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always-just-red · 1 month ago

Note

A multi-headcanon request please. How the boys react when they discover their s/o has been hiding a wound from them because she had it under control and didn't want to give them something else to worry about

Hi! Thanks so much for the request and all the support! Have written a little fic for each of the guys, starring... - Xavier, Deepspace Hunter extraordinaire ✨ - Linkon's worst best baking partner, Zayne 🍪 - Drama queen Rafayel 👑 - King of self-care, Sylus 💅

Putting On A Brave Face

L&DS Boys x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, a certain hunter likes to say things are fine when they definitely aren't...

Genre: A lil bit of angst, mostly fluff + comfort!

Warnings/Additional tags: female reader, established relationship, swearing, canon pet names, some injury details/blood mentioned, teeeeency bit of suggestion (I'm looking at YOU, Sylus...)

| Word count: 4k (1k each!) | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Xavier ⭐

This is bad. Not ‘end of everything as we know it’ bad, but definitely ‘an obscene amount of paperwork’ bad.

You clutch one of your pistols to your chest— deep breath— and you listen carefully, your head leant back against the rock you’re using as cover. Your mind latches on to every sound: each growl, each rumble of earth that marks the movements of the Wanderers that have trapped you here.

You’ve fought worse odds, but then again, you don’t usually have to do it with a broken leg.

Or maybe just sprained? You shift a little, trying to move, and the pain that sears through you settles the debate in an instant. Your teeth sink into the back of your hand to keep you from crying out.

You hope Xavier’s ok. You sent him your co-ordinates minutes ago, and the lack of response has worry gnawing away at the deepest parts of you. You check your hunter’s watch.

Still nothing.

Another deep breath, and you readjust your position as much as you can. Balancing on your good leg, you manage to peer over the top of the rock to get a visual of your surroundings.

There’s four, no— five Wanderers. Stupid no-hunt zone; you’re never not outnumbered.

You can see your second pistol, abandoned in the middle of the clearing where you’d dropped it. There’s flickers of movement, too: further in the woods. More Wanderers. Shit.

You duck behind the rock you’re starting to think might be your new home. Then your watch flickers, broadcasting a map of the area, and there’s the co-ordinates of another hunter, closing in fast.

Something flashes in the clearing, lighting the dark of the forest like a stutter of lightning. Then again. Then again. There’s a blood-curdling roar, and it ends— abrupt— with another flash.

Everything goes silent, save for a familiar voice calling your name.

“Xavier!” you call back.

You peek over the rock to see your partner jogging towards you, dead Wanderers littered behind him. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soft as always, but his sword is still dripping blood.

“I’m ok.” You clamber up, using the rock as a seat when the small effort almost breaks you. “You?”

Xavier draws close— his gloved hands on your face, cupping your cheeks. His thumb grazes over a shallow scrape on your brow. “Yeah,” he answers.

“Did you find that weird Wanderer?”

He shakes his head: no. Steps back to check his watch. “It’s probably moved on to a different zone by now.”

“Then we should look for it,” you say, standing up. All of your weight is on one leg.

“Ah,” Xavier ponders, rubbing his neck, “really? I thought we should maybe head back.”

“No need.” And what’s the plan here, exactly? You can’t walk. You definitely can’t fight. Maybe you can wait here while he— no. He’s never going to leave you. “I told you I’m ok.”

“But you’re not.”

“I am,” you assert. You’re determined to convince him and your own, useless body. It’s just a sprain. It is just a sprain. You take a step forwards and stumble, your bad leg crumpling beneath you.

Xavier catches you, strong and solid, and he's holding you like you’re something delicate. He sets you down on the rock again. The pain is making your vision swim.

“You’re hurt,” he reasons gently, even though the truth of it is a knife that’s twisting in your heart. He seems to sense your reluctance: “There’s no shame in admitting that. It happens. Let’s go back.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m slowing you down, Xavier!” you gush. Your heart is split open and it has to bleed somewhere. “You have no idea what it’s like… being your partner.”

He’s looking at you with so much guilt and gods, you wish that somewhere was anywhere but his hands. “What do you mean?” he asks on a shaky breath.

“I love working with you.” Soften the blow. “I love being with you, but you don’t need me. You’re this incredible hunter. This figure of legend, of everyone’s stories. You can do so much on your own and I just don’t know how to keep up. I mean, look at me— I can’t.”

You feel sick. Empty. “You shouldn’t have to hang back for me,” you finish limply. “You’re you, Xavier. You can fight like a hundred Wanderers and still come out unscathed.”

The blue of Xavier’s eyes has grown understandably more turbulent, though it settles a little. He seems to relax. “Yeah… about that,” he mumbles hesitantly.

He turns around and your mouth drops. A savage cut drapes like a crimson sash down his back, splitting the white of his uniform. It’s not deep enough to be fatal, but it’s not good, either.

“Wha— Xavier!” you exclaim, trying to surge forwards, but your pain keeps you rooted. “You said you were ok!”

“So did you,” he frowns, bewildered. “Can we get out of—”

“Yeah, yeah.” You let him take your arm and help you to your feet.

He leads you through the clearing and into the forest, supporting your weight as you hop along beside him. There’s a murmur about how he should carry you, but you’re quick to reassure him he’s doing enough. You’re both hurting; you both just need to survive the short walk out of the no-hunt zone, where a med team can take over.

“You don’t slow me down, you know,” Xavier says quietly, after a minute of silence. “You’re the reason I can keep going.”

You squeeze his arm affectionately, mustering a smile even though you’re nauseous with pain and the idea that he’s been dwelling on your speech this whole time. “Well,” you chuckle through gritted teeth, “you’re gonna have to learn how to get by without me.”

“Huh?” He gives you a curious look.

You glance down at your leg. “Zayne’s gonna kill me...”

Zayne ❄

“I’m a doctor.”

You stop what you’re doing to fix Zayne with a questioning stare. “Ok…?”

“I’ve published dozens of research papers. Pioneered new surgical techniques. My work on Evol-based regenerative properties still has lasting implications for my field, and I’ve the accolades to show for it. The Starcatcher Award. The Linde Award, too— I was the youngest ever recipient.”

None of this is news to you, and you can’t help chuckling at this change in your usually-humble physician. You humour him: “The youngest ever recipient, huh?” There’s a crack as you split an egg on the side of the bowl in front of you. “That’s very impressive.”

“Is it?”

Zayne stands from his seat at your kitchen table: you hear the chair draw back. You feel his presence arrive behind you as you continue to stir your soon-to-be cookie dough. “Yeah,” you lilt with a smile.

“Really?” he pushes again, and his arms wrap around you as he bends to speak into your ear. “Because someone seems to think I can’t even recognise a—” he nips at it— “sprained ankle.”

His breath is warm on your neck and you let out a giggle. “Keep speaking to me like that and these cookies are never making it into the oven. Or your stomach.”

The man relents. He releases you, not returning to his seat but opting to lean against the kitchen counter instead. You glance up at him; he stares back, waiting for an actual answer.

“My ankle is fine, Zayne.”

There’s a sigh as he crosses his arms.

“It is,” you insist, even though you did sprain your ankle at work today, it does hurt like hell, and you do just want to sit down. You reach for the flour you’d measured out previously, tipping it into the larger bowl. “If it wasn’t, would I really be here— making you cookies?”

“Yes,” he says plainly.

“You’re delusional.”

“Ok.”

Well, that was a little too easy. Don’t overthink it, and definitely don’t read into the fact that he’s standing there oh-so-smugly, like he knows something you don’t. You finish stirring the flour into the mixture, then add the last of the ingredients. Just a pinch of salt, and then…

Where did you put the chocolate chips? You glance about yourself but they’re nowhere in sight. “Hey, Zayne? Have you seen the—”

“This cupboard,” he indicates with an upwards nod of his head. His eyes are relentless. “Top shelf.”

Ah. That’s ok. You’ve totally got this. You move beneath the cupboard, opening it and gazing up into the contents. You can see the pack of chocolate chips. You can get up there somehow, right?

“Would you like me to—” Zayne starts, but you cut him off:

“Nope.” You put your hands on your hips. “Please— if I can climb the back of an alive, awake, and very angry deluge wyrmlord to put a sword through its skull, I think I can make it onto the kitchen counter in one piece. Lemme just…”

Your knee lifts. You make it about a centimetre from the floor before Zayne’s hands are on your waist, grounding you. “Stop,” he instructs, and it's not a tone that allows for any rebuttal. Satisfied by your silence, he brings the chocolate chips down to you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly as they’re placed on the counter.

“You’re welcome."

Sheepishly, you spill a generous amount of chocolate chips into the cookie mixture. Your throat hurts in the way that keeps you from saying anything more. You already feel like an idiot, and your eyes are watering, threatening to make you look like even more of one.

Zayne’s hand appears in front of you, hovering over the bowl. You laugh in understanding: giving the half-empty bag another shake so chocolate chips fall into his palm.

“You… don’t have to explain yourself,” he says as he lifts them to his mouth. His next words are muffled: “But you can tell me anything, my love. I never want you to feel as though you can’t.”

You chuckle again; you can’t help yourself. Look at him: your oh-so-serious doctor shovelling chocolate into his mouth. He raises an eyebrow at you, his lips still on his palm.

“I know I can tell you anything,” you smile, the ache in your throat receding, however much the rest of you hurts. “I did sprain my ankle. It’s not that I wanted to hide it from you, it’s just—” you stop stirring the mixture— “it’s just that your whole life is taking care of people at the hospital. You should get a break from it. You should get to be Zayne, here… at home. Just Zayne, not Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne’s hazel eyes have taken on a hue of regret. He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, buying himself a few seconds as he contemplates. “Are you a doctor?” he asks after a moment.

“No?”

“And yet, here you are, taking care of me.” He reaches for the abandoned packet of chocolate chips. “Tell me, does it feel like work to you?”

“Yeah,” you tease, drawing the packet away from his stretching fingers in explanation; you’re both grinning.

“Well, it never feels like work to me. Just Zayne likes taking care of you. And right now? He wants to bundle you up on the sofa and finish these cookies for you.”

You purse your lips: that’s some dubious wording. “Zayne, hell will freeze over before I leave you and this cookie dough unsupervised.”

He shushes you, pulling on the cord of your apron until the bow at your back comes loose. Before you can protest, he’s wearing the apron himself.

