" he explained sheepishly. "it's a lot."

she flashed him an understanding smile. "if you get lost in the meeting, i can take over. i used to do it for tom all the time."

"thank you. you're a lifesaver."

she winked, backing out of the room. "you owe me one, admiral."

the commanders filed into the meeting room, gathering around the round oak table like they were king arthur's knights. bob recognized a few of them, including jake seresin. he took a seat underneath the world map that was used to plot out missions, y/n taking a seat beside him.

and bob floyd wished he was a better man because as soon as he saw that skirt slip up her plush thigh, he was a goner. he forgot why he was even in that meeting in the first place. to his credit, he did fairly well, answering questions about the transition of power in the pacific fleet, and what was going on with some current matters that had gone unfinished when the previous admiral had passed. whenever bob seemed to stutter or falter in any way, y/n jumped in to rescue him, with a well-worded response delivered in such an effortless manner that he wondered why he was the admiral and not her.

jake caught him staring, a glean of admiration in his eyes as he watched the secretary (who was one of only two women in the room, by the way) outline a budget for the coming year. the commander kicked his former platoonmate under the table, holding back a laugh. bob shot him a dirty look before redirecting his attention to y/n.

after the meeting, and after shaking hands with what felt like every commander in san diego, jake stayed behind to chat with bob, eager to 'catch up' on everything the other had missed since their assignment with maverick. but really, jake just wanted to rib his coworker about the pretty secretary.

"dude, kazansky's secretary? come on."

"jake, shut up." bob could feel his face going pink. "it would be unprofessional at best, harassment at worst. her boss just died, for god's sake!"

jake laughed, hands tucked into the pockets of his dress whites. "i'm sure that they make porno's about this kind of thing. i say go for it. you only live once, admiral."

"hangman, go fuck yourself."

there was a knock on the office door, and y/n stuck her head inside the office. "admiral floyd, commander seresin. its five, so im on my way out. if you need anything, there's a post-it with my personal number on it in your welcome packet. don't stay too late, you'll make me look bad." she grinned at bob, waving at him before ducking back out of the office again.

bob shouted after her, something along the lines of 'see you in the morning', but he couldn't hear himself think over the sound of jake's laughter.

"what!"

"dude, look below your fucking belt. you're fucked."

_______

life went on, and bob found himself settling into his role as admiral nicely. of course, he wasn't doing it alone. y/n was a massive help in meetings, and they had started tag-teaming on important topics: putting together elaborate slide presentations, models and poster boards before every meeting with the fellow admirals or the commanders. there was a meeting with the president's aide scheduled for the new year, and surprisingly, bob wasn't worried about it. he had even gone as far as to help y/n decorate the office for christmas.

every day, she showed up in a trendy, fashionable and flattering outfit that definitely went against navy regulations, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. especially not when those leather slacks of hers made him so achingly hard that he spent half of his lunch break in the private bathroom jerking off. it wasn't the good admiral's fault that his secretary was so stunningly beautiful and sweet and kind and funny and so many other things that made him wonder if it was finally time to consider finding a life partner.

the pair had started sharing their lunch breaks, and bob was enjoying getting to know her outside of the office. she was easy to talk to, and he was convinced he had never laughed as much as he had when he was with her.

and that's why he was so worried when he saw that she had put in for a transfer request.

_____

they were one week out from christmas, and the base was getting ready to send all non-essential staff home. that meant that y/n was getting a much needed break, and while bob would be considered to be 'on-call', he got to go home as well. the last meeting of the year was finished, and y/n was cleaning up the round table in the conference room when she heard hushed voices from the cracked door in bob's office.

"robert, you understand what you're getting yourself into, right? the kind of trouble you'd be opening up for her?" natasha trace's voice was low and not quite venomous, but not calm either. "don't think that people haven't figured out why you hide in the bathroom over your lunch break, bradley told me about your little crush. you can't act on it, bob. i'm sorry, but you just can't. she's your subordinate. unless one of you transfers out. no matter how much you think you'd be able to make it work, it just not possible."

"i love her, phoenix. and i don't know what to do."

"you keep your mouth shut and your dick in your pants. that's what you do."

she felt her heart grow tight in her chest. bob was in love with someone? it was probably another soldier, or a pilot. or, and she hesitated at the thought, was bob floyd falling in love with her?

she didn't know if she wanted to find out. because if she was wrong, and bob didn't feel the same way about her that she felt about him, it was going to lead to a lot of heartbreak.

she put in for a transfer to another fleet later that week.

________

"what the fuck? how could this happen, phoenix? what did you say to her?"

natasha gaped at the frazzled admiral, who was pacing behind his desk. "what did i say to her? i didn't say shit, bob. she must have overheard us and gotten the wrong idea."

it was christmas eve, and bob didn't even know why he'd come into the office. he supposed it was because he wanted everything pressing to be done before the holidays, but seeing the neon blue transfer request paper on his desk had thrown him for a loop.

"i can't function without her. she keeps this office going." bob wailed, running his fingers through his hair. "i need her."

"yeah." jake snorted. "in more ways than one."

"can it, hangman." natasha scolded. "you'd have to find a really good, sound reason for denying the transfer, you know. keeping her here without one would be an abuse of power."

"you think i don't fucking know that?"

"there is another solution here." bradley bradshaw suggested, leaning against the side of the desk. "her address would be in her files, right? why don't you go and talk to her?"

actually.....that wasn't a terrible idea.

"no." natasha glared at him, almost as if she could read his mind. "that would be another glaring abuse of power. do none of you have functioning brain cells? this is psychotic."

"but it could work." bob mused, scrambling to boot up his computer. "what woman doesn't love a grand romantic gesture?"

"that's my boy." jake roared with laughter, clapping him in the shoulders. "let's make this christmas miracle happen."

bob scrambled to pull up her personnel file, scribbling a street address down in his messy cursive. "okay, okay. how do we know she's home? i mean, it's christmas eve. she could be with family, or with friends-"

"trust your gut, admiral." jake encouraged. "rooster, grab the keys to the bronco!"

"i'm surrounded by idiots!" natasha cried, throwing her hands up in the air. "why am i even here?"

there was a fleeting sense of nostalgia as the former dagger squad members piled into rooster's sleek black bronco. it was cold for california, albeit the lake of snow on the ground. a strong wind was coming in off the ocean, pushing the bronco closer to y/n's house. bob was jittery, working his way through everything he wanted to say.

because how did he tell a woman that he loved her without even having gone out with her yet?

"alright, take a left at this next set of lights, and then a left at the stop sign after that." jake instructed, reading directions off of his phone. rooster was going at least ten over the speed limit, and natasha was praying that there were no police officers around.

"that's her house!" bob shouted, jumping to attention in the backseat. "the one with the the three volkswagens in the driveway. she still lives with her parents, the whole family drives german cars. i remember her bringing it up over lunch one day."

the bronco skidded to a stop in the middle of the road, forced to slow abruptly when bob threw his door open. natasha chased him out of the car, followed up by jake while bradley worried about where to park on the unforgivingly small street.

bob ran up the driveway, in between an suv and a sport model jetta before practically launching himself at the doorbell.

"y/n?" he called, ringing the bell. "its admiral floyd! can we talk for a minute?"

"she cant hear you, dipshit." jake reminded gently. "just wait for her to answer the door."

the front door crept open, y/n standing nervously behind it in a christmas sweater and jeans. on her feet where two large slippers that looked like reindeer heads.

"admiral floyd? what are you doing here?"

"please don't transfer." bob pleaded, the words coming out in a single breath. "i don't know what i would do without you. you consume my every waking thought, every breath. these past few months working with you have been the most rewarding months of my career and i know how selfish it must sound of me to beg you not to go, but the truth is that i've fallen in love with you, y/n y/l/n. and i can't let you leave the fleet without making sure that you know that."

she stood frozen in the doorway for a minute before a wide smile broke out over her face. "come here you big doofus."

she stepped out onto the front porch, grabbing bob by the lapels of his tommy hilfiger trench coat and pulled him in for a kiss. his eyes widened in shock before he leaned into it, arms settling to hold her protectively.

"i put in the transfer request so you could ask me out, admiral." she whispered, giggling slightly. "i guess it worked."

"yeah." bob breathed, leaning in to kiss her again. "i guess it did."

"god damn it!" bradely shouted, out of breath and he came up the driveway. "don't tell me i missed everything trying to find somewhere to park my fucking car?"

y/n laughed, pulling away from bob. "do you guys want to come inside? i'd feel awful making you stand out here in the cold."

jake shrugged. "why the hell not."

"cassie's here, so behave yourself." y/n warned, referring to tom kazansky's youngest, whom jake had a history of hitting on.

jake perked up. "oh, cassandra!" he called, walking into the house

"not a chance, seresin. teddy and i are still very happily married!" a voice called from within the living room.

"god damn it!"

y/n turned to look at bob. "i made a massive mistake inviting them in, didn't i?"

bob chuckled, kissing her forehead. "yeah. but i wouldn't be here without them, so cut them some slack. come on, let's go celebrate christmas."

#the christmas collection 2024 #top gun maverick x reader #top gun x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #Spotify

203 notes · View notes

stargirlygirl · 2 months ago

Text

Rut Suppressants pt.1

Alpha!Shoto x Omega!Fem!Reader

Summary: You find out that Shoto's been taking rut suppressants ever since you've been together. You take them off him and get to see a new side of your husband.

Word count: 5.2k

A/n: This is PART 1 of 2. Part 2 is hyperlinked. The second part ties up all the little plot points touched on here.

🚨Warnings: Smut, 18+, NSFW, p in v, masturbation, oral sex, lots of swearing

------------₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊------------

You were typing away at your computer, responding to some dry work emails about tomorrow’s presentation. You had been working in a small team to design a new marketing strategy for your company’s latest hero gadgets. And of course, you had been pulling the weight of the team, you little hard worker. Or maybe your HR team didn’t hire the right candidates, you decide. It was easy enough though. The hard part was just getting your colleagues to look like they knew what they were doing by 10am tomorrow.