“Zayne, I’m not kidding. I know what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna get rid of me, and then you’ll—”

“Shh,” he coos again, whisking you carefully off your feet, because it’s time for a taste of your own medicine. “You’re delusional.”

Rafayel 🔥

“Mmhmm. Mmhmm.”

“Raf, who are you—”

He holds out a finger to shush you. “Mmhmm.”

You cross your arms impatiently. Who is he even talking to, anyway? His lilac eyes are locked on you as he continues humming away, apparently very invested in whatever the person on the phone is saying; you’ve never seen him go this long without talking.

He narrows his eyes at you. You narrow your eyes right back.

All around you, guests of the exhibition are milling about, all dressed to the nines and minding their business, however much they want the attention of the man in front of you. A few of them linger as they pass him, like they want to say something, like they’re going to say something…

But they don’t.

It’s a wonder that Rafayel stands out in the crowd as much as he does. You’d seamlessly located him, back from your third trip to the bathroom to check on the bandages you’ve managed to conceal beneath this dress. He’s still holding your purse for you, his phone in his other hand, except—

That’s your phone. That’s your phone! “Rafayel!”

He shushes you again. “I understand,” he says solemnly, notably not to you, “thanks for letting me know.” The call is ended. He takes a deep, collected breath, then looks at you. “I knew it!”

“Knew what? Who was that?”

“Zayne.”

“You called Zayne?”

“Like I had a choice!” Rafayel retaliates. It is true; he’s spent the entire evening trying to get you to admit something was wrong, and you had no intention of giving him that pleasure. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital! What kind of idiot breaks out of the hospital?”

The lack of irony in the question almost breaks you. “Umm… you?! Like every other week?!”

He shrugs. “That’s different.”

“Rafayel, I swear, I’m gonna— ah!” you gasp in pain. You’d stepped forwards too quickly— maybe to strangle him, but that’s neither here nor there— and the wound on your side is clearly on his side. It stings like hell: punishing you, and you know the pain is self-inflicted.

Rafayel frowns in concern, maybe even guilt, and that’s why you didn’t tell him. “C’mon, we should go,” he insists gravely.

“It’s fine, Raf. It doesn’t even—”

“Stop lying! You said you wouldn’t hide stuff like this from me. You promised, remember?”

You’re losing track of all the promises you’ve made to the Lemurian, but you do remember that one. Guilt has its teeth in you, too. “I know,” you grumble, “I’m sorry, ok? I just knew—”

“What?”

“That you’d act like this! You’ve been working on this exhibition for months, Raf. Tonight is supposed to be about you. Not me— you. And I want it to stay that way. Everyone’s here to celebrate you and your work, and that’s how it should be. That’s what I want. To support you. To be here for you.”

Your voice has gone timid. You finish meekly: “Can’t you let me do this for you? Please?”

Rafayel’s eyes are wide and still the prettiest things you’ve ever seen, even in a room full of masterpieces and jewels you could never afford. They shine with uncertainty, but soften as he smiles, full of fondness and affection. “That’s sweet. But also? Really dumb.”

“Raf—”

“The only— and I mean only— reason I’m here tonight is because you are. I don’t care about what anyone thinks about me or my paintings. Just you. And you can see this?” He gestures around the gallery. “Anytime. My life’s your private exhibition, cutie. Exclusive access, 24/7, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He steps closer to you: close enough that he can see the tear that’s made it halfway down your cheek. He wipes it away with a chuckle. “Plus,” he adds, “I know you know I’m amazing. You don’t need these old sourpusses to tell you that, do you?”

You laugh tentatively. “No, I don’t.”

Your injury protests as you use the lapels on Rafayel’s blazer to pull him closer; you have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He’s still grinning as he draws away, a light blush on his cheeks, but the sweetness of the moment vanishes as his gaze drifts lower.

“My eyes are up here, Rafayel.”

“Yeah…” he concedes mindlessly, but then he points: “you know you’re like, bleeding, right?”

You glance downwards to where the red of your dress is turning darker. There’s just a small splotch, but it’s growing. Shit. You must have reopened the wound.

“Thomas?” you hear Rafayel call, and then he’s stuffing a silk handkerchief into your hands— helping you apply pressure. “We have to get out of here,” he explains as a figure joins you.

His agent folds his arms; this is not dissimilar to stunts you and Rafayel have pulled before. “Fake blood, guys? Really?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can’t leave, Rafayel. I can just see the headlines tomorrow…”

“Dashing artist selflessly flees exhibition to save devoted bodyguard,” Rafayel concurs with a nod.

Thomas groans. “That’s not what they’re going to—”

“Help me out with this, cutie?”

“Yes, sir,” you mock salute.

A moment later, Rafayel has scooped you up into his arms. Your hero; he gives you a conspiratorial wink before glancing about frantically. “Quickly!” he cries out. “Everyone out of the way, please!”

“For the love of—” Thomas starts.

“Oh, gods!” you shout in agony. “It hurts. It hurts!”

Heads turn. Cameras flash.

Tomorrow morning, half of Linkon will be talking about one of their favourite celebrities and his long-envied bodyguard. A news article will pop-up on her doctor’s phone, and he’ll see the pictures and sigh.

Sylus 🩸

“It’s not too late to back down, sweetie,” Sylus sneers.

“Aw, but you got all dressed up for the occasion.”

Your eyes rake over the outline of the man’s abs, courtesy of the tank top he’s wearing, and it does take the sting out of the fact that he’ll be trying to hit you. He holds his wrapped hands before him, ready to defend, ready to attack. He’ll probably attack, right?

“Last chance,” he growls.

“Is it, though?” This is the third ‘last chance’ you’ve been given in the five minutes you’ve been teetering on combat. You beckon him with a curl of your fingers. “Come on, Sylus. This is getting old.”

He scoffs: “How do you think I feel?”

“Like you’re about to get your ass kicked?”

“Alright, enough.” His hands drop and it feels like you’re back at the academy, about to be scolded for not taking something seriously. Sylus turns his back on you. Moves to the edge of the boxing ring so he can retrieve a stool from outside of it and sit down in a huff. He starts peeling the wraps from his knuckles, and— wait, is he mad? Like, actually mad?

“What’s wrong, Sy?”

He laughs as though you’re missing something dreadfully obvious. Maybe irony.

“Sylus?”

“You really are heartless, sweetie. You know that?”

The words steal your breath away, if only for a moment. Yours is a relationship of pulled punches, but he won’t meet your gaze and that one was real, wasn’t it? He wanted it to sting. “Why—”

“I could have hurt you,” he snaps, his dishevelled, snowy hair falling to cover his eyes. His discarded wraps slide from his hands, pooling by his feet like blood. “You were going to let me hurt you.”

He looks at you, finally, but it’s not in the way you want. His gaze is cast low, trailing over your body and making you feel every bruise, every closed cut that wants to reopen and every ache, rooted almost to bone. You’d done your best to hide it, even going so far as to press make-up hastily over your purpled skin.

That Wanderer really did a number on you yesterday.

“You should have told me,” Sylus says, since you’ve made it onto the same page. “Honestly, kitten. Why would you—”

“Because Luke and Kieran told me, ok?”

Oh, they’re going to kill you. It was supposed to be a secret, and here you are, spilling like a fresh wound because you can’t stand the thought of Sylus being upset with you. You step closer, scrambling to dissect what you’ve done right in front of his eyes— holding it out to him: this is why. This is why. “They said you had a rough week. Some deals of yours had fallen through or something. And I’ve been too busy. I haven’t called, I haven’t even texted, and…”

You need him to understand, but the truth is a mess in your hands and how do you even start to explain it to him?

“You wanted to do something for me,” he finishes for you, and you don’t have to explain a thing.

“Yeah…” you confirm, bittersweet and still sad. “You do so much for me, Sylus. I just wanted to do what you wanted, for a change.”

Maybe it’s a round of boxing. Maybe it’s a dozen illicit dealings where he needs you to play enforcer— it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s happy.

“Come here,” he orders gently.

You close the rest of the rift between you, letting him reach for you and pull you closer. His knees have spread so you can slot against him, and his arms circle around you— trapping you— as he nuzzles into the warmth of your stomach.

“I’m sorry I called you heartless,” he speaks into you, his voice muffled as he gives you a chaste kiss. He then cranes his head upwards, resting his chin against you so he can profess more clearly: “I do worry about you, kitten.”

“I know—” your hands move to his head— “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“Mmm,” he hums in accordance, maybe even forgiveness, and his eyes close as your fingers card through the soft of his hair. “I lied too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confesses on a contented sigh. “I didn’t want to spend today… boxing.”

“What do you want to do today, Sy?”

His eyes flicker open and his hands find your hips. “What I really want…” he contemplates, as his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt to rub circles on your skin, “is to take care of you.”

There are lifetimes of need in his gaze.

“Won’t you let me take care of you, sweetie?”

…

“If he finds the terms so disagreeable, then he’s more than welcome to take his business elsewhere. Although—” Sylus’s voice is cold— “he might find his other options less… amenable than when he saw them last. Less communicative, too. You can tell him I said so.”

He ends the phone call. Smiles. “Sorry about that, sweetie.”

“Are the boys ok?”

The smile widens, even though you can’t see it. “They’re fine.”

Phone set aside, Sylus carries on with the important business Kieran’s call had distracted him from. You’re half asleep, your head in his lap as he brushes your hair: rose-scented and soft from the bath he’d drawn for you, hours ago. Every bandage is fresh and clean. Every ache has been dulled with a lazy massage and more chaste kisses, for good measure.

“Perfect day,” you mumble blissfully.

“Perfect day,” Sylus agrees.

#🖋rach is actually writing #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads x mc #shen xinghui #li shen #qi yu #qin che #lads #lnds #l&ds

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gyuwoncheol · 1 year ago

Text

Sir, Please.

Pair: Wonwoo x f.reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut. 18+ only (MDNI).

Summary: Wonwoo doesn’t mind keeping you at the edge if it means watching you fall apart.

Warnings: Dom!Wonwoo, Sir! kink, edging, cockwarming, unprotected sex (stay safe, children), squirting, clitoral stimulation, lots of making out, creampie, pussy slapping (like once), overstimulation, dacryphilia, breast play, wrist pinning, dirty talk, use of pet names (Sir, good girl, darling, love, baby, sweetie), glorious aftercare (Wonu is the best), fluff. Please let me know if i missed something. Not proofread, might come back to fix up errors.

WC: 3k

Author’s note: First smut piece for Wonwoo my love. This was only supposed to be post-sex cuddles fluff but thought it was the right time to finally write smut for my favorite boy. As is the plot of this piece, good things come to those who wait 😏 Enjoy!

Tagging fellow Wonu lovers @multi-kpop-fanfics @playmetheclassics for the chaos.

“What’re you doing?” Your boyfriend quizzed, your bare body still on top of his, a cheek resting against his bare chest.

“Doodling,” you mumbled casually as your finger continued to draw lazy patterns on his side.

“Darling, it tickles.”

“I don’t see you flinching.”

“You’re on top of me. If I flinch, you might fall.” He stated matter-of-factly.

You craned your neck to look up at him, flashing a wide grin momentarily, “then suffer.”

You shook along with Wonwoo as he laughed at your reply, a strong arm secured tightly around your torso, while his free hand cradled the back of your head.

A large smile was permanently etched on Wonwoo’s face as you both laid in comfortable silence. When he had collapsed onto you just minutes ago after reaching his climax, he had asked so nicely if he could stay inside a little longer and who were you to complain? You’ve craved for this kind of intimacy with him for awhile now after being both so busy with work.

“You’re lucky i love you,” Wonwoo declared as he kissed the top of your head.

You hummed in response, trailing your fingers again on his side, nails lightly scratching on his skin, “did you just write ‘i love you too’ on my ribs?” He laughs, and you nod an affirmative.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and snuggling more into your boyfriend’s chest. Now would be a good time for time to stand still. The setting sun casted warm hues of light inside your bedroom and while the airconditioning was cold, Wonwoo was radiating just the right amount of heat to keep you from shivering.

“I’ve missed you,” you blurted out.

“I know, sweetheart. I’ve missed you too. I’ve missed this,” another kiss was placed on top of your head, “i’m sorry i’ve been so busy.”

“I’m sorry too,” you sighed, resting your chin on his pecs to face him. “I wish i had more time to visit you in practice, or even just see you for lunch.”

“That’s okay, darling. We’re both just in our busy season. It will be over soon, yeah?” This time, Wonwoo’s palm was rubbing circular motions on the small of your back. “I was thinking we should go on a vacation when this all boils over.”

Your eyes grew wide, excited at your boyfriend’s suggestion, “really?”

“Yeah, maybe the countryside? Or out of the country? Where do you want?”

A blush crept up your cheeks at Wonwoo’s gesture of letting you choose, but honestly, you could’ve just stayed at your home and it would be okay. The last time you had a vacation, he made you choose the place too but this time, you didn’t really have a shortlist of destinations. You craned your neck to kiss his lips shortly, “surprise me?” You smiled shyly, “maybe somewhere peaceful and with fresh air? Anywhere as long as it’s with you is all I want, darling.”

“Okay, i’ll plan it out.” He confirmed before rolling you both over so his body hovered above yours

“Where are you going?” You pouted when he made a move to slip out of you.

“I need to clean you up, sweetie.”

You hooked a leg around his waist in retaliation, not at all ready to feel empty just yet. You attempted the most doe eyes you could muster, looking up at your boyfriend through your lashes and clenching your pussy as you did so, “Don’t you wanna fuck me one more time?”

Wonwoo scoffed at your question, the corner of his lips pulling into a devious smile at your sweet tone, “can’t get enough, darling?” His voice was lower by a few octaves, enough to send a shiver through your spine and a gush of wetness in your cunt.

“N-no, sir.”

Wonwoo smirked at the nickname before doing an experimental thrust. When your eyes rolled to the back of your head, he simply chuckled before dragging his cock out slowly and then swiftly burying himself to the hilt, rendering you even more speechless than you were. He could feel the rhythmic spasming of your walls, causing him to grow harder and harder.

You cupped his face to bring it closer to yours, kissing him and sucking at his lower lip. Wonwoo smiles in the kiss, amused at your neediness especially when he feels you lift your hips and roll them on his.

“Eager are we?”

“Wonuuu,” you whined pathetically, clawing at his back.

“Wonu?” he questioned with a glare, pinning you to the mattress agressively, “that’s not what you called me minutes ago, darlin’”

“Well, I don’t know where he went. Maybe if you give me what I want then I’ll start calling you it again,” you smirked, dragging your nails a little more harshly on his skin making him hiss.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, only to dive into your right breast and suck harshly at the bud, eliciting a loud moan from you. He snakes his hand in between you both, thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in circles, immediately feeling you clench around his dick again.He mutters something about you being responsive but it flies over your head as he picks up his pace. The slide is much easier given your mixed cum and your new arousal so it takes him record time to hit your sweet spot. Every ridge and vein on his cock drags against your walls in a way that’s more delicious than awhile ago.

“S-sir, pl-pleaasee,” you shake, the pit of your stomach tightening as you arch your back.

“Does my darling want to cum?” The nickname sounds sickly sweet as it rolls off his tongue and it only helps you get closer to the edge.

You nod your head repetitively, chants of ‘yes’s’ and ‘oh’s’ spilling from your lips, but then Wonwoo withdraws his hand from your sensitive bud and stills inside of you, a vice grip around your body as he licks the shell of your ear, “you don’t get to cum until I say so.” The words were loud, clear and firm, in a tone you knew all too well.

“But Won—“ you cry out loud, tears forming in your eyes as you feel your climax painfully float away.

“Nuh uh,” two harsh thrusts are delivered straight to your gspot as your boyfriend hooks one of your legs on his shoulder, “Call me wrong again and I will not let you cum at all.”

“Fuuuuck,” you mewl from the way his cock rams into you with the new angle, following it up with whines at the thought of getting no release, “S-sorry, sir! ‘M sorry!”

“There it is. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Wonwoo mocks, “now be my good girl and hold it out for me, yeah?”

You’re a incoherent mess as you try to obey him, but it isn’t so easy when his large cock is abusing your sore, sloppy cunt. Words of filth pair each one of his powerful thrusts.

“My dirty little whore”

“So fuckin’ needy for my cock.”

“Can’t get enough of this pussy.”

“Your pussy is mine.”

“All made for me.”

You were letting out moans of pleasure as Wonwoo pounded into you mercilessly, the knot in your stomach making itself felt again.

“Fu– ah! Fuck, s-sir! Please!” You asked, but it only fell on deaf ears. Both your wrists were tightly pinned with just one of your boyfriend’s large hand above your head and his blown out pupils were looking right at you.

“Make me cum, make me cum, make me cum, please!!!” you begged shamelessly, voice shaking and legs closing in as you teetered on the edge of your orgasm.

“Not. Yet.” Wonwoo withdrew fully from your hole and you shrieked at the loss, your hips lifting to chase after his dick only to have it slammed down by his free hand.

“Sir!!!” You scowled, eyebrows scrunching and eyes wide, anger and pain washing away yet another failed orgasm.

A proud, lopsided smirk appeared on your boyfriend’s face. He licked his bottom lip, enjoying the torture he beset on you despite his painfully hard cock.

“What?”

It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking, you knew that much.

“Nothing,” you cowered and blinked back your tears, erasing the anger in your face much to your dismay.

“Good girl.”

You swallowed thickly, squirming once more when Wonwoo tapped his heavy length on your pussy, coating himself with your slippery wetness— not that he needed any more of it— before purposely slapping your swollen clit with his angry red tip. The stimulation from that alone already had your toes curling and it took every fibre of your being to not just unravel right there.

You should’ve known calling him ‘sir’ would lead to this, but behind the tearful denials, you knew immense pleasure awaits.

“Siirrr, p-please! I n-need it.”

“Shhh. Patience, darling. We’ve got lots of time.” The demonic chuckle Wonwoo let out had you whimpering pitifully, your hands fighting to break free from his hold.

It seemed your boyfriend was hell bent on prolonging your agony when he simply continues to endlessly tap his shaft on your clit as he pumps himself.

Wonwoo was not usually loud in bed, save for his occasional grunts and broken groans when he falls into bliss. However, he’s decided now would be the perfect time to make matters all the more worse for you. He was being loud about it all, no holds barred. The squelching noises of his dick against your wet lips is now easily drowned out by the guttural moans Wonwoo has let slip past his mouth. You thought his dirty talk is music? Well, this was a symphony.

You had thought you wouldn’t get close this time around since he wasn’t inside you but the relentless knocks on your clit and the obnoxiously loud moans of your boyfriend have proved you wrong. Your hands balled into fists and you squeezed your eyes shut, mentally fighting off the ball of pleasure in your lower abdomen.

“Look at you, fighting so hard,” Wonwoo snickers, pressing down the tip of his cock to your clit in slow circular motions, “show me how good you are yeah?”

“Yes yes yes! ‘M good! Your good girl, promise!” You were so far gone, pliant to each one of your boyfriend’s requests.

“So wet, you’re soiling the bed,” he points out the obvious, “what a fuckin’ mess.” Wonwoo saw another shiver run through you, indicating you were seconds away from release. So for the third time that day, he denies you of the very thing you crave for, letting go of your wrists and then landing a sharp smack to your pussy before completely backing away to watch you spasm and curl up into a ball of needy tears and pathetic whines.

Your head was spinning and your senses were more than heightened. The slippery feeling of your arousal between your thighs were making it harder for you to squeeze them shut and stay still. Wonwoo simply loomed over you, giving you enough time to stabilize your breathing and let your failed orgasm ebb away. He knew that if he’d put so much just as one finger on your skin, you’d cum right away. Contrary to his actions, he wanted you to cum, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see you cry for it first.

“S-sirr,” you sobbed.

A gentle touch carefully landed on your calf and when you didn’t flinch away, Wonwoo let out a sigh of relief, “Yes, baby?”

“Please,” your voice barely above a whisper, “n-need you…”

Whatever other words you had planned were swallowed by Wonwoo in a searing kiss. It was sloppy and messy, his skillful tongue darting to yours, teeth biting at your lips. You both moaned in unison when he impaled you on his cock once more.

“So big,” you groaned, initially amused at the delicious stretch until you realised, he’s had to hold off his own orgasm too.

Wonwoo gives it his all, jackhammering into you like it would be the last time. The sound of moans and skin slapping skin reverberate around the room. And then, there it is again, a coil so tight on your stomach, you fear you’re going delirious to the point of no return.

“Wo— Sir!” You quickly correct yourself, losing the least bit of dignity you had, tears drenching your cheeks, “i’m b-begging, p-please…”

The gentle kiss on your nose set a stark contrast from how his cock abused your sopping cunt, but relief finally took over you at the words whispered in your ear, “so good for me. Let go, baby. I got you.”