After responding to another email of “What does this mean?”, you heard the front door click open, grocery bags scraping against it. Ah, your mate is home. Finally, you smile.

You set your desktop to sleep before leaving the study. As you walk down the hallway, half-white half-red hair comes into view. He’s got his back to you. Black shirt clinging to his sweaty muscles. Must of been to the gym too, you thought. You rest your shoulder against the fridge, arms crossed underneath your chest, taking in the sight of you husband. He’s going through the bags, rummaging through them restlessly, clearly on the hunt for something.

“Need some help?” You smirk.

He turns around, blue-grey eyes wide. His expression visibly eases, slightly opened mouth forming a closed smile. “No, I’m fine. How was work?” He returns to his scavenger hunt in the bag right at his feet.

“Fine. I’ve got it under control for tomorrow’s meeting.” You push off of the fridge and come up behind him, hand on the edge of the island bench. You look over his shoulder, curious about what he could possibly be looking for. Shoto always gave you a kiss first thing whenever he came home, regardless of what had happened during patrol or of what you were doing. For him to neglect you like this was rather odd.

“You didn’t do all the work again, did you?” His voice had an edge to it… It made you bite your lip ever-so-slightly.

“You know how it is—”

“Well, it shouldn’t be,” he almost growled. “You should all be doing it, not just you.” He cussed under his breath.

Okay, this was getting weird. Agitated over you working hard? I mean yea but, he usually reins it it, accepts that this job is just that for you, a job. One that you’ve talked to him about leaving. And swearing? Not Shoto. Only when y’all are… you know.

“Shoto, babe, what’s up?” Standing directly behind him, you run your hand through his locks. He hums.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine," you whine.

You watch as he starts going through the fourth bag, pulling out a small box with the label “Rut suppressants. Take as needed. Maximum dosage: five per day."

This little fucker. You snatch it out of his hands immediately, sprinting from the scene into the back of your apartment.

“[Y/n]! [Y/n] stop!” You can hear him coming after you, the sound of his feet hitting the floorboards. “Give that to me now!”

You’re running frantically, heart pounding in your chest, hands getting sweaty around the evil cardboard box. You dash into your shared bedroom, slamming the door shut. Fuck! Where should I hide it?

You look around, [e/c] eyes settling on the dresser. You race over to it, emptying the contents of the box into the first draw, beneath your bras and panties.

“[Y/n]!”

Shit, he’s close to the door. You slam the drawer shut and run-stumble into the ensuite. Leaning against the door, you lock it. Okay okay, think! Think! The door knob rattles.

“[Y/n]! Open this door right now or I swear—” The silver handle is shaking now.

The toilet! You open the lid and crush the box in your hands; it makes those crinkling noises before you toss it into the trash bin and flush the toilet. At that moment, the door bursts open.

Shoto’s chest is heaving. His eyes are unfocused, frenzied. He’s panting… with anger you decide as there’s no way that little sprint could of worked up the number 3 pro hero that much. He stalks towards you, grabbing your wrists and leaning down to meet your eyes.

“What did you do with it?” His tone shocks you. His voice is so low now… and hoarse. It throws you off. “With-with what?” You breath out. You’re pretty puffed. “Don’t play dumb. You didn’t actually flush ‘em down the toilet, did you?” His face is now inches from yours.

You remain defiant, eyes staring back into his. The heat radiating from his left tickles your skin. “Um… well yea, yea I did. They’re um, yea, they’re down the toilet.” He laughs. More like barks. His breath hits your face. All you can smell is his sweat interlaced with his fresh scent.

“You’re so bad at lying, you know that?” He smirks, straightening back up. His muscles pull taut as he runs pale fingers through that snowy, silky hair. You watch as he looks around the bathroom. “Where’d you really put ‘em?” He looks back down at you, scrutinising you beneath his gaze. Your ragged breathing now hitches. “I don’t—”

“Don’t deny it!” He shouts. You shrink back instinctively.

You’ve never seen him like this before. He’s always so controlled. Even when you’re in heat, he’s always got it together. Always able to draw back or change the pace when you need him to. That’s why you took the pills off him in the first place.

You’ve been getting suspicious for months now since the two of you got married that he’s been on rut suppressants. It just didn’t add up. After your first heat together, you had actually asked him about his ruts so you knew when you had to return the favour.

“I don’t really rut, babe.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck, heterochromatic eyes averting from yours.

You laughed in response. “You don’t rut?” Your eyebrows raised. “Should I be concerned or…”

“No,” he said shyly, “it’s not like that.”

You waited for him to continue, watching as his eyes fluttered from object to object.

“I don’t get very intense ruts.”

Your brow was still quirked. “You don’t get ‘very intense ruts’? Like, you don’t get super aggressive and horny when you rut.”

His muscles relaxed upon hearing that. He looked back at you now. “Yea, it’s a minor annoyance. Nothing to worry about.”

You relaxed too, seeing that he was more comfortable now. “Trust me.” He took your hands in his larger ones. The temperature difference of both something you weren’t used to yet. “You don’t ever have to worry about control with me.” He gave you a sweet reassuring smile.

“Are you sure? I mean—”

“Trust me.” He squeezed your hands and leaned over, planting a small kiss on your lips. You grinned as he pulled back, trusting his word, however strange it seemed.

Had he lied to you? When you had announced to your friends that you and Shoto were (finally) getting married, they had warned you about that post-wedding baby fever. The endless marathon sex you two would be having once your cycles synced up. You had been waiting your entire relationship for that to happen and it hadn’t. So, once you two tied the knot wink, you had been hoping that the talk of pups would come up, but it just hadn’t. That’s when you had begun to think something was off. Even if he didn’t have “intense ruts”, he would still be feeling the urge to breed you, wouldn’t he? Or maybe he just didn’t—

“Where did you put my suppressants?” He stared you down, thin brows furrowed. “Babe…” His hands are trembling at his sides. Pupils dilated so only the rims of his irises are visible. It strikes fear and-and something else into you. Attraction? Excitement? Maybe you should try something else. Something else that’s gonna get you the result you want.

“Make me.”

At this, he frowns even more. “Make you what?”

“Make me tell you.” You take a step forward, feigning confidence, coming close to him again and tilting your head to the side, challenging him.

He scoffs. Those beautiful eyes, like solar eclipses, flickering away from you for a moment. “Make you…” He says quietly. He stares at you even more intensely now as he’s thinks it over.

It’s time to get cocky. “Yea, make me.” You stretch up towards him, arms wrapping around his neck. “I want you,” you move to whisper in his ear, your lips brushing his earlobe. “My sexy Alpha,” you run both of your hands through his hair now. He groans right back into your neck, large hands palming your lower back. “To make me submit to you.”

In an instant, you're over his shoulder, his palm smacking your right cheek. He’s carrying you out of the ensuite. You’ve done it now hehe.

As he crosses the threshold, you notice the door knob was coated in ice, hanging there, limp. Looks like you’ve gotta add fixing that to your to-do list tomorrow. He throws you like a stuffed toy onto your plush bed. His shirt’s already coming off, rippling contours all for your pleasure. Yea, make that a ‘to-do next week’.

Large hands already besides your head. Lean arms, meaty thighs, delicious toned frame caging you in. You’re forced to stare into those mismatched eyes. Not like you’d want to do anything else anyways.

Your breaths intermingle, just like your scents. He just stares at you, licking his soft, full lips. Afternoon light from the adjacent windows makes your figures glow. You love the way it streaks through his hair, and he loves the way it catches on your pretty pink lips. He thumbs your lower lip, pulling it down to reveal your teeth. You lower your chin, taking his thumb into your mouth. You circle your tongue over the top of his thumb before tasting the pad of it. It’s cold, like a popsicle you suck on in summer. You can think of another ‘popsicle’ you’d rather be sucking on right now.

“I… I-I don’t…” His brows are knitted together once more. Pupils wavering between dilated and contracted, showing off those blue and grey hues you love so much. You stop what you’re doing with your tongue, opting to place both of your hands on his cheeks. His thumb leaves your mouth but rests on your chin.

“I don’t know if… if this s-safe.” You can’t stop yourself from giggling a little. What a cutie. “Pookie, of course this is safe. I was made for you. You know that, right?” You smirk. You’re a feelin’ like a cocky little shit today btw if you didn’t get that. This man’s shyness inflating your big dick ego.

“Of course I do but…” He averts his gaze, looking at your ear instead. “But?” You continue. However, he doesn’t respond. He just moves his hand from your chin and tucks a strand of [h/c] hair behind your ear, which has suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room.

“You don’t wanna hurt me? You do wanna hurt me but don’t wanna admit it?” You tease. “No! No, of course I don’t want to hurt you.” His eyes shift back to yours.

“Shoto.” You squeeze his cheeks gently. “I’m your omega. If you hurt me then you can just make it better.” You bring his face closer to yours. “You can make it better, can’t you?” You whisper.

He gulps, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down with the motion. “Y-yea,” he replies, voice low, “I can.” That last part coming out with more confidence. “Good, then don’t make me dom you, Alpha. That’s kinda embarrassing for you.” You giggle whilst leaning up to him and finally, kiss him.

You both moan into it, feeling the relief washing through you two. But quickly, it’s not enough. It’s far from enough. He growls into your lips, changing his tilt. You follow his lead. You like that. His tongue grazes your bottom lip and you part immediately for him. The tangle that ensues is soul-gripping, bone-shaking, mind-blanking, breath-taking…

Your fingers are gripping his locks. His fingers are gripping the hem of your thin white tank top. Saliva, don’t know don’t care whose, if dripping from the corners of your mouth. His exhale is your inhale and vice versa. He catches your lower lip between his teeth. His sharp canines sending tingles throughout your entire being. There’s nothing that gets you slicked up like a lip bite from your Alpha.