A strangled cry ripped out of your throat, your orgasm gloriously hitting you like a tidal wave. Wonwoo continued to talk you through it while holding down your convulsing body and slamming his hips into you, the sight of your pussy creaming his cock eventually producing broken moans from him.

“B-babe, too– ah! Too m-much!” More tears fell on your face as Wonwoo did deep snaps, his pelvic bone grinding on your clit.

“C’mon baby, m’ close. S-so close!”

Incomprehensible noises tumbled out of you when your boyfriend buried himself deep, pushing onto your sweetest spot and stilling there. Between his guttural groans, the perfect ‘O’ shape of his mouth and the thick loads of hot white cum that flooded your velvety walls, another coil snapped within you, a new round of arousal seeping out of your spent hole, except this time, much wetter and hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“Fuuuck, darling,” Wonwoo trembled as the last of his nectar oozed out, “did I just make you squirt?”

“Fuck off,” you scowled, wishing you had more energy to wipe the smug look plastered on your boyfriend’s face.

“So I did?” Wonwoo pursed his lips and scrunched his nose, a look you very much love but absolutely hate right now.

You let your bottom lip jut out in a pout, your brows drawing to the center of your face, “how could I not when you edged me like that!”

“You’re cute,” was his only response, very slowly slipping his softening cock out of you. Your sweet boyfriend peppered kisses all over your face, replacing your frown with a smile. “Did I make you feel good, darling?” He asked genuinely, not wanting to ever subject you to something which you didn’t enjoy doing.

You gave him a shy nod, pulling him closer by his neck to close the gap between your mouths and share a loving kiss, much like how it was way earlier. It didn’t take long for you to part, your lungs still recharging to full capacity after having all the air knocked out of you.

Wonwoo gave you more time to recover, resting his head on the crook of your neck to leave soft kisses on your skin, especially on the blooming bruises he left in his wake.

“Darling, you can’t sleep yet,” he shook you gently when he noticed your prolonged stillness.

A small whine escaped your lips, “but Woo… i’m tired.”

“I know, i know,” he hushed softly, “but we need to get you cleaned up and also, change the sheets. I’ll make it quick.”

You had no time nor energy to protest. You were simply being carried bridal style into the bathroom, your boyfriend making sure you peed before he went on to wash up yours and his sweaty body with warm water. He was so so tender with his touch, especially in all parts between your legs. He’d keep an observant eye to every reaction your face made, careful not to cause any pain.

“Can… can you be mine?” you squeaked, and Wonwoo giggled at the drunken look of love on your face. Every time you think nothing can top sex with your boyfriend in your own little list of World’s Most Wonderful Things, you’re reminded that aftercare by him exists.

“Darling, i’m already yours,” Wonwoo chuckles.

You noded with a grin, brain really starting to drift off into slumber, “I like that.”

He fixes his glasses by the bridge of his nose after giving you a once-over, now dressed in cotton panties and one of his large navy blue shirts which hung mid-thigh on you.

Wonwoo lifts you up to sit on the bathroom counter before cupping your cheeks to meet your eyes, “baby, can you sit here and wait for me for about 10 to 15 minutes, please? I need to change our sheets.”

He had expected you to whine and retaliate, knowing you were always extra clingy after sex, but you simply nodded and smiled. You think you felt his lips on your forehead but you aren’t too sure.

The moment Wonwoo slips out of the bathroom, you’re fighting not to fall asleep, but 15 minutes is long, and maybe you can just lean your head a bit on the cold marble tile—

“Let’s get you to bed, love,” the tall man chuckles as he lifts you in his arms. You swore it hadn’t been fifteen minutes, not even ten! But then he walks past your bed and out of your shared bedroom. The light of the hallway enough to stir your brain awake.

“Where are we going?” You ask, nuzzling your face on the crook of his neck as he cradles you into another room.

Wonwoo laughs at your question, “We have to take the guest bedroom for the night, darling. You’ve soaked through our mattress.”

#svt #seventeen #svthub #svt x reader #svt smut #seventeen smut #svt fic #seventeen fic #svt one shot #seventeen one shot #svt image #seventeen imagine #wonwoo smut #wonwoo fic #wonwoo imagine #wonwoo one shot #wonwoo x reader #paula writes ✨#paula writes smut

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cheesiedomino · 9 months ago

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RentABoyfriend.com ꙳ ੭ * ‧

synopsis: you’re tired of being single so you to take an unusual route in helping with that— but what happens when you start catching real romantic feelings for your rental boyfriend?

genre: seo changbin x fem!reader | fake relationship/dating au wc: 5.1k tags/warnings: fluff, v minor angst, mild cursing, (kinda) nerdy changbin, use of pet names, mentions of alcohol usage, just overall very cute story dw <33

[this is part of my valentine’s series where i write a short story for each member surrounding themes of love, newfound romance, relationship hardships & more.]

“I have a date tomorrow guys.”

Everyone’s head instantly lifts up from their phones at this sudden announcement, collectively drawing their attention at you. You weren’t expecting all of them to gasp and swap such looks of genuine confusion. It’s starting to make you think maybe this situation was a lot more serious than you’ve bargained it out to be.

You couldn’t fathom it either honestly, the realization of you going out with someone probably won’t settle in until you’re physically on the date. Based on their initial responses though, you might regret everything you’re about to say, but it’s far too late to retract any of your statements now.

“No way.. with who??” Danielle is the first out of everyone to ask.

Taehyung chimes in as well, “Yeah, who’s the lucky person? They’ve gotta be something seriously special to be talking to you.”

Well, you suppose you could put it that way.

You already have a preconceived notion of what they’re going to think of this “idea”. Mentally preparing yourself to receive a flood of questions and critique from your close friends.

“Actually… I rented him. For the week.”

Now they’re all looking at you like you’ve officially lost it. The room got scarily quiet, no one wanted to be the first to speak. You should’ve anticipated on their reactions being like this, it isn’t everyday someone just openly admits to buying a partner online. Nowadays there’s a lucrative market for just about anything, when you stumbled upon an ad for this service called ‘RentABoyfriend.com’ you didn’t think much of it. You laughed the concept off at first, thinking how lonely people must be to buy someone else’s time.

But the ads kept popping up, they wouldn’t stop showing in almost every YouTube video you were watching— even one of your favorite YouTubers promoted them before! So one day you finally decided to check this website out, you wanted to see what the hype’s all about so you signed up just for shits and giggles. You weren’t expecting to actually be somewhat interested in trying this thing out, but after going through a couple different profiles and reading hundreds of positive reviews you were practically sold.

“You rented out a boyfriend..? Seriously ___? I mean, I’m not judging but you’re a gorgeous girl you can easily get a boyfriend without paying for someone’s companionship, I don’t see why you need to rent one.” Mark bluntly expressed his opinion, he was probably the most outspoken out of all of you guys.

Taehyung and Danielle both agreed in unison, it’s practically 3 against 1 at this point. You knew you should’ve waited to tell them but you weren’t anticipating on them being this judgmental about it. You were hoping for a little more support, as they’re all way more experienced than you in the dating scene and could lend some helpful advice about your first date, ever.

See, the thing is you’ve never tried dating before so you wouldn’t know the first thing about it or what to expect from your future partner. You’ve never had a boyfriend, let alone held hands or kissed someone of the opposite sex. Being in your twenties it’s kind of embarrassing to say you’ve never done those things, but you thought what better way to try it out than renting a full-on experience that can give you just that? Well minus the kissing part, but you can make it work.

You were skeptical of doing this whole ‘rent-a-boyfriend’ thing at first because you didn’t think there’d be anyone you’d find suitable enough. A big part of the reason that you’re still single is because you’re extremely picky, you want to date a guy who’s so perfect that he must’ve came straight out of an indie romance film. Your friends would tease you for having such unrealistic standards when it came to dating but you were the all-or-nothing type, you’ll be single with fifty cats before you settle for less. Renting a boyfriend is definitely an unconventional idea of easing into dating but you thought it might be worth a try anyway.

What’s the worse that could happen?

( 1 day earlier )

Hovering your cursor over the bold red text of the website, you read over the main rules before going on to select the person you want for your date.

‘The rules are simple:

You are allowed to see only ONE person at a time, if you want to switch boyfriends you’ll have to pay a $50 fee.

MUST be over 18 to rent a boyfriend, we have implemented an age verification system before the date as we do not tolerate anyone under this age to use our services.

NO kissing, or sexual intimacy allowed. If this is found out later on by our agency we will terminate your contract and ban you from using our services in the future.

Remember to have fun !! ^_^ Our services are great for people who are new to dating or have never been in a relationship. We provide the ~ultimate~ boyfriend experience to all our clients. Customer satisfaction is 100% guaranteed ! (NO REFUNDS)’

Well jeez… they seemed a bit strict but you can deal with those rules and restrictions for the most part.

After hours of skimming through hundreds of profiles, you have a hard time choosing which you like most. Did you want an artsy, shy kind of guy? The tattooed, bad boy aesthetic type? You really couldn’t pick one until you stumble upon a particular profile that catches your eye almost immediately.

SEO CHANGBIN | 168 CM | PART-TIME LIFEGUARD | 24 | *POPULAR ↝

5 Facts About Me: I’ve traveled to over 50+ different countries and counting (ask me which my favorites are), I can speak 4 languages (working on my fifth), love to sing and used to have a rap trio with my buddies from college, I can & will easily lift you up ;) also have a secret talent for cooking, there’s nothing I can’t do!

Why Choose Me? First of all, why not choose me? I’m the best candidate for whatever kind of date you need, something casual, social gatherings, weddings, you name it! I’m very social and can make most people laugh (unless they’re the literal Grinch reincarnated), I’m able to get along well with anyone and just love to have a good time. I hope we can get to know each other and make great memories in the future :)

Going through his pictures you couldn’t believe someone was capable of being this humanely attractive. Don’t even get started on those impeccable muscles either… He really had to sport them in every other one of his photos, wearing the tightest shirts to show the outline of his insanely sculpted frame. You might have just been mesmerized from his godlike visuals alone. They even had a Valentine’s Day deluxe package that comes with seven dates in total for half the price, which they specified was for a limited time only.

$600 later you’ve got a full week of dates lined up with the hottest guy you’ve ever seen in all your years of living. You should’ve definitely went shopping before considering all this because now you actually have a reason to get dolled up for someone.