He pulls away, you two panting. Not that the reprieve is sufficient or long-lived. Soon his lips are sucking and nipping your earlobe and that sensitive spot beneath your ear. You whimper out his name. “Shoto”, “Alpha”, “Daddy”, maybe “Babe” or “Honey”… yea, those, they’ll be the only words you know for the next week.

He nips at your mating mark, the beautiful white scar just above your left collarbone. He continues biting it, almost re-piercing the scar. You can’t help the moan-mumbles that tumble out of your mouth. Already, your wetness is soaking your blue lace panties and beginning to slide down your inner thighs. “Fuck,” Shoto breathes out into your other ear. You shudder at the word, one hand sliding down to his shoulder.

He continues at it, licking and sucking and kissing and biting at your neck. Soon, his fingers are tearing through your top. You mewl at the sensation of him ripping the torn, flimsy fabric off your body. His hands reach for your bare breasts, cupping them completely. Those long fingers begin pinching at the sensitive flesh. Your body responds instinctively, moaning, small hands grasping his wrists, breaths catching in your chest and throat. He fingers your nipples before bringing his mouth down to you, lips ghosting the hard peaks between his fingertips. He takes one into his mouth, eliciting a delicious whimper from you. His warm tongue circles your nipple as you did to his thumb, but just so much better.

You’ve barely gotten started and yet, you know never get enough of this. No matter how many times he’s done and will do this to you, and so much more, you’ll never be forever satiated. You just can’t be.

He moves to the other, keeping your now wet left breast covered by his cool palm. Fuck, that feels good. More moans spill from your mouth as he continues his ministrations. That slick is at your knees, probably. You can’t really tell cause it just feels like a wet, sticky mess down there at this point.

“Shoto,” you whine. He groans in response. “Hurryyyyy up,” you drag out that ‘y’ as you mewl. You shudder as he chuckles against your tender skin. Tender from his bites and sucking, of course. “You want me to go faster?” He pulls away from your breast, face coming back close to yours. You whine and nod your affirmation.

“But if I go faster,” he strokes your cheek softly with the back of his index finger, “you’ll miss out on all the fun.” His finger trails down to your chin, gripping it tightly but playfully with his other fingers.

Damn, you’re getting wetter by the second. He’s doesn’t usually tease you during your intimacy. Prefers that slow, soul-binding kinda love-making.

He just smirks at you before moving back to his painstakingly slow kisses and sucks on your breast. He only moves down to your ribs once he’s satisfied and you’ve probably soaked the bed sheets with how much he’s turning you on. It’s driving you insane. No. He drives you insane.

Shoto’s hands wrap around your ribs, feeling their rise and fall, and their ridges. “Beautiful,” he mumbles, kissing each rung. He keeps those eyes on you. All cocky. He knows what he’s doing to you and he likes how pathetic it makes you for him. And you can’t help but like it too.

After thoroughly kissing and touching every part of your torso, your arms, your everything really, he’s finally fingering your low waistband. You sigh relief and begin wriggling, trying to get those pants off as fast as possible, but your Alpha is still having none of it.

“Be patient,” he growls as he squeezes your clothed inner thigh, your flesh perking up between his fingers. “But Alpha—”

“I said,” he stares you down, this dark look in his eyes, “be patient.” You whine, “Yes Alpha.”

Hearing your compliance, he loosens his grip on your thigh and begins kissing your hip bones and skin just above the band. Fuck, he’s really killing you this time. I thought alphas were all, “Let’s bang. Now. Hard.” when they’re rutting but, I guess not. Maybe, Shoto didn’t completely lie to you by saying that his ruts were different to other alphas. Or maybe, he just wants to tease you for once.

You’re brought back to reality when you gasp reflexively to him biting into your inner thigh through your wet pants. Wet as in soaked and clinging to your hot skin.

“You’re not focusing on me.” Shoto’s voice is low, raspy. Fuck, you love it when he talks like that. Especially just after he’s woken up and you two have some fun together before getting up.

“And you’re not even focusing on me right now.” He bites even harder into your thigh, breaking through the fabric and pulling little red dots to the surface of your now swollen, marked flesh. “I,” you breath out, so it sounds like ‘hi’ and not ‘I’, “I thought you wanted me to be patient.”

“I want you to do both. Can you manage that? Or is that too much for my little girl?” He’s got a shit-eating grin across face. Since when was your husband such a tease, and such a good fucking one at that? It’s the years of pills, you decide.

“N-no, I can’t manage. Help me m-manage.” You imagine that you must look like some blubbering, whimpering mess right now, and you’re not even naked yet. And he’s not even naked yet. “Okay,” his grin widens.

Licking those glorious lips, those lips that you want on yours and not the ones on your face if you know what I mean, he pulls away from your thighs. He gets up from the bed, taking off his grey sweatpants and briefs. And fuck, you’re not ready for what meets you. For real. Swollen, hard, precum dripping down the shaft.

He smirks at you as he grabs his cock with his hand, moaning on impact. His other hand comes up to his face, finger pointing to the side of his mouth. At this point, your sitting up, thighs to calves, legs spread wide, dragging your wide eyes up and down his body.

“You’re drooling.”

I would say that you blushed at hearing this, but you’re already red as fuck in the face with how hot he’s been making you. You’re embarrassed and laugh it off, hand coming to wipe that spit from the side of your mouth. Yea, that was definitely yours and not his from earlier. That had already dried.

“W-well, how can I not when,” you take a deep breath in and look back up at him, “when my husband looks this good.”

“Have I got your attention now?” That rasp. That will be the end of you. Or the end of these bed sheets, whichever comes first. You nod feverishly. “Good girl.”

Ah fuck. He’s praising you. Fuck. That’s it. If that dick isn’t in you within the next three minutes, who knows what will happen next. You start shuffling over toward him when he stops you.

“No. You stay there. I want you to watch.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles, amused by your reaction as you realise what’s going on. Is this how this twisted fucker wants you to help you 'be patient' and 'focus'? By not letting you touch him? And by not touching you?

“I can’t. No. Babe. No please.” You’re shaking your head vigorously, already rising from the bed when his hands find your shoulders and push you back to sit down on the edge. “Watch.” His voice is commanding, absolute.

You’re forced to obey your alpha and sit there helplessly as he pumps his veiny cock with those veiny hands. The precum now all over his dick with even more leaking from the tip. His dick that should be in you right now. His eyes are trained on you, observing every stuttered breath you take in, every time you bite the side of your lip, how focused you are on how he’s pleasuring himself. That feels even better than his hands ever could. Fucking hell.

“Can I—” You start.

“No. Just watch.”

“Not you but my—”

“No. Watch.” His tone is stern. His voice strained.

Fuck. If your hands were bound then this would be so much easier, but no, you’re forced to hold back from touching yourself by your alpha’s command and your own self-discipline. You doubt that you’re even allowed to rock your hips right now.

You watch as his movements get faster and now he’s panting. His eyes half-lidded and tongue darting out across his lower lip every so often. You can see the sweat beading on his chest. You start whining, wanting to be the one touching him like that. What you wouldn’t give to just… just have him right now.

“Please,” you begin. Which becomes a slew of please daddy, please, please let me touch you, please, I’m sorry that I took your suppressants, I’m sorry okay, I’m sorry Alpha, I’m sorry that I wasn’t being patient or f-focusing on you, please Alpha, please let me touch you, please, please, please, please… You don’t stop. You can’t stop. All you can do is sit there, slick drenching the sheets below you even though you’re lower half is still clothed, and plead for your alpha to fuck you.

His pale hips jerk forward and you can tell he’s really close. Would he even let you swallow it? But he stops. He stops and comes over to you, collapsing onto you, arms around your shoulders and neck. “Shoto,” you squeak, but it’s muffled by his weight falling onto you. He huffs into your ear and you just rub his back.

“Tired already,” you jest, but he’s not in the mood to play with you anymore. “Enough. I can’t cuddle my wife?” He mumbles grumpily into your shoulder before taking the flesh between his teeth. You hum, “You can always cuddle your wife, but I’d like it more if you fucked me.” He chuckles low, right below your ear. You feel it vibrating through his throat and chest. “Yea, I bet you would.”

He holds you for a little longer before pulling back, peeling his sweaty body off yours.

“Alright, I’ll give you your reward,” he smiles lazily, even showing off one side of his pearly whites. You squeal with delight. “Finally!” “Oi, settle,” he says as positions you so that he’s between your legs, spread wide, slowly pulling both pants and panties off you. Oi? “So, you’ve been on patrol with Dynami—”

“Don’t mention him,” Shoto growls. He’s been doin’ a lotta that today and you like it. A lot. “Or anyone else right now. It’s just you and me.” You nod submissively. You really should stop riling him up sometimes. But you can’t help it. You’re a cheeky little shit after all.

The relief that engulfs you once those dreadful clothes are off brings out a sigh of pleasure from you. He doesn’t make you wait any longer. He’s already at the source of your heat, lapping up your slick like it’s the elixir of life. To him, it is. You whimper and mewl as his tongue makes its’ way between your folds. It feels so warm and wet, perfect against your swollen lips. You relish in the feeling of what he’s doing to you.

Shoto eats you out like he’s been starved. Greedily, hungrily, in a frenzy. Without a break for air, he keeps going. That tongue, those long digits curling inside of you, his lips, all making you shake and mew. The whimpers and words leaving your mouth are unholy and impure, some real nasty shit. Only he can get you like this. Only he can have you saying shit like, “Fuck me however you want, daddy.” Or, “Knot in me, alpha! Breed your little omega!”

Once he’s had his fill, he moves away from your core, grabbing your hips and flipping you over, onto your stomach. His fingers are back at your folds, playing with your clit and teasing your entrance, drawing more filthy moans from you. You feel him move on top of you, straddling you. He withdraws his fingers, replacing them with what you’ve been craving for this entire time.

You moan loudly as he fills you up, completely, inch-by-inch. He groans as you draw him in, tight walls clenching around his girth. He stays still for a few moments, allowing you to get comfortable, before he sets a brutal pace. You hands are by your shoulders, gripping the sheets as he fucks you.

Your body is shaking, contorting to his every rough thrust in and out. It’s got your mind absolutely filled with how only your mate can do this to you. You can’t even form a sentence. You mewl, over and over, to the sound of your skin slapping harshly together. Your mingled groans and moans, all that dirty shit dripping from your mouths fill the room. It’s humid. Sweat coating your bodies. Your hair is stuck to your forehead. Your favourite part — besides from how tight he’s gripping your hips, likely (and hopefully) leaving bruises on your soft skin — is how deep he gets. His tip reaches that perfect spot, making your toes curl and knees bend, before he draws back out, and he does it again and again.

“Sh huff sho moan shot huff to." He grunts out in response. “Sho huff sho huff I huff.” Fuck, you can’t even get the sentence out. That’s how brain fucked, how body fucked, this man’s got you. “What?” He growls. He’s breathing hard, you can hear it, and it makes you drip even more and he can feel it. “Use your words, baby. Moan What is it?”

The filthy sounds of him pounding you fills your ears. The squelching of your juices around his length. You can’t even remember what you were trying to say. Oh! That’s right! “I-I whimper Shoto whimper Sho fuck moan I’m moan I-I’m gonna,” your voice is quiet and breathy, but he still hears you clearly.

He can feel your thighs beginning to shake, the way your pussy tightens and then releases, and he knows what you mean. “I know,” he grunts again. You continue to moan, feeling your climax coming in hard n’ fast. You gotta know if— “Just hold on for me, alright. Just huff just hold on.” You whimper in response. Not cum yet? You don’t know if you can do that. “I’ll try—”

“You will wait for me.”

Your moans and mewls get louder as you get closer, as does his growls and grunts. Even if you can’t wait for him , it doesn’t really matter, you still benefit.

He picks up the pace. You never even realised he had this kinda stamina. But, you should of known. He is THE pro hero ‘Shoto’.

It feels impossibly more pleasurable. It’s like he’s surrounding you. Every thrust is godsent. You couldn’t escape the pleasure of this moment, even if you tried. Your orgasm is building and building, threatening to crash down on you any second now.

“Shoto!” You cry out. You’ve got tears in your eyes. Your shaking, trembling, convulsing as you climax. You squeeze around him hard, sending him over the edge with you. You’re sobbing and screaming at this point, as you feel his knot swell and plunge into you. Thick, white, hot ropes spilling into you. Filling you completely with his seed. Fuck.

You ride out the high together, him rocking into you and you rocking as much as you can manage back into him. Breathing out, he leans down, pulling you back and laying you two on your sides. You groan at the movement, still experiencing those last minute tremors of your orgasm. His legs intertwine with yours, arms wrapping around you. He strokes your head, drawing you close into him as you both calm down. You sniffle and he takes this opportunity wipe the tears from your eyes.

You giggle, “Thanks, honey.” The words dampened by your sudden emotional outburst. “Anything for you, love.” He kisses the side of your forehead and moves to grab the blankets and pull them over you two, up to your chin. You snuggle back into him, hands grasping his forearms, a mindless smile spreading across your face. “You’re not done with me yet, are you?”

He remains silent for a few seconds, before groaning into your hair. It still smells like fresh cut strawberries in the midst of all the scents filling the room. “Only if you tell me where you hid my suppressants.”

“Than I’m never telling you!” You squeal. There ain’t no way you’re gonna give up this side of your alpha just yet. “Hey, that’s not what you should be saying.” His voice is low, bordering on a growl. “Sorry for not following your script.” And now you’re the one wearing a shit-eating grin.

“You know,” he shifts, now leaning over you and narrowing his doe eyes at you, “if you insist on acting up, then maybe I will just have to fuck you through this rut of mine.” “I hope you do,” you smirk even wider. “’Course you do,” he grumbles, laying back down again, nose buried in your hair.

You two lay in silence until his knot goes down, and he can finally pull out. He turn you back onto your stomach and pulls the blankets back, drawing out slowly, making you moan. His cum gushes out, further eliciting moans from you.

You can feel it dripping down your the back of your thigh. Shoto watches, enjoying the sight. Though, before he’s realise it, he’s got his fingers inside of you, finger-fucking that cum back into you. You can’t help but start whimpering and moaning even louder as you feel him fingering you.

“Shoto…”

He draws his fingers back out, letting the cum drip out again. He’s tempted to slide them back into you so that no more escapes, but he refrains from doing so, knowing that you two need to talk a bit more about kids than just “Do you want kids? Yea, I want kids. Do you? Yea, sounds good.”

He clears his throat, “I hope you’re ready, baby.” He wraps his hand around your waist and turns you over, onto your back. Your eyes find each other. The sun’s setting, illuminating how wet and dewy and bruised your soft flesh is.

You breathe out, smiling happily, “I’m ready.”

#mha smut #mha x reader #mha omegaverse #established relationship #x female reader #bnha x reader #bnha omegaverse #bnha smut #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki #alpha!shoto #alpha beta omega #shoto smut #dom!shoto #omega!reader #shoto x y/n #fem!reader

350 notes · View notes

merakiui · 3 months ago

Text

promising young man.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, one-sided student/teacher relationship, obsession, dark thoughts, jealousy, delusion, brief descriptions of blood/gore, violence, death, murder, brief nsfw note - riddle's perfect world comes crashing down with the arrival of foreign exchange student azul ashengrotto.

He meets him in Intro to Psych.

Azul Ashengrotto struggles to parse English, but he’s dressed like a businessman with his pressed suit and leather Oxfords. The only thing that reveals his status as a student is the black backpack he carries to class. Riddle’s seen him around campus a handful of times. It’s hard to miss him when he seems to throw himself into social circles with practiced grace.

This is the first time he’s ever had class with him, though, and so now he gets to see him in a classroom setting. There isn’t much about him that immediately strikes Riddle as odd. He’s well-dressed and prompt with a polite tongue. Every time he speaks in his thick accent, the one that just commands admiration and attention, that tiny Italian flag pinned to the strap of his bag becomes even more apparent.

Riddle’s not sure what he’s doing in this class. Perhaps he’s aiming to study law as well. He’d hoped to find more people with similar academic hobbies and interests and, while he’s yet to form any lasting bonds, he’s been wondering what sort of person Azul is.

On the first day of class, he introduced himself with confidence: “Buongiorno, amici. I am Azul. I look forward to the year with all of you.”

Though the structure and pronunciation of English proved awkward in his mouth, that didn’t stop him from opening himself to others. He’s friendly and outgoing, always welcoming conversation when it’s thrown his way. Riddle finds it impressive. If he were in Azul’s shoes, he’s certain he’d feel just a little lost attending school in a new country, far from home, surrounded by people who speak a completely different language. But Azul is resourceful, a dab hand at communication despite the barrier in vernacular. Perhaps that’s where his charm comes from.

Riddle thought the two of them might get along.

But then Azul proved academically formidable, and then you began to pick his brain after class, during time that was specifically reserved for Riddle so that he could discuss psychology with you.

So now Riddle sits in his seat, impatiently awaiting his chance.

“The law over in here is fascinating,” Azul says, leaning closer as you show him something on the desktop computer.

“What’s it like where you’re from?”

“Mm. How to explain… The law is…”

“It follows a civil law tradition,” Riddle pipes up, casually flipping a page in his textbook. He does it for show. He’s aware it probably makes him look like an arrogant know-it-all.

You peek past the screen at him. “Oh! Riddle, you’re still here. Hello!”

He hums, warming under your gaze. “I always am.”

“What was it you were saying about the Italian legal system?”

Azul stares at him. An unhappy frown tightens on his face.

Uplifted with pride, swimming in the clouds, Riddle elaborates: “I’ve only just started researching it, but it’s very interesting. In the realm of criminal law, trials are often led by judges or a select few to form a panel unlike the juries we have here. Of course you’ll find differences everywhere. All countries have justice systems and law enforcement. Still, it’s fascinating to compare and contrast the fine details.”

From across the room, Azul’s stink eye has never been more obvious.

“Ah, that’s right. I’ve heard a few things regarding the way cases are handled over there. From what you know, Azul, would you say the system is harsher here than it is there, or is it the other way around?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Azul says, and that polite mask of his slips for a second. “I’ve never done crime.”

Riddle snaps his book shut and rises from his seat. “Let’s hope not. You’ve a promising career ahead of you.” He smiles sweetly at Azul like he’s particularly stupid.

Azul tracks him as he packs his belongings away and strides towards the door. His brilliant blue eyes are dark. “Ci fai o ci sei?” he mutters, clicking his tongue discreetly. “Rompipalle…”

Riddle will later learn these are slang phrases. He’ll learn a lot of things later—things he thought he’d never need to learn.

Thinking it a joke, you laugh and wave your hand about dismissively. “Aren’t you going to stay, Riddle? I watched the first episode of that podcast you recommended.”

Riddle perks up at that. “You watched it?”

“This past weekend, yes. It’s a riveting series. They really dig deep into the facets of a criminal.”

“Don’t they just?” He hugs his textbook close to his chest, nearly vibrating out of his skin. Finally, the moment he’s been waiting for—an opportunity to speak with you. “I’m amazed at how much time and research goes into each episode, and they always treat each case with tact. It deserves so much praise.”

Azul glances between the two of you. Riddle is sick with satisfaction. Once more, his blue hues land on him.

“You like criminals?”

“Not in that way, of course not.” Riddle shakes his head. What a preposterous assumption. “I find their minds to be exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.”