You were so nervous about going on this date you almost cancelled last minute out of fear. Typing out several different elaborate paragraphs to Changbin on why you couldn’t make it. You didn’t have his real phone number, it was all through an app facilitated by the rental company that was included in the package. Even though you were feeling overwhelmed and practically shaking with anxiety about meeting up with a guy, you still forced yourself to go anyway. You didn’t just dish out all that money just to not show up and waste his time on top of all that.

Your rental boyfriend texted you the location to meet at, it was near a train station so you both could see each other out in a public open space. The outfit you wore was fairly simple, a black mini skirt with warm tights underneath and a cropped turtleneck sweater. You accessorized the look with some dainty jewelry, a thin scarf, and knee high boots to pull everything together. It wasn’t something you usually wore but you had certain clothes you saved for a special occasion like this.

Upon your arrival, you notice him standing near a vending machine and waves over at you with the biggest smile plastered on his face. You awkwardly wave back, giving a soft smile as you slowly walk up to him. He looks even better in person, you don’t even feel adequate enough to be in such a gorgeous man’s presence. No wonder he’s so popular on the site, he’s practically unreal.

“Hi, you must be ___. It’s so nice to finally meet you, might I add you look really beautiful today, I think you’re making my heart race just by looking at you. Happy Valentine’s Day!” Changbin introduces himself, buttering you up with some sweet compliments before handing you the most insane bouquet of roses you’ve ever seen.

You take the flowers and almost stumble backwards from how heavy they were, “Wow, thank you!” Changbin prevents you from falling, quickly coming up behind you to get your balance back.

“Careful honey, can’t have you injured on our first date!” He voices with concern, “I hope you love the idea I came up with, I’ve only been to this place once before but I’m sure it’s still as fun as I remember it, let’s go!” Eagerly grabbing your hand to begin the journey, he turns around again to examine your body language.

“You seem a little tense babe? Do you need a massage?” He asks in a concerned tone again, this is all really beginning to freak you out. You know this is what you signed up for but this was all starting to feel a bit too personal, all the nicknames and sweet talk he’s giving is just something you aren’t used to.

“Uh, no! It’s o-okay.” You shook your head, denying anything suspicious going on. Truth be told you were barely able to contain your composure right now.

Changbin keeps on insisting, “The massage is included in the package so you don’t have to worry about getting charged extra.”

“N-no it’s okay, really. I’m just nervous that’s all, sorry I just don’t meet up with guys…” you shyly admit, finding it hard to look him in the eye.

He nods in understanding, “No need to be nervous with me sweetheart. I’m here to make you feel as comfortable as possible.” The smile he flashes at you instantly makes you warm on the inside, he seems like a genuine, caring person. You think things might go well for you after all.

The rest of the night was full of only good vibes and laughter by the end of it all. Changbin took you to an adult arcade that had old video games like Pac-Man, Super Mario, and Space Invaders, the other side was a bar where people could sit, drink, and socialize. He bought all your drinks that night, let you use up most of his tokens and overall had the most fun you could’ve ever had with someone. He was so easygoing but also knew when to act super caring and would be all lovey dovey with you. He was gentle, nurturing, and could have conversations about anything. You loved that he’d randomly drop some interesting fact you never knew about, or talked about a certain niche topic that he’d go on multiple rants over. It didn’t feel like you were renting someone out to date you, it felt natural— like you’ve known him for longer than a couple hours. Changbin walked you home and held your hand the entire time, along with the flowers he provided a teddy bear and a heart shaped box of chocolates. If that didn’t scream boyfriend goals then you don’t know what does.

The next day you wake up to Changbin blowing your phone up this morning. You had over 26 messages from him, which was pretty excessive in your humble opinion. The first thing he said was good morning then he goes on to express how fun yesterday was and he can’t wait to do it again. He even sent a couple mirror selfies of him at the gym, ‘conceited much?’ You thought. But then again, if you were Seo Changbin you’d probably be full of yourself too.

For today’s date you wore a pretty red sundress that made your skin glow in the sunlight. It’ll definitely get him to compliment you even more— which you secretly love when he does. Changbin calls you before he heads out to the date, letting you know how excited he is to see you again. You couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot on the train as you made your way to the destination, thinking about what he’s planned for you two next. This time you’ll be meeting up at a park but you still have no clue what you’re doing.

Changbin texts you where exactly he is in the park, it was pretty huge so it took you a while to get to him. As you get closer you see him sitting on a large blanket by the lake, on top of it were a bunch of different foods and snacks scattered all around that came out of a huge picnic basket. You were speed walking at this point trying to get to him. His arms opened out for a hug and you lean right into him, what you didn’t expect was for him to suddenly stand up and lift you in his arms to swing around you like a doll.

“Put me down I’m scared of heights!” You squeal out in fear of being too high up in the air. Maybe you really should’ve taken the bio on his profile more seriously when he mentioned certain things.

Finally putting you down after minutes go by of you protesting, Changbin sits you back onto the blanket. He brought an assortment of breads, cheese, fruits, lemonade that he made himself and a couple seltzers. You’ve never seen anyone put such time and effort into a date before, even being here with him is like living in a daydream. He was definitely succeeding in making you feel comfortable, which is something you never thought was possible with men. He actually took his time getting to know you and didn’t sound arrogant whenever he talked about himself, Changbin was so different than other guys who’ve tried hitting on you in the past. He was actually respectful, intelligent, and could easily carry a conversation without long, awkward pauses.

He was literally everything you’re looking for in a guy. But you’ll be seeing him for this week only then it’s bye bye forever. That revelation makes you a little upset, but you try pushing those thoughts in the back of your mind. It’s irrelevant and unnecessary to think about. Yet you can’t help but wonder about certain things though, wanting to know more about his job and what it’s like on a daily basis for him.

“Can I ask you something? I need you to answer it honestly.” You say out of nowhere, hoping that didn’t come out as weird as you thought.

Changbin nods, “of course, shoot.”

“How many clients do you usually get?”

This question definitely catches him off guard, he’s never really been asked this before and he’s debating on if he should as it might be a breach of privacy.

“I don’t think I can answer that, sorry.” He responds in the nicest way possible, but deep down he wants to know why you’d want to know how many other people he sees a day.

You were going to push him a bit more to try and get an answer but you decide to let it go and just enjoy the rest of the picnic. You didn’t want to bring the mood down with your odd questions and/or end up making him feel so uncomfortable that he won’t want to see you anymore. It was definitely something you shouldn’t have asked but you were curious to know anyway. Overall besides that small incident, you had another wonderful time with Changbin and couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come any faster.

Changbin had a foolproof way of getting you to blush like a giddy high school teen whenever he texted you. He’d always refer to you as ‘pretty girl’ or ‘princess’ which gave you insane amount of butterflies. You loved how clingy he could get and would double text when you don’t reply fast enough, always needing constant attention from you which you never minded giving.

He texted you at around three in the afternoon, proposing his next plan for today’s date.

‘Let’s go out for drinks tonight, it’s all on me ;)’

You liked his message, replying that you’ll be there and put a series of hearts at the end. Speaking of hearts, yours is fluttering at high altitudes from the way you can’t stop thinking about your “boyfriend” Changbin. This has been better than anything you could’ve expected, you never want this week to come to an end. It’s only been three days but you’ve begun to grow feelings for him, they weren’t too strong just yet but they were most definitely there. You couldn’t let that halt you from having a good time tonight, you’ll have to accept it soon enough he’s not your actual boyfriend. He’s doing this because you paid him to, if it wasn’t for your money he wouldn’t be here right now.

‘This relationship is purely transactional’ you unfortunately keep reminding yourself of the reality you’re in. Psyching yourself out of this sudden somber mood that’s consuming you, distracting your pessimism by raiding your closet for some cute clothes to wear tonight’s date. After what seemed like hours of tearing your entire room apart, you decide to settle on this sparkly black mini tube dress, pairing it with a leather jacket and more platform shoes because you’re obsessed with feeling tall. Once it’s 7 PM you head out to the bar you’re seeing Changbin at, he was already waiting for you inside the place. Eyes instantly lighting up when he sees you coming towards him, just like he always does he motions for a hug, pulling you in tightly like he hasn’t seen you in years.

His hugs felt so cozy, like sitting in front of the fireplace on a crisp, snowy winter’s evening. You never wanted to escape the warmth of his arms, it was one of those forms of physical touch that felt so overly personal to you. The thought of him hugging someone the same way he hugs you slightly enrages something in your spirit but again, it isn’t your place to get genuinely upset over him doing his job. You’re not entitled to him exclusively, but you feel like if you keep this up feelings will only continue to develop. This wasn’t something you considered when going into this and now you feel like you’ve just made a huge mistake.

“You okay babe?” Changbin notices you acting a bit strange, choosing not to pursue it after telling him you’re fine. He knows something’s wrong but doesn’t want to mess up the flow of the date, instead he orders a drink for the both of you and switches on to a lighter subject. “Let’s go shopping tomorrow at that new centre that just opened last week. I need to buy some new AirPods, I accidentally lost one of them in a taxi..”

“Sure,” you nod at his suggestion, in desperate need of some new clothes anyway. “Sorry about your AirPods, that sucks!”

He takes a sip of his bubbly drink that’s now on the table, “Eh, it’s okay this is probably the fourth time this has happened so far.” This has pretty much become a regular occurrence for him by now.

As the date progresses, things continue getting better. You’re both laughing, engaging in much deeper conversation than ever before. You definitely had more than enough alcohol in your system by now, feeling congested and claustrophobic as more people came into the bar. Changbin takes note of your discomfort and asks if you want to get some fresh air outside, you wasted absolutely no time to agree.

While you two were outside continuing your chat about some wild conspiracy he read about online, Changbin’s attention was soon drawn to a different building nearby. Gazing up in confusion at his sudden outburst of excitement, you wonder where he could be leading you next.

“Noraebang!” He shouts loud enough anyone miles away could’ve heard that, he’s now grabbing your hand to frantically drag you along with him.

You were never one to carry a tune but Changbin was actually very good at karaoke and singing in general, he had such a lovely voice. You could seriously listen to him sing all night— which you basically did since you kept begging for an encore until it hit 4 am. That’s when you both decided to finally call it a night, you wanted to pay for the Uber since he’s paid for all the drinks and every other expenses for today. You felt bad because you were the one renting him to be your boyfriend yet he’s constantly shelling out money left and right. He still insisted on paying and ultimately won the whole debacle, making you swallow your pride and get into the Uber with him. Changbin’s definitely not just someone you’re going to forget about after this week is over. You dread the day this all comes to an end, wishing there was a way to relive these moments again and again.

“I’m a little under the weather today, sorry I can’t make it Binnie.” Your voice is hoarse from coughing and unbearable throat pain. You’ve already consumed half a bag of cough drops, throat lozenges, and random cold medicine you’ve found in your cabinets.

He sounds mildly disappointed, but springs back up with a new proposal, “I can come over and bring some soup if you’d like!”

You appreciate his gesture but still refuse, you know he’s only saying all this because he has to, not because he wants to. “N-no you don’t have to, I’m sure you can go see other clients today. One less person to worry about right?”

The call went silent for a minute, he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to such a deprecating comment.

“I don’t want to see other clients, I want to see you ___.” He sighs, unwilling to give up so easily, “I’ll be at your place soon, m’kay?” He hangs up before you could even respond or say no again.

You had no choice but to wait for Changbin to show up now. Before you got sick, the last two dates you went on were debatably the best so far. You had gone out shopping together, accidentally wearing almost the same kind of outfit. Changbin was wearing a white graphic tee with blue baggy jeans and you wore something practically identical. The two of you looked like a real, official couple and people would stare as you walked hand in hand, it really did seem like the perfect relationship on the outside.

You got even closer when he came over the following day, resulting in you two cuddling while watching movies and baking cookies. He’s expressed that he’s never been to another client’s home before but it wasn’t “technically” against any rules. The more you kept hanging out together, the harder it was coming to terms with the fact you’re actually falling for Changbin. He made every experience with you more exciting than the last, which he did exactly that night. When the cookies were done you fed a piece to him, making little airplane sounds as you do it, he eagerly takes a bite of the chewy treat and compliments both your efforts.

“These taste way better than I thought, oh my god they literally melt in your mouth. Try it!” He takes another cookie from the tray and feeds it to you this time.

There was something so overly domestic about that moment you couldn’t shake the feelings of wanting to kiss him right then and there. But you can’t. If you did such a thing you’d never be allowed to see him again, plus you don’t want to be known as that one creepy client who just couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. As you were cuddling on the couch though, things may have taken a turn for the better… or worse?

Changbin would “yawn” at the movie and subtly wrap his arm around you, he’d subconsciously pull you in closer and it didn’t make it any better that you were under the same blanket. You weren’t complaining at any of this though, you were pretty much in heaven. It took everything in you not to look up and stare, gluing your eyes to the movie that was displayed on the TV. But as the night progressed you were practically snuggling up with him like he was your real boyfriend. The way he’d run his fingers gently down your back, soothing you in a way that could lull you asleep. His touch was the most relaxing thing ever, you were so calm with him and loved how he brought a side of you that’s never been shown. After this encounter you can no longer deny the way you feel— you are officially falling deeply in love your rental boyfriend, Seo Changbin.

The sound of your doorbell ringing alarms you of a new visitor, who was none other than your “boyfriend” waiting patiently outside the door for you. You feel and look like death itself, coming downstairs to answer the door still in your PJ’s and hair a disheveled mess. Every five seconds was interrupted with you coughing your lungs out, barely able to speak above a whisper. Changbin looks thrilled as ever to see you, even when you clearly don’t look your best he’s still coming up to hug you tightly. His hugs are always blocking off your airways from the way his muscles squeeze you, it’s even worse when you’re sick— practically gasping for air.

“Sorry babyy, I just missed you so much. I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day and soon as you said you’re sick I dropped everything to go make you this soup. It’s a specialty I make whenever my friends are sick, the perfect remedy to cure my princess.” He goes into your kitchen to heat up the soup in your microwave, making you wait patiently on the couch as you’re wrapped up in multiple blankets.

Your body feels like it’s -2 degrees, you were freezing. The crazy thing is your thermostat was set to 80 degrees, it was definitely you that was the problem. He propped your feet up on the table, rested a tray in your lap and set the bowl of soup on top. Brushing a couple strands of hair out your face he looks at you intently, examining your symptoms as if he’s a doctor.

“It’ll be okay soon love, I’m here to nurse you back to health again. Can’t see my pretty baby sick like this, makes me all sad.” He pouts, giving you a soft head pat like you’re a delicate kitten.

He takes a spoonful of the hot soup, slightly blowing on it before telling you to open up so you can eat. You don’t know what’s gotten into you but you feel like he’s gone too far with all this. It’s not fair for you to continue on if it’s just become torture now. He’s practically dangling in your face that you’ll never have a partner as perfect as him in your life.

“I- I can’t do this anymore Changbin..” you say lowly, refusing to eat the soup he made.

“What do you mean? I’m just feeding you soup, it’s my duty as your boyfriend to-”

“This isn’t real… none of it is. I’m stupid for even doing this but I was lonely.. I’m sorry but I’d prefer something that isn’t temporary.” You cut him off to express your pent up frustrations, ready to be let down and rejected by him as gently as possible.

“Then let’s make it real,” he proposes without any hesitation, “honestly I stopped faking it around our third date, it was all me after that. I never said anything because well… this is my job and I’ve never fallen for a client before so this is still all very new to me..”

You’d be screaming right now if you weren’t sick, instead you’re internally freaking out at this confession, it feels like your hearts doing cartwheels and somersaults.

“Seriously?” Eyes widening as you look at him, suddenly your body heat rises and you know it’s not because of the soup or the layers of blankets that’s covering you.

He nods, “I thought it was kinda obvious when we kissed yesterday..”

Oh yeah… you forgot that did happen. You thought it was another fever dream you might’ve just made up in your head. You shared your first kiss with someone you deemed so special and important to you, someone you never would’ve guessed could come into your life and shift the entirety of your world like magic. There was no one else in existence you wanted more than Changbin.

“Doesn’t that mean you’ll have to quit your job? I don’t want to be the reason you stop making such good income.. I’ll feel so bad.” You knew deep down you didn’t feel that badly about him quitting to date you instead. It was just the thought of him leaving something he’s been doing for years behind all for some girl he’s known for simply a week.

He shrugs at your comment, “I’ll be just fine, I was planning on finding a new job soon anyway. It gets kinda old after a while, I felt like I was on autopilot most of the time. You were able to get me to open up and show my true self, I could never thank you enough for that ___.” Changbin couldn’t resist the urge to plant a kiss to your forehead.

After everything that’s been said and done. What you’ve come to understand is that love is learned, a development that takes time to grow and blossom into something extraordinary. Just like learning a new language or a musical instrument, we learn love from society and cultures we’re raised in, it’s a beautiful thing once we know how to cherish it. Your newfound romance with Changbin is something you’ll learn to cherish forever and ever.

[End <3].

#skz fluff #skz x reader #changbin fluff #seo changbin fluff #stray kids imagines #skz drabbles #changbin x reader #changbin skz #changbin x female reader #seo changbin x reader #stray kids fluff #changbin scenarios #changbin drabbles #changbin imagines #skz au #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids drabbles #skz imagines

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cupcakeslushie · 6 months ago

Note

For your brainwash au, do we get so see exactly how Donnie got captured by Kendra? And would this au be a full comic or just bits and pieces here and there? (Not pressuring just curious) Love the au and I hope you’re having a good day! :)

Don’t know why, but I felt like writing this part out instead of drawing it! (Sorry for bad grammar. I wrote this lying in bed, sleep deprived and did no editing)

——

The sad, pained look on his little brother’s face is enough to set off that dark protective fire in Donatello’s belly. And Michael has been a tiny storm of negative emotions since Leo slapped the small cast on his ankle. Donnie may not be able to pick apart and decipher all of the subtitles his brother is feeling right now, but he knows he’s in pain, and that’s enough.

“How many strips of bacon do you think we can get from Meat Sweat’s corpse?” Donnie ponders as he wraps an arm around his little brother’s shoulders, and carefully pulls him closer. Mikey lets out a quiet huff, but the joke doesn’t land the way Donnie had been hoping.

“Michael?”

“I’m okay,” Mikey assures. Then a hesitant second later adds, “it’s stupid.”

“Oh well if it’s stupid, allow me to grab ‘Nardo. He might be able to help you better.”

That gets the laugh he was looking for.

“I’m not in pain or anything. It’s just, tonight was the midnight signing of Joshua Bear’s new cook book. He’s a YouTuber chef that I’ve been following for years, and I went to his first release…I really wanted the second for my collection.”

Donatello does vaguely remember Angelo telling Raph something about this event last night, during dinner. He’d been so excited, and now he looks crushed at the idea of missing it.

“What if I went?” At the suggestion, Mikey’s face becomes brighter than a super nova, almost too bright for Donnie to stare at directly. It takes a moment for Michael to really calm down enough to speak.

“You’d really go wait in line for three hours? Just to get a book?” Donatello laughs at the question. Any opportunity in which his brothers were interested in the world of literature, no matter the subject (except maybe geology) was a time to be supportive.

Mikey pulls him in for a tight hug, and holds up his phone to snap a picture of them. Donnie snorts and slides out of his little brother’s hammock, careful not to disturb it too much. Mikey is already bouncing enough that he’s in danger of falling out.

“Yes, yes. Sing my praises on all your media socials. Let the world know how I’m your favorite older sibling!” Mikey drops the phone to his chest and holds his arms up, practically vibrating for one more hug. Donnie complies. He’s long given up maintaining his bad boy image when it’s just the two of them.

“You’re the best, Donnie! Really!” The words do a hell of a job replacing that previous fury he’d been harboring, the smile and warmth coming from Mikey, now fully restored. The proper order of the universe righted with a simple solution. This was what he loved most about being a brother. Fixing his siblings problems, in any way he could. And if healing the broken bone outright was (for now) out of his control—at least he could do this.

Donnie glances at his watch and notes he should get going if the turn out is going to be as big as Angelo predicts. He sneaks past the living room where he can hear his other two brethren yelling over a game of Mario Kart. He has zero interest in either of his brothers tagging along. He loves them, but neither are suited to standing in a long line for hours. For the last Jupiter Jim reboot, Donatello was seconds away from a double fratricide before they were even allowed into the theater.

Besides. He’s practically 18 (in four weeks). He can run up to the surface for a few hours, without having to call upon the archaic buddy system.