Azul blinks back at him, owlish. He doesn’t seem to grasp most of what Riddle’s just said.

“In short, I think they’re a fine learning experience.”

“An experience? Non capisco.”

“For those wishing to pursue a career in criminal justice or law. Think of it like watching a tape from a criminal investigation. It’s important to study the interview techniques and tactics utilized by detectives to understand what’s most successful in gathering a proper confession.”

Azul nods along. “Ah, capisco.”

“We’ll cover things like that later in the semester. Don’t feel so overwhelmed, Azul.”

“I’m not. I learn as I go. Grazie, Professor. You’re very kind.”

“I’m happy to help. If you ever need anything, my office hours are on that sheet I gave you. I had a colleague of mine translate the syllabus for you. If you have any questions or need accommodations of any kind, let me know.”

“I will.” He fixes the strap of his backpack and, after bidding you a final farewell, stalks past Riddle out the door. His footsteps echo down the hall until eventually they’re no more.

“Riddle, if you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you.”

“Of course. Anything,” he says hastily, his heart stumbling in his ribs.

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you help Azul out? I notice he struggles taking notes during lectures. If you’d be willing to share your notes with me so that I can get them translated, that would be great.”

Riddle doesn’t want to share, but this is an opportunity to be praised in spades. “I’d be glad to. I’ll scan and email them after each class.”

“Thanks, Riddle. Your notes have always been so organized. This is a huge help. I’m sure Azul will be just as grateful.”

I’m not doing it for him, he thinks, bitter and envious.

But he just smiles, standing a little taller when you compliment him.

Your notes have always been so organized.

What is he getting so territorial for? He’s had you for four classes in past years. Azul’s only known you for a few measly weeks. That’s nothing compared to the special bond you have with him.

Riddle isn’t worried.

1 September, 20XX.

Dear Diary,

(Name) Rosehearts has quite the lovely ring to it. Far more musical than that of (Name) Ashengrotto. I’m almost certain he sits there in class, silently drooling over Professor. Just last week, he took my seat at the front. The gall to do such a thing! Can you imagine? He must know that seat is the best for getting a perfect view of Professor. It’s childish to bicker over seating arrangements and I refuse to stoop to his level. That said, the seat is mine. Professor’s time is mine.

I’ve deigned to share my notes, but only because Professor put such faith in my abilities by personally asking me. Even though it’s foolish, I’m tempted to sabotage the notes so that Azul will have incorrect study material. But that would be unfair and an infraction upon all that I stand for when it comes to academic fairness. Thus, I’ve refrained from doing anything of that sort. I’m certain Professor would disapprove.

It makes me happy to know Professor listens to the podcast I recommended. I wish we could discuss it at length, but Azul is always there and he takes up so much of what little time there is. It’s infuriating. I wish he would just drop out of the class. That way it will be just Professor and me, as it was intended.

Perhaps he will once the coursework comes knocking.

Sincerely,

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle slumps forward over his desk and combs his hands through his hair.

“That rotten Azul…” he sneers, his face scrunching into something sour. “He’s always monopolizing your time… Does he not realize how important it is to me—how much I look forward to talking to you? And you smile at him… You look at him with those sweet eyes of yours and he’s completely undeserving of such treatment! It never does anyone any good to be greedy, yet there he is…”

He inhales deeply, holds it for a few seconds, and then exhales.

What am I supposed to do? How can I make this right again?

Azul isn’t breaking any rules. It’s not a crime to seek you out for conversation after each class ends. But therein lies the issue. There is nothing wrong with that. It would be wrong if, say, there was an illicit exchange between the both of you. Like a taboo relationship of sorts…

Riddle startles in his seat, his eyes blown wide.

Azul isn’t having a secret affair with you, is he? Not that it could be considered cheating when you’re not yet married (and Riddle intends to keep it that way). He has a plan. When he graduates, there will be no formal barriers holding him back from starting a relationship with you. He can email you freely without the need to circle back to academics. He can invite you for tea or coffee and the two of you can chat about things that aren’t school, and it won’t be weird or overstepping boundaries. Because he won’t be your student anymore. He’ll be Riddle, your former student. And former students have better odds than current students, do they not?

He’s thought it out carefully. He was raised to be responsible, to do everything right.

And though he’s thought of it in passing—considered what might happen if he were to try to play at being a seductive siren—he’d never truly act on such folly. But Azul… It isn’t too impossible to theorize he might be sleeping with you for a better grade. What if he’s forced you into it? What if he has some sort of wicked blackmail? What if you’re holed up in your office every day, scared for your career, while Azul bends you over the desk and uses that boyish charm of his, that silky-smooth accent, to coax the sweetest of sounds from—

Riddle shakes himself free of that thought. He’s not going to imagine it any further. He doesn’t need to be plagued with graphic imagery, gross as it may be.

Even though he chases the fantasy from his brain, it returns to poke at him. He gazes at his lap, noticing the substantial strain in his pajamas, and groans.

It would be easier if he wasn’t where he is now. Logically, he’s aware he doesn’t have much of a chance. Neither does Azul. Unless he’s sleeping with you in secret. Then he has a chance. But he’s not. He can’t. That’s against the rules.

And even if he was, it wouldn’t be very fair for him to do the very thing Riddle’s abstained from.

His hand closes around his dick. He feels pitiful as he pumps himself to scandalous visions.

It’s not fair.

He should have a chance. In a perfect world, he’d have you. He’s earned this, hasn’t he? He’s worked so hard. So why isn’t he allowed to have you?

It’s not fair.

Why does Azul get to relish in your attention when Riddle’s left alone in the shadows? Why can’t you look at him like you used to? Why can’t you praise him for knowing all the answers? Why can’t you tell him good work when he does just that? Why must you coddle Azul? Riddle thinks he can speak perfect English. He’s just playing it up to look weak and pathetic—to garner your sympathy!

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

He’s the good one. The one with perfect marks. The one with perfect attendance. The one every professor holds in high regard.

Riddle squeezes himself and sucks in a breath through grit teeth.

He’s not funny like Azul. He doesn’t have that awkward charm Azul has. He can’t speak another language fluently. He’s never traveled out of the country. He thinks he knows everything, but he only knows so much.

He can fascinate you with the intricacies of his mind, each fold primed for education, but Azul can do better because he has social experience.

Riddle can’t believe it. He, of all people, is jealous of someone.

Cum oozes from his dick and coats his fingers in a pearly-white. It isn’t satisfying.

Right then, he thinks his world would be better if Azul stayed in Italy.

Or maybe it would be better if Azul wasn’t in his world at all.

On his way out of class, Riddle stops Azul in an empty corridor.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

He blinks back, oblivious. And then he smiles, revealing a row of perfect teeth. “What I’m doing?”

Riddle won’t say it. He can’t. Because then he’d be admitting the truth Azul’s trying to pry from his heart, whether that’s his intention or not.

“You know very well what you’re doing.”

A silent head tilt is his reply.

His temper is nearing its boiling point. It’s been on a low simmer ever since Azul first bewitched you, and it’s threatening to spill over.

“I see the way you and Professor look at each other during class. You may think it discreet, but I know.” Riddle folds his arms over his chest, feeling very proud of himself for successfully playing Sherlock. “I can tell there’s nothing formal about it. So how long has this been going on? How long have you been flouting the rules?”

Azul stares at him. His shoulders shake with his chuckle. “You’re funny.”

Riddle startles. His accent—

“I’m here to learn just as you are. What I do outside of the classroom is none of your business, so it would please me greatly if you could stop prying.”

His eyes narrow into vicious slits. “If you lay a hand on—”

“Oh, I’ve done more than that.” Azul smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in his sweater vest. The same brand of sweater vest that Riddle wears. “But you have no proof. The courts here will want that, won’t they? Or is it harsher here? Will you need to peer inside Professor to see for yourself? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never committed a crime.”

Disgust pools in his stomach. He feels like he could vomit, and it isn’t because he’s appalled by the conspiracy Azul’s proposed. It’s because he should’ve been the one to do it if it was that easy. Instead, he musters a mean glare.

“Who are you, Ashengrotto? What do you want?”

“I’m just a student like you. I want to learn lots from Professor.” He brushes past Riddle, his voice a melodious hum. “And some things can’t be taught in the classroom.”

Riddle opens his mouth to let the angry tirade fall, but he chokes on the words. There’s so much he wants to say, but all of it will come out accusatory. And that’s where Azul has him pinned. It’s all baseless accusation.

He doesn’t want to believe it. Surely you wouldn’t… It’s impossible! An academic and social infringement! It’s wrong!

It should’ve been him.

Later that evening, cooped up in his room, Riddle scrawls furious lines in his diary: He’s a liar. A cheat. An embarrassment to this institution. I should be the one who holds Professor. I should be there in Azul’s place. I’ve worked so hard. I deserve it. I’ve earned it!

He can’t let this madness go on any longer. He won’t tolerate it.

Looking at it logically, Riddle has illustrated the negatives and the positives in his notebook.

If Azul’s insinuations are true, then all Riddle needs is valid evidence. Unfortunately, that would mean you might lose your job given the circumstances. If it’s consensual, both of you are equally at fault. If it’s not, Riddle hopes Azul will burn in a terrible blaze.

But if you do happen to lose your job, it would relieve some of the weight burdening his situation. He could start a real relationship with you. It’s plausible! Perhaps not very realistic, but there’s always a shred of hope to be found in misfortune.

Riddle wonders if he should just ask you and save himself the headache.

He gazes sidelong at Azul, who has since claimed that seat for his own, and chances a glance at his open notes.

That’s Riddle’s handwriting.

He’s sure of it. That’s his handwriting. He writes his notes in cursive. He writes in a perfect, elegant slant. His letters always connect. There’s no denying it; that’s his handwriting on the page.

A disturbing thought crosses his mind: Has Azul been practicing my handwriting?