———

He’s in line for about an hour, when he sees suspicious movement out the corner of his eye. A young woman, parting the line a little ways ahead from where he stands, walks quickly into the closest alley. That alone might be no cause for alarm—maybe it’s a short cut. But the tall, hooded creep trailing after her, has his metaphorical hackles rising. It’s a clear case of sinister intentions. He quickly glances around to see if anyone else has witnessed this, but he’s the only one who seems to be showing any type of concern. Typical New York.

“What a town” Donnie sighs. He doesn’t bother asking the old man behind him to save his spot, seeing as he’s practically at the end of the line, and quickly races to the alley to play hero.

It’s a deep one, the lights of the street not quite hitting all the eerie nooks and crannies. Plenty of blind spots.

“Hello there? Stalker and or damsel in distress? Is anyone in need of assistance? Anyone hopefully bear maced and in need of a being escorted to the nearest precinct?”

No answer.

The non-existent hairs on Donnie’s arms stand straight up. Just as he’s reaching for his ninpo to materialize a bo-staff, something thick wraps around his neck from behind. The arm is almost as big as Raphael’s, if lacking in the muscle department.

But before his can break the hold, the solid feeling of a needle slides into the meat of his neck and something rushes into his veins. Within seconds he’s released and stumbling from the lack of support.

Someone is talking to him. It takes a second of his gaze bouncing around to pick them out. Mildly embarrassing, considering they’re standing right in front of him now. Out of all the colors popping in and out of his vision, Donnie only just catches the same turquoise hoodie that seemed to belong to the unassuming young woman.

A honey pot trap, he realizes, stumbling and falling pathetically backwards on his own ass.

He sees pink hair and is almost relieved, if humiliated. With all their enemies, the Purple Dragons are D tier. But the chances he can free himself before his brothers even notice his absence is high. Just the thought of the savage teasing he would be forced to endure if his brothers found out—Donatello is not eager to hear any of it.

As the nauseating colors finally bleed away, and start to leave black growing in their wake, Donatello swears to cause a big explosion on his way out.

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise donnie #rise mikey #rise kendra #Kendratello au #ask slushie #rottmnt writing #kendratello au ask

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eraenaa · 8 months ago

Text

Casual

Inspired by the song "Casual" by Chappell Roan

Rafe Cameron x Reader Tag List

Synopsis: You would settle for causality as long as you had Rafe by your side.

Warnings: ¿Angst?, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Oral Sex (F receiving), Fingering, Choking, Not Proofread

Word Count: 2,126

A little break from Aemond fics because I just recently watched an obscene amount of Rafe edits, and now I'm obsessed.

“Rafe… fuck, Rafe,” you called— cried as he was stated between your legs. Your lusted eyes warily scanned the outside, mortified by the idea of you two being caught in such a state. “Shh… I’m doing my best work here,” He hummed and nipped the inside of your thigh, making you whimper. Your hands tangled in his hair, your lips were in between your teeth as his fingers slipped in and out of you, his ring adding a sense of coolness that only aided you in pleasure. “We—we might get caught!”You shirked as his lips sucked on your nubbin. “I really don’t fucking care, baby,” Rafe growled and nuzzled his face closer to your cunt.

You gasped and took hold of the grab handle of his truck as his fingers curled at the familiar sensation of you peaking was about to break. “Rafe!” You cried, and he just chucked and continued to draw circles on your clit, waiting for you to come undone on his lips. “Fuck you always taste so good,” he groaned as he lapped your cunt, and you tried to catch your breath. You slumped on the passenger seat, your back resting on the door and your head leaning against the fogged window. You sighed as his lips met yours, tasting yourself on his tongue while his hand went to cup your breast under your shirt. “We could have gotten caught,” You say against his lips when both of you parted for air. “So what? Let them see how great I am at eating you out,” he said with a sly smirk, enjoying the way your cheeks would flush and your gaze would bashfully go downward.

Rafe chuckled and kissed your cheek before settling himself in his seat and starting the engine of his truck. “Come on, let’s get you home,” he said, resting his large hand on your thigh. “Or would you rather go back to mine?” He asked, and you shook your head at his teasing tone. “I can’t. My parents are expecting me for dinner,” You said and stared at his hand on your thigh; it was odd that you found that part of his so attractive. Rafe hummed and squeezed the plump flesh of your thigh. “That reminds me, Rose told me to tell you you’re invited for dinner tomorrow.” He said as he turned a street. You slightly frown at his words. “Why?” You ask. It was unexpected— maybe even inappropriate because, though having known him and his family for a couple of years, you and Rafe were not on a level of social intimacy that warranted you joining him and his family for Sunday night dinner.

He had made it perfectly clear to his friends what the two of you were. That you two were just casual— just simply going about and fucking each other. “Nothing but a pastime— purely physical,” were his words. You would admit that it stung greatly. But you could not hold it against him because you perfectly knew that Rafe was not the committal type. He wanted something less serious and where there would be no strings attached. And you, who grew up with the idea of relationships stuck in your brain— being labeled as a hopeless romantic by your friends, settled for a casual fling with Rafe because… you wanted him— the whole of him. Even though he only wanted your body, that was enough for you to settle because you’d rather have him want you in a physical sense than not have him want you in any sense at all.

Rafe simply shrugged at your question. “Want me to pick you up?” He asked as he was pulling up to the driveway of your family’s estate. “Uh… no, I’ll just ask our driver,” you say because the act of him going out of his way to pick you up and drive you to dinner with his family was an act of intimacy that you would surely misinterpret and lead you to grow fonder of him whilst he still wants the casualty that did not come easily to you. “You sure?” He asked as his car stopped in the curve of your driveway. “Yeah, wouldn’t wanna impose,” You smile and remove your seatbelt. Rafe nodded and moved to kiss you again. And though you enjoyed kissing him, there was uncertainty on your lips.

“His step-mom invited me to dinner,” you told your friend through the phone. “Why?” They asked in the same confused tone you heard earlier. “I don’t know, too,” You say as you raid your closet for something to wear for the dinner that is fast approaching. “I thought you two were casual?” They asked—their tone hinting distaste. “We are,” You say and stare at yourself in the mirror, deciding which dress suits you best. Strategic in what to wear. You wanted your clothes to be casual but not come off as uncaring.

“Then why would she…?” Your friend trialed, and you debated if you should tell them the thought that pestered in the back of your head. If you should utter the hopefulness and optimism that you harbored. “What if… what if Rafe changed his mind? Maybe he doesn’t want casual anymore, and inviting me to their family dinner is a sign of formality— of exclusiveness.” You said, waiting for their reply. Your friend was silent, trying to find words that would not offend your ludicrous thoughts. They had only met Rafe twice during the summer, but they had the accurate image of him being noncommittal and just one to play around with girls.

“Am I reading too much into this?” You sighed as you were met with stony silence. “A bit, yes,” they finally spoke, making you sigh heavily. “I told you this was not your brightest idea,” they said, and you shook your head. “Just… be cautious. I don’t want you to get hurt. You gave him a lot of your firsts… it’s just— I, for one, know the regret and pain in tying your firsts to someone unworthy of it.” You bit your lip and nodded. Saying goodbye to your friend and promising to visit them in New York once spring break comes.

“You’re here! She’s here!” Weezy exclaimed as she abruptly opened the door of Cameron’s estate. Rafe’s younger sister practically bouncing around and beaming up at you. “Hey,” Race greeted as he descended down the steps, “What’d you bring?” He asked and took the box in your hands; his stepmom Rose coming to greet you in the foyer. “Oh… I brought cupcakes,” you smiled as Rose greeted you with a hug. “Oh, you shouldn’t have gone through the bother, but thank you. Come on, dinner is ready,” Rose smiled, and Weezy took the box and followed her mom. Rafe guiding you to their dinning room with hand placed on the low of your back, edging towards your ass and you had to elbow him in fear of being seen. His reply was only an amused chuckle.

The night proceeded with his parents getting to know you better. Interested in you because your family was one of the wealthiest— if not, the wealthiest on the island. Yet, unsociable because your parents had no want to participate and spend their off time in the country club nor attend the parties thrown by the island’s elite. You, however, were introduced to Rafe through his sister, Sarah, who was notably missing from the dinner table.

You were discussing something with Weezy when Rafe leaned closer to you and whispered something in your ear. “Meet me in the bathroom in two minutes.” He stood up, excusing himself, saying he had a call to take. You battled with yourself if you should do as he asked. It was completely inappropriate to have sex in the washroom whilst his parents and sister were at the dinner table. But the thought of Rafe pushing you against the bathroom counter, you watching him as he fucked you through the mirror… it was enough for wetness to come to your cunt, and you quickly excused yourself from the table.

You looked behind you before taking hold of the bathroom doorknob. The door swung open, and Rafe pulled you in, quickly smashing your lips and moving you to sit on the cool marble counter of the sink. “Thank god you’re wearing a dress,” He practically growled as his fingers were quick to be met with your cunt and your lips continued to dance. “They might get suspicious,” you breathed out as his fingers worked their way into you, and his lips moved to your neck. Rafe groaned as your hand cupped his length through his trousers. “Again, baby, I don’t fucking care.” You gasped as Rafe abruptly pulled you off the counter, turning you to face the mirror and bundling your hair in his hand. His other hand was frantically hiking up your dress and pulling down your underwear. “Such a perfect ass,” He mused and harshly gripped the flesh, making a wince.

You bit your lip and rolled your eyes in pleasure as his cock plunged deep into you. Rafe hissing in pleasure and gripping your hair tighter. “So fucking tight— if I weren’t the one to take your virginity, your cunt would have me believe you’ve never been fucked before… but we both know that’s not the truth, huh baby?” Rafe taunted as he rested your head on his chest, your back arched as he pounded into you. You let out a stifled moan as he removed his grip from your hair and instead placed it around your neck; his other hand, the one with his ring, found its way to the bundle of nerves on your cunt, determined to make you cry out in pleasure— for his family to hear your actions.

“Rafe— please… I—“ You rasped as you felt the need for release. “Aw… not yet, baby… you don’t get to come yet,” Rafe taunted and gripped your neck tighter, enjoying the way tears spilled from your eyes and the way your cunt clenched tighter around him. “Watch me fuck you, pretty girl. I want you to watch how pleasured you are by my cock.” You obeyed his order and watched at the pleasured state both of you were enveloped in, your eyes locking with blue ones through the mirror. You plead with him for release, which only spurs a deeper desire in Rafe. When his thrusts became sloppier, and his grip on your neck grew tighter to the point he was truly close to obstructing your breathing, that was when he finally let you come undone.