It sounds impossibly silly. Who would devote so much time to something so witlessly fraudulent? Riddle wracks his brain for a reasonable explanation. Why would he need to practice someone else’s handwriting? Riddle could understand if Azul struggled to write in English. Most of his work is submitted in his native language. You allow this exception even though Riddle finds it unfair. Maybe it’s because you treat Azul’s work like it’s something special, and you jump through all of these hoops just to get it translated. Why can’t you treat his work with that same amount of care?

Riddle drags his pen along the page, scribbling mindlessly. Why is he doing that? He has nothing to gain from writing like me.

But then Riddle realizes the notebook is the same as his. The same color, in fact. He wonders when Azul purchased a new one. Did he purchase a new one, or has he always had this one?

Riddle looks down at his notebook.

That’s Azul’s handwriting.

He blinks twice and rubs frantically at his eyes. When he looks back at Azul’s notebook, it’s to a page filled with Azul’s stylish scrawl.

Have I…been copying him this entire time?

No, surely not! He would never plagiarize. That’s one of the biggest sins of academia. He couldn’t live with himself if he did that!

Besides, he’s not the copycat. It’s Azul in his sweater vest, boasting the same writing implements as Riddle, using the same brand of notebook. Riddle’s not copying him. It’s Azul. It must be.

It can’t be Riddle. He’d never do such a thing.

After class, you call Riddle up to your desk. He hesitates, his heart thrumming wildly, and shuffles over.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Riddle, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.” You withdraw last week’s assignment from a folder and set it down. “You wrote this, did you not?”

Riddle scans the typed document. “I did, yes.”

“May I ask if the Italian was intentional?”

“The Italian?” he parrots, confused. “I don’t understand what—”

In between brilliantly articulated paragraphs, he’s sprinkled in Italian words and phrases.

He coughs out a rattled laugh. “I must have been studying it for another assignment before I did yours. I…can’t believe this happened. It was fully unintentional. I’m very sorry.”

His face is flushed cherry-red. He’s never felt more humiliated.

“It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to ask. It definitely confused me.” You take the paper from him, smiling that understanding smile he loves so much. But then, rather intrusively, he wonders how many times those soft-looking lips have been on Azul, wrapped around him, sending him to cloud nine… “I actually asked Azul to translate it for me. He said all of it was written correctly. You must be very adept in your Italian.”

“I… I suppose I am,” he answers after a tense minute.

His brain is swirling like sediment stirred up on the ocean floor. When did I pick up Italian? I’m not taking any language courses this semester. I don’t even own an Italian dictionary… Just what in the world is happening?

“Ah, you don’t have to look so pale! It’s not going to affect your grade. I only wanted to fulfill this nagging curiosity of mine. Thank you for all the good work you do.”

Riddle nods mechanically. When you ask if he has time to stick around and discuss more psychology podcasts, he shakes his head and mumbles a feeble excuse.

He tears through his desk and all of the drawers in his room in search of it. If it’s not there, he can relax. If it’s not there, he can chalk it up to stress. If it’s not there—

It’s tucked away in his bookshelf. A little pocket dictionary. English to Italian. And it’s been bookmarked and annotated.

Riddle pulls it from the shelf in a baffled daze. When did he get his hands on this? More importantly, when did he read through it? In a hurry, he empties the contents of his backpack and flips a few pages in his notebook.

His notes from class. Dated for today. Written in Azul’s script. And at the top of the page, an exact copy of his signature, a name that isn’t Riddle’s: Azul Ashengrotto.

Riddle peers at his trembling hands. He flexes his fingers, curls them into a fist and then unfurls them.

He seizes his psychology textbook next and skims the chapter index in search of an answer. He lands on it. Page 371. Dissociation.

Two minutes into a phone call with Trey, he’s asked a simple question: “Are you speaking with an accent?”

Riddle bristles. “Of course I’m not. Of…course I am not,” he says, sounding the words out. His brow furrows. Why does my tongue feel so clumsy in my mouth? “I’ve always spoken this way, have I not?”

“I can’t say. I mean, come on, Riddle. You’ve gotta be pulling my leg.”

“You know very well I don’t pull legs, Trey.”

“You told me buongiorno when I picked up.”

“I did not!” he snaps, scandalized. “I said good morning as I always do.” And then he pauses. “I… I did say good morning, didn’t I?”

Trey’s silence is answer enough.

Riddle sucks in a sharp breath. Neither of them says anything.

Eventually, Trey speaks. “Do you want me to come up there? I could bring you a tart or…something. You sound…tired.” He chooses his words carefully. “Silly question, I know, but I’ve gotta ask. You’re not overworking yourself?”

“No, not at all.”

“And you’re getting enough sleep? What about food?”

Riddle frowns even though Trey isn’t there to see it. “I’m fine, Trey. Midterms are coming up. I’ve got to focus. I refuse to fail.”

Again, the other end is quiet. A minute later, Trey says, “Do you have time this weekend?”

“This weekend?” Riddle flips his planner open to this week. “I do.”

“All right. Is it cool if I visit?”

Riddle almost declines, so it surprises both him and Trey when he replies with, “Please.”

“I’ll be there,” he promises, and the call ends before Riddle can say grazie.

Trey brings six strawberry tarts. Riddle shares three with him over tea at the campus café.

“So what’s up?” Trey points his fork at Riddle. “You sound like yourself, but you don’t seem…fine.”

Riddle chews thoughtfully. He can’t confide in Trey because Trey wouldn’t understand. Because he’d apply Trey Logic to everything, and Trey Logic is almost always sensible. Riddle doesn’t want to hear it.

“I submitted an assignment in Italian,” he says instead, casually, as if it’s not a big deal.

Trey looks at him like he’s grown a third eye. “Since when do you know Italian?”

“I dabble.”

Trey laughs. Upon seeing Riddle’s serious expression, the humor sticks in his throat. “Oh, you meant that. Well. That’s…good then? If it’s for a foreign language course—”

“It was for psychology.”

“You…wrote in Italian…for a psychology assignment?” he reiterates, attempting to parse it. He drags his fork through his cut of tart, but he doesn’t bring it to his lips. “Why?”

“I couldn’t say. It perplexed me to no end when I realized it. My professor thought it was curious.”

“It is. I mean, you don’t find that just a little…unusual?”

Riddle stares at him over the rim of his teacup.

Trey tries again. “Was the Italian correct, at least? It wasn’t all nonsense?”

He nods. “It was as if I was translating and switching between words. Like using the Italian word in place of an English word.”

“Huh…”

“It’s not very impressive. I can do much better than that.”

“I’m not doubting your capabilities. I’m just…trying to understand why.”

Riddle smiles. “Why not? I think it’s very good to study another language. It opens more doors for opportunity, and it’s a challenge that proves rewarding in the end.”

“Is that it?”

“Precisely.”

The conversation comes to an abrupt halt there. Trey changes the subject. They chat the afternoon away.

Later, Riddle returns to his diary.

He writes an entire entry in perfect Italian. Workbooks pile up on his desk; he’s not sure when they got there. He’s filling them out so fast his hand gains new calluses.

Azul visits your office around the same time Riddle used to. Now it’s Riddle who trails after him, hoping to catch him in the middle of a nefarious scheme. He’s not sure he’s ready for whatever he might learn, but he swallows his rage and carries on.

Azul turns just as Riddle ducks around the corner, perfectly out of sight. He waits until he hears the tell-tale click of those pristine Oxfords against linoleum before continuing. Azul walks right past your office and then he’s gone. Looking both ways, Riddle creeps further down the hall.

Where is he?

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whirls around, startled, and is about to unleash verbal tyranny when he stops short. You stand there, looking positively puzzled.

“Are you looking for something, Riddle?”

“No… I—” He cuts himself off. “Actually, I was hoping I might discuss something with you. The final project.”

“Oh, of course! Did you come earlier? I stepped out of my office for a second. Sorry if my absence had you looking all over.”

Riddle falls into step with you. “It’s quite all right.”

He’s not sure what he hopes to find by sitting in front of your desk, gazing at the familiar interior of your office. He manages to get through all of the questions you ask him regarding the final project.

“I have too many ideas,” he lies, “and I’d like assistance in narrowing the topics down to one.”

He glances slyly at the floor. Would Azul be bold enough to hide a voice recorder or a camera somewhere? Or is there something of Azul’s left in here? A cheeky means of marking his territory, maybe?

Riddle turns up empty.

He stalls the conversation expertly for ten more minutes. During that time, he can’t locate anything from his semi-thorough observations.

Maybe it’s hidden in your desk. Maybe there’s nothing at all.

No. No, there has to be something.

He thanks you for your help and, shouldering his backpack, leaves.

Just as he turns down the hall, Azul steps into his path.

“Your mind is exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.” He snickers like a devil. Riddle wants to punch him. “So many ideas. Where do you have the space for all of that?”

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”

“Oh, is that so?” Azul taps at his phone and then turns the screen towards Riddle. There’s a picture of him in the hall, looking awfully disoriented. “It’s not very polite to stalk now, is it, amico?”

Riddle narrows his eyes. “How easily that accent comes. Almost like flipping a switch.”

“Non capisco.”

“You should know you’re going to ruin your life and Professor’s.”

“I’m not.” He smiles cryptically. “You’re going to ruin it for me.”

Fed up with his attempt at mind chess, Riddle stalks past him in a huff.

You walk into class five minutes late, disheveled and breathless. You’re babbling about a meeting that ran late, but Riddle can’t trust that.

Meetings don’t end in frazzled hair and crooked ties.

What’s even more damning, perhaps, is when Azul Never-Late-to-Class Ashengrotto walks in fifteen minutes after you. He sits in the seat beside Riddle. There’s not a hair out of place on his person. Except there is. The glass face of his luxury wristwatch is smudged with a fingerprint.

Riddle wonders what forensics would have to say about that.

He phases in and out of focus during the lecture. He can’t stop searching you for fine details. He can’t stop questioning Azul’s presence beside him.

How dare you? he thinks. How dare you defile my professor? What makes you think you have the right to do such a thing when I’ve been working hard all this time? When I’ve been nothing but perfect…

He glances at his notebook. A single phrase has been scrawled over and over, so manically that the lines loop and overlap in angry criss-crosses. Lo voglio morto.

At the end of class, Riddle catches Azul in the hall.

“I would like to review with you for our upcoming midterm.”

“What an honor.”

Riddle hums. “Let’s compare our notes tonight. You can stop by my room after dinner.”

Azul grins like he can read through Riddle. Like he’s in on a joke Riddle’s not privy to.

“I would be happy to study alongside you,” he says, his accent thick.

Riddle imagines a rope around his neck. A rope of thorns and barbed wire, pressing into his jugular until, inevitably, it severs his head clean off.

Azul arrives on time. He really does feel like an echo of Riddle. Same school supplies. Same notebooks. Same fashion style. Same manner of writing.

Riddle shuts and locks the door behind him. He doesn’t waste time waltzing around the subject.

“You’re the reason Professor was late today.”

“You’re mistaken. I simply lost track of the time.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is? I had nothing to do with Professor’s tardiness. If it bothers you so much, why not tell Professor to be more conscious of the time?”

Riddle grits his teeth. He’s sick of this. Sick of these mind games. Sick of all this mental chess.

Sick of the fact that he gets to have you when you should have been Riddle’s from the start!

“You’re a liar! Do you know the gravity of your actions—the severe consequences that’ll undoubtedly befall Professor? Do you know you’re jeopardizing a brilliant mind all for your own immature fun?”

Azul holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Those are harsh accusations. They could ruin my life, you know.”

“Oh, like that’s such an issue.” Riddle scowls.

“Your room is quite nice, I must say.” Azul looks around, his hands in his pockets. He spies the many Italian workbooks lining Riddle’s shelf, and a slimy smirk pulls at his lips. “Imitatore,” he marvels, his eyes bright with an eerie sort of joy. As if he’s just discovered a particularly filthy secret and can’t wait to tell someone.

“If it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”

“And what makes you think Professor would ever entertain you?” Azul rounds on him, still smiling. “Professor loves me most. There was never any room for you.”

Riddle hears the distant crackle of something fraying. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? All I did was take your best characteristics and make them even better. Italian lovers are a romanticized ideal abroad. You were never an option, let alone a consideration.”

How dare you. How dare you. How dare you!

Azul steps towards the door. “Addio. Le mie condoglianze.”

That something inside Riddle finally snaps, and with it goes his restraint. He grabs Azul’s wrist and yanks him to the floor. There’s a struggle for survival. During the scuffle, Azul claws at Riddle’s arm and face. Riddle kicks him down. And then his fingers wrap around his psychology textbook—all 800-something pages, a hardcover—and he brings it down, brutal like a guillotine.

“How dare you walk away in the middle of a conversation!” he berates, lips curled in a monstrous sneer. “How dare you touch what isn’t yours—what you didn’t earn!”

He thinks he sees a real smile on Azul’s face, but in the midst of blind rage he can’t tell.

He sees red. He feels red. It splatters his room in a mess of broken bone and pulpy gore. It flecks his face, warm and thick and soupy.

It all ends with Intro to Psych.

Riddle is bathed in blue light, afloat on a chaotic sea.

Distantly, in the back of his mind, he can hear his mother in hysterics: What have you done?! Do you have any idea what you’ve just done—the future you’ve so carelessly thrown away?! All of my hard work?! Do you realize what you’ve done?!

And he does.

If there’s anything Riddle has ever been one-hundred-percent certain of in his life, it’s this. He sits on the steps to his dormitory, battered and bloodied, and bites into the strawberry tart clutched between crimson-stained fingers.

Despite the crisp autumn air, he feels warm.

An officer approaches him just as he’s licking his fingers clean of strawberry and blood.

He holds his arms out before the woman can say anything. He already knows what comes next.

Riddle has always wondered what criminals think and feel in the aftermath of grisly crimes. He can’t feel much of anything other than hollow relief. Maybe that’s just the adrenaline snuffing logical thought and remorse. He thinks everything and nothing all at once. He’s sure he’ll feel it all come crashing down when he’s sat in the station for questioning and then the reality of his actions will seep in, awakening him from a vile, murderous dream.

Right now, he isn’t concerned with that.

You lived filthy and you died just the same, Riddle thinks as he’s led to a police car. And now there’s no part of you Professor will ever want.

#happy very belated birthday rido <3 #yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle rosehearts x reader #yandere riddle x reader #yandere riddle #tw: student teacher relationship #tw: death #tw: murder #tw: blood #tw: violence

353 notes · View notes

dokyccis · 1 year ago

Text

jaemin watches you with love overflowing his big eyes, enjoying the adorable scene of you playing with his kitties in his bed.

you’re recording a cute video of luke climbing up on you, finding cute the way jaemin’s cats got used to you so quickly. you giggle as you observe the hairy and tiny kitten lay peacefully on top of you, almost closing his little eyes out of sleepiness.

as you let luke relax on your chest, you pat luna’s head when she approaches you to jump in your legs, making you laugh with the sudden attitude. “you’re unpredictable, huh?” you say, smiling to luna.

you had sparkles in your eyes as you played with the little kitties present in the room, loving the way they were treating you like you were another version of jaemin.

“oh, lucy!” you quickly take luke out of your chest and luna out of your legs, standing up from the bed to approach lucy on the desktop. “don’t bite the computer, baby! that’s expensive, your dad would be mad at you.” you explain as you take her in your hands, holding her like a real baby.

jaemin gets up from the armchair standing in the corner of his room, going straight up to you and lucy. “you were trying to bite my computer, miss lucy?” he asks, burying his face in her white fur to give her a sweet kiss.

you hand jaemin the kitty in your arms, watching him baby it like it was the most precious thing in the earth, because for him, his cats are the most adorable things to ever exist. but, obviously, after you.

jaemin places lucy in his bed along with her siblings, lucy and luke. he turns around to you again and grabs your waist, looking at you with so much passion.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, surrounding his neck with your arms.

“you’re always so careful and loving with my kids.” you laugh with the way he refers to the kitties.

“of course i am, those are my boyfriend’s precious kids, how can’t i be careful and loving?” you smile, mesmerizing jaemin for, maybe, the millionth time in the day.

he leans in and leaves a sweet kiss in your lips, you don’t hesitate to kiss him back. your hands go straight to his nape as you deepen the kiss in pure passion.

both of you didn’t have any second intentions, you were just enjoying the moment, the vibe and each other’s warmth.

you pull away of jaemin’s lips, smiling before feeling a fluffy aspect tickle in your ankle. you look down to see luke looking up at you with big black eyes, and you melt with the adorable figure.

“oh, come on! luke, the girlfriend is mine, not yours!” jaemin looks down to scold the kitty, who was already trying to climb up your leg to play with you.

you absolutely love spending time with jaemin, specially when his kitties are there too.

#— ✦ :: on your lin !! < 3 #jaemin fluff #jaemin x reader #jaemin scenarios #jaemin imagines #nct dream fluff #nct fluff #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #lulu ★ing neo!

2K notes · View notes

cyberseong · 5 months ago

Text

day off.

pairing: wooyoung x f!reader

genre: smut, established relationship

warnings/topics: there is like no plot, dom!wooyoung, slight degradation, oral sex/blowjob, handjob, accidental exhibitionism, y/n is kind of a brat, mentioned yunho and san, unprotected sex, wooyoung is a gamer bf basically

a/n: i have not been writing at all because i’ve been so busy oops. this was something i wrote quickly so there may be errors or typos, but enjoy! notes/reblogs are appreciated!

wc: 1k

“i’ll be off soon love... just a few more rounds, and we’ll call it a night,” he reasoned repeatedly— you felt bad asking him for his attention so many times, especially when you knew his friends had been eager to speak to him just as much as you did. you were all busy people, but you couldn’t help but feel like they were cutting into the time you two usually spent alone.

the time read 10:00 PM when you decided you had enough of waiting on wooyoung. if you had to take his attention from his screen physically, you weren’t going to hesitate to do so; even if san and yunho also had to experience the consequence. you quietly slid under wooyoung’s desk, pausing to see if that would warrant a reaction. to your luck, you went unnoticed; wooyoung was too busy yelling at yunho for something he had done in-game to even realize where you were.

it wasn’t until he felt his sweatpants being tugged on that he snapped his neck downwards, looking in between his legs in surprise; you gave him nothing but a small smile and a head tilt as if you had not the slightest idea of what he might’ve been staring at you so hard for. His attention didn’t stay on you long, so as soon as his eyes locked back onto his screen, you put in the rest of the effort to drop his pants to the floor and push his legs apart just slightly so you would have easier access to what was in between them. you snickered upon seeing he wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath his pants. nevertheless, you caressed his tip lightly just to tease him. you could see a glimpse of wooyoung’s face from where you were under the desk; he bit his lip whenever he wasn’t talking through his mic in an attempt to keep san and yunho unsuspecting of anything. he hissed as your hand eventually began to stroke his now-erect length, using his precum as a lubricant. you made sure to maintain an agonizingly slow pace and then speed up as soon as he was required to speak into his mic.

“san, to your– fuck– your left, hold on–” wooyoung quickly muted his microphone, even as he heard san and yunho asking if he was alright through his headset. he had to stifle a groan as he felt a wetness around his cock; he changed his gaze to meet yours, and then he realized it was your mouth that had suddenly taken him in whole.

“fuck, y/n, what’s up with you today? so needy that you couldn’t have waited a few more minutes?” he furrowed his eyebrows as he took the headset off his head and roughly sat it on the desktop, his veiny hand then gripping your hair and pulling your head back to ensure you were listening to his words and taking in the expression laid upon his face. he stood up from his chair, signaling for you to get out from under the desk. once you were within reach, wooyoung lifted you by your waist and legs, throwing you over his shoulders before nearly throwing you onto the mattress that was adjacent to his computer. the game was still running, and yunho and san were still playing, but all 4 of you knew wooyoung wasn’t getting back on that game tonight.

wooyoung quickly stripped you out of your clothing, creating a pile of them on the floor in a matter of seconds. He wasn’t angry, but the slight annoyance that coated his actions and expressions just made you shudder; you loved seeing him like that. his hands worked quickly as he flipped you onto your stomach, positioning your body so your ass was in the air and your head was being pushed into the sheets by his one hand. he didn’t even make an effort to locate his lube as you were already dripping over his bed. his other hand rested on your lower back as he bottomed out into you immediately, not even giving you a chance to adjust; not that you needed one, anyway.

“fuck, w-woo, faster please,” you moaned, which was muffled by the soft fabric that was repeatedly pushing against your lips.

“why so demanding? i don’t think you're in a place to boss me around y/n, hm?” wooyoung teased, keeping his thrusts short and fast, his hand now holding a tight grip on your hip. you were sure it would leave a mark later, and the thought of that alone was pushing you closer to your release.

wooyoung’s thighs began to tremble as he could feel the familiar pressure build up in the pit of his abdomen; his thrusts eventually becoming sloppier and less precise than before. his small high-pitched moans gave it away that he was nearing his climax.

“wooyoung, fuck, i’m so close–” you moaned loudly before reaching your high, clenching around wooyoung’s dick; which resulted in him cumming as well.

he gently pulled out of you, falling back onto the mattress and taking a moment to catch his breath. he was about to praise you for doing so well for him until he heard a faint voice from his headset speaker.

“i think he just might’ve intended to mute…” yunho giggled, even though his ears were beet red from hearing everything from the last half an hour.

“i mean, it was hot… but fuck, he made us lose this round. my rank went down again…” san sighed, leaning back into his chair after leaving the lobby.

“no, i think you just suck at the game, san.”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez x reader #atz smut #atz x reader #wooyoung fic #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x y/n #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung smut

315 notes · View notes

bits-and-babs · 1 year ago

Text

✦ 𝐁𝐔𝐙𝐙 𝐁𝐔𝐙𝐙 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 3: PHONE SEX

johnny mactavish x reader | smut, 18+ | 1.3k words

summary: on leave, johnny can't resist pestering you while you're at work. or perhaps he just can't resist you...

cw: f!reader, sexting, dirty talk, voyeurism(?), begging, masturbation (m & f), orgasm denial, inferred voyeurism. this one made me blush.

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 4: APHRODISIACS ⇾

❝You look so good right now. I can’t actually see you, but I assume you look good because you always do.❞

A grin splits across your lips as you read the text that lights up your phone screen. It lays next to your keyboard on your desk, the lock screen a photo of you and Johnny on holiday in Spain. The sky brings out the blue in Johnny’s eyes– or what you can see of them. They’re almost crinkled shut as he laughs at you, having pushed the icecream you’d both been sharing into your face, creamy white gelato smeared across your nose.

Peering over your desktop screen, you make sure no one in the office is looking as you pick your phone up. Donna has her eyes firmly on an excel spreadsheet that looks far more like an ancient language than it does data she can make sense of, and Peter has left his desk to make what you could only assume was his signature, watered down cups of tea that made you gag when you tried them. Before he could come back and catch you red handed, you tap your password into the phone, unlocking it to respond to the cheeky text message.

It was odd to get a message like this now. Texts like these were usually reserved for when Johnny was on deployment, off in some God forsaken sandy wasteland where bullets would fly past his head and threaten to steal him from you. Instead, he was on leave, no doubt sitting on the sofa with his PS4 controller in hand, yelling commands to his makeshift squadron. You’d be home in a few hours – an office job wasn’t quite as long and treacherous as a place on the special forces.

“Can’t last 7.5 hours without me? x”

You smile to yourself as you hit send, turning your attention back to the work on your desktop before noticing how quickly the ‘ … ‘ speech bubble appears above the keyboard in your chat. It takes barely a couple of seconds before Soap replies.

Bzz.

“Go in the bathroom and take a picture of you touching your pretty pussy. Please? xoxo”

It’s ridiculous, the way such a simple text sets your body alight. The warmth prickles in your stomach, settles between your thighs as you try to reason with yourself. Lunch was two hours away, and you had no doubt that Johnny would keep pestering you until you finally gave in to his pleadi–

Bzz.

“Please? xoxoxoxox”

Chuckling to yourself, you lock your computer and stand from your desk. As casually as you can manage given you were soaking your panties, you inform Donna that you need a bathroom break. Making a note to pat yourself on the back for working so hard and earning her trust, you grin and offer a quiet thank you when she nods her head in dismissal.

As you try to hurry to the bathroom without catching anyone’s attention, you can feel your phone buzzing in your hand.

Bzz.

Bzz, bzz, bzz.

Biting back a stupid grin, you ignore his pining text messages entirely and head straight for the call button, pressing your phone to your ear as you enter the single stall bathroom and lock the door behind you.

It takes two trills of the phone before Johnny answers. You’re surprised– you expected him to hit the answer button halfway through the first.

The first thing you hear is the sound of skin on skin, wet, sloppy sounds of Johnny working his cock in his hand as he groans your name down the receiver.

“Fuuckkk. Yer a dirty girl, bonnie. Leavin’ yer desk to touc–”

“Shut the fuck up, Johnny,” you breathe, malice lacking in your voice as you quickly pull the hem of your skirt up to your hips, leaning against the wall and burying your hand underneath the waistband of your panties.

“But– Fuck– I wanna taste you,” Johnny continues pining for you, making your clit throb as you roll it beneath your fingertips with an airy sigh. Johnny sounds far more unhinged on the end of the phone, crackly audio punctuated with heavy, needy gasps of bliss and the slick sound of him fucking into his hand over and over.

“You sound so needy, Johnny,” you coo quietly, pinching your clit and feeling the warmth of your arousal trickle through your nerves when you hear Soap groan desperately.

“Jesus– Yer bein’ so fuckin’ mean t’me,” he complains weakly, the sound of his thrusts getting louder and quicker over his slurred protests. “Feels so fuckin’ good, Bonnie. Wanna feel you ‘round me.”

Slowly burying your fingers inside your slick cunt, you whimper softly as you grind your clit into the heel of your palm. It’s not enough. Nothing is enough after having Johnny. His months away on deployment are torture, no technique or toys enough to bring the same bliss he consistently pulled from you each and every time you fell into bed together. Or the sofa, or the shower, or the kitchen counterto–

“Need you t’come home, Bonnie. Need you t’come home and sit on my face. Cannae wait all day for ye to come back home,” the timbre in Johnny’s voice is hoarse. It burns something sinful deep down in your gut, pleasure arcing with another circle of your clit.

“What if I just left you there?” You muse quietly, careful not to be too loud incase anyone was passing by, “What if I clocked off after work and went for dinner with that guy on the payments team… What’s his name, Darren?”

You’re grinning halfway through your teasing comment, hearing Johnny spluttering in complaint.

“Bonnie–”

“Or… You could behave. Could wait for me to come home without interr-upting my work,” you hiccup, dangerously close to cumming when you felt the beginning of your orgasm zing up the base of your spine. You arch your hips away from your palm despite your clit’s throb of complaint, squeezing your eyes shut and bracing your voice to sound steady. “And when I come home, I’ll ride you while you play your game. You can be on mic, and Gaz and your friend’ll hear you struggle to keep it together. Hear how fucking wet I sound when you put your dick in me.”

“Steamin’ fuckin’ Jesus–” Johnny wheezed, the sound of him fucking his hand hastening at your filthy offer. “Hah–”

“You can’t cum, though,” you urge him quickly, grinning at the sound of his desperate wail when the sounds suddenly stopped altogether. It was replaced by the sound of Johnny’s heaving breaths, quiet moans of complaint. You could imagine him now, sprawled out across the sofa, grey sweats around his ankles. He’d have his face buried in the crook of an elbow, cock flushed like his cheeks while bobbing up and down in protest and drooling precum onto his stomach.

“Stay right there, just like that,” you breathe, excitement bubbling in your chest at the sound of his struggle, “Text Gaz and tell him to be online at 17:30.”

“Fuck,” Johnny slurs, and the sound sparks something so visceral in you that it threatens to spark an orgasm all on its own. “S’fuckin’ torture.”

“I know, baby. I’ll make it worth it,” you promise him, ending the call before the sound of his keens made you cum.

An hour or two later, sitting at your desk and vaguely focusing on the spreadsheets of information that were all beginning to blur together, your phone buzzes with another text. This time, a picture is attached.

“Still here.”

Johnny’s laying on the sofa, lips raw from gnawing on them in what you could only assume was an attempt to restrain himself. His cock is rock hard, bright red and angry with its neglect as it drools a wet pool of precum across his abs and down his shaft, exactly as you’d predicted.

You’ve never been so excited for clocking off.

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee @crissteetee67 @sylvanasthebansheequeen @akaym2 @exploremyworldsm @thriving-n-jiving @su57 @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @tusk89 @bellasbees01 @dog55teeth

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @babychoi03 @infectedkura @allekat1988 @whore-for-anime @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @mockerycrow @cyberpr1m3 @i-love-ghost @allekat1988 @infectedkura @babychoi03 @freakquenci @maviee @yunggoblin @sleepystaarr @watyousayin @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @damn-dean-blog @pheonyxmoon @magicalreviewphantom @limegreenbabx @johfaam0 @iaur @justsayk

@bloodmoon-bites @wiltedwonderland @doggydale @limegreenbabx @namelesshumanperson @ninahhh-brahh

938 notes · View notes