It had been a week since the family dinner at Rafe’s. Your parents were away on business, giving you and Rafe the opportunity to play house. The lines of casualness blurred when you had Rafe holding you close in sleep every night when he would wake you with his kisses and his lips on your cunt. The lines of casualness faded away when you cooked for him at dinner, and he served you breakfast in bed.

You started to wonder if being casual meant that you would take showers together, that you would be in each other’s arms as you watched hours of movies. Was it still casual when he handed you his phone because his sister wanted to talk to you? It’s hard to say you two were just casual when he went through the piles of your baby albums and forced you to tell the story behind each photo, making you recall your childhood with such interest that it made your heart flutter. It was far from casual when he lay on your lap and started to open up about his torn relationship with his dad and mum; your hand soothingly brushed his hair whilst the other was intertwined with his.

Hope was dangerously blooming in your heart that perhaps you two were starting to be more than casual. The actions shown led that way. You only had to muster up the courage to ask Rafe for more, to establish something stable between the two of you. So you went to his party with hopes that you two would be something more. Idealistic and idiotic because the moment you stepped foot in his house, with the crowds of people and the music blasting, all you could see was him in the corner, making out with another girl. Holding her in the way he held you, kissing her in the way he kissed you. Your heart pitted, and your mind scolded you for being stupid enough to hope. You hated yourself because you made yourself believe that Rafe Cameron would ever want something more than casual.

Part 2

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naeviskz · 9 months ago

Text

WHIRLWIND ๑‧˚₊ ─── HHJ

synopsis ; you overreact just a teensy bit when you see hyunjin talking to another girl, but when you find out the actual reason why … you try everything you can to make it up to him.

genre 숌 non-idol au, boyfriend!hyunjin x girlfriend!reader | established relationship

words - 3.6k tags/warnings 숌 fluff, (some) angst? pwp, smut, reader gets very jealous easily/has possessive tendencies, small mentions of insecurities, v v v clingy & needy gf, marking, dry humping, dirty talk, oral (m), lowkey daddy kink, hj has a big cawk, breeding kink cause that’s my fave tehe. i will preface that oc kinda has a toxic way of thinking and it’s def not healthy to act this way irl !!

now playing 🎧 : cool with you by newjeans, streets by doja cat

☆ 彡

[ this my first ever writing that has smut in it so bear w/ me pls ;-; i’m still learning how to do this right haha, but lmk if you enjoyed this at all <3 **not proofread btw ! ]

“Let’s go on that one next Jinnie!!” You squeal like a giddish teenager as you point to the ride up ahead, violently pulling on Hyunjin’s hand his entire arm might just fall off.

It’ll be your 1 year anniversary in approximately a week, and what better way to pre celebrate than going to the amusement park and watching fireworks at night? You haven’t been to one in years, reminiscing all those times you were a kid innocently frolicking around, not having a single care in the world. Since you’re a fully grown adult now it’s an altered experience, you’re able to pick up on social cues and no longer need parental supervision. You forgot just how thrilling it was to let loose and have fun, all while spending it with your lovely boyfriend.

The current ride you’re both getting on is essentially a giant wooden pirate ship that swings in a horizontal motion, elevating you high up in the air. You don’t do heights very well but Hyunjin’s a little daredevil who gets off on the adrenaline rush. He’s tried convincing you to do skydiving but that’s just something you refuse to compromise on. Before going on the pirate ship ride you went on the teacups, which was probably your favorite one of today. You couldn’t stop giggling and teasing Hyunjin over how incredibly fast he was spinning the turn-wheel, almost forgetting that you were also supposed to contribute. Spending quality time with your boyfriend like this means everything to you, he makes you feel like you’re floating on a pink cloud whenever you’re together. Like nothing else matters but you and him.

As the day progressed, what was once a milky, pale blue sky has now become a smoky dull atmosphere. Night was approaching any minute, making the temperature drop dramatically— you regret leaving the house in just shorts and a crop top. Your limbs shaking and trembling involuntarily from gusts of cool air the wind casually blows, Hyunjin seems to take note of this and takes action immediately.

“Want my hoodie babe?” Hyunjin asks out of concern, ready to yank it off the minute you agree.

You profusely nod at his offer, unable to withstand the frigid weather for another second. He pauses momentarily to grab the hem of his Versace sweatshirt with his free hand, swiftly drawing it over his head and handing it to you. Underneath he wore a thin plain white tee, now suffering from the cold— but any sacrifice is worthy of making for his precious babygirl.

Quickly putting it on, your body feels instantly warmer from his body heat still embedded into the soft fabric. “You saved me Jinnie, I almost turned into a human popsicle!” Were you exaggerating a bit? Maybe, but that’s beside the point. You’re all cozy now in Hyunjin’s oversized hoodie, loving the fact that only you get to wear his clothes.

His eyes shape into crescents as he flashes an adoring smile, “my diet would only consist of peach flavored ___ popsicles for the rest of my life then.”

You swear he’s just the cutest, most adorable, sweetest thing to have ever walked this earth. Sometimes you wonder how you got so lucky to end up with a person as charming, and perfect as Hyunjin. He’d say the same about you too but there’s another layer to how you feel. You’re often very over protective and territorial over him, needing to know exactly where he is at all times and who he’s hanging out with. Most of the time he’s with you, either at your place or at his. There was a set routine you two had at this point, after he’s done with work he’ll call and let you know he’s on his way to yours. Hyunjin knows how paranoid you can get when he’s gone for too long so he makes sure to communicate with you as much as he can throughout the day. It’s hard to deal with someone as high maintenance as you but he makes it work, he likes that you’re always worried and concerned about him — he’d rather have a girlfriend like that than one who doesn’t care about him.

“Looks like the sun should be setting soon.. won’t be much longer ‘til the fireworks start!” You cheer out of excitement, part of the reason you wanted to come was to see them.

He nods in agreement, “you’re right, is there anything else you wanna ride before they start?”

As if your brain answered before you could even think, “You.”

His doe eyes widened at your bold reply, never quite getting used to your subtle dirty mind. “I’ll give you that in due time, don’t worry mamas.”

A little bit later on you challenged Hyunjin to try the ‘test your strength’ game and of course he couldn’t pass up a moment to impress you. He gets into a competitive sports stance, gripping the hammer tightly before he swung hard at the puck. The meter flew straight up and hit the bell on his first try, able to win whatever prize he wanted from the largest section. He lets you choose whichever plushy you wanted, a giant fluffy pink stuffed unicorn that you held in your other hand that wasn’t occupied with Hyunjin’s.

“Hyunjinnieee, ‘m getting kinda hungry,” you childishly whine in hopes of getting him to buy you both food.

Before he could even get a response out your eyes were already fixated on something. The glowing neon lights of a food stand selling mozzarella corn dogs, you’ve always wanted to try those as you see them all the time on TikTok. Without hesitation you make a mad dash for the line as you drag your innocent boyfriend along for the adventure. As you got closer you realize the lines pretty spread out, there was at least 20+ people waiting but you were willing to stay as you really wanted one.

Hyunjin detaches his hand from yours, making you question his sudden intentions, “be right back babe, m’gonna go to the restroom.” He politely excuses himself, “here’s my card just in case I don’t make it back in time.” Pulling his credit card from his wallet to hand you before venturing off.

“Don’t be gone for too long please, or else I’ll come find you myself.” You were dead serious too, honestly speaking you didn’t necessarily want him out of your sight but you trust that he’ll come back in a reasonable amount of time. Hopefully.

“I promise babe.” He reassures, giving a quick peck to your forehead before vanishing into the crowd.

After what seemed like an eternity, you manage to secure the corn dogs and pay for them with Hyunjin’s card. Realizing now that your boyfriend is still gone, it’s been a good 15-20 minutes and he promised that he’d be back. Now you have to go looking for him like a mother who’s just lost their child. Scanning every area of the park you came across, you begin to feel anxious when you don’t see him anywhere. A range of negative thoughts intrude your mind with possibilities of where he could’ve gone. What you weren’t expecting was for your intuition to be exactly spot on.

There he was standing in front a taco truck, talking and laughing with another girl. A girl you absolutely do not recognize and have no clue why or what she’s doing even having a conversation with your man. You couldn’t move at all, frozen in place as you watched the scene fold out in front of you, making you more livid as it continues. The mystery girl was pissing you off by the minute, the tiny skirt she wore barely left anything to the imagination and her body language was way too close for comfort for your liking. You had to put a stop to this immediately.

Slowly you make your way up to them, examining the situation further. The blonde girl tries to loom even closer to Hyunjin but he backs away a bit, a sheer look of fear and paranoia in his eyes. She keeps talking to him but he doesn’t really say much back, only half smiling and nodding. What makes you pick up your pace at lightning speed was when he pulls his phone out from his back pocket, as if he’s about to ask for her number.

You’ve seen enough, it’s time to intervene now.

Practically sprinting up to them you see the girl perk up when she sees you, giving a friendly wave and inviting smile as if she wasn’t just trying to steal your man a second ago. You’re ready to rip this bitches hair out and show her that she’s picked the wrong one to mess with today.

“Oh hi, you must be ___, it’s so good to finally meet you!” Her voice was so squeaky and high-pitched, not even in a cute way, just obnoxiously loud and annoying.

…How the fuck does this girl know who you are?

“Who the hell is this?” You snap at Hyunjin, completely ignoring the girl’s presence, “How does she know you?”

“I’m— ”

“I believe I asked my boyfriend, not you. Who is she?” You rudely cut her off to reiterate the question.

Hyunjin looks like he’s just witnessed a murder, his own murder to be exact. “This is Valerie, we went to high school together, I was just showing her your freelance work and all the cool designs you make ‘cause she’s looking for graphic designers and I think you’re really talented babe.”

Your heart just sank to the pit of your stomach. The balled up fist your right hand was clenching soon released itself, no longer in fight mode but flight mode from the sudden embarrassment you’re internally battling.

“Oh..”

“Uh, well it was nice talking to you Hyunjin! I’ll go find my husband now, but your graphics are incredible ___ and I’d love to hire you for a couple projects I have lined up. Here’s my business card!” She hands you the flimsy card stock and leaves in an instant.

Now you feel totally ridiculous for almost causing a scene and cursing out the girl and your boyfriend for just wanting to promote your work. You owe him an apology big time.

“I thought you were…”

“Flirting with another girl, seriously? You think I have a death wish or something? Of course I’d never try something like that. The first thing she saw was you as my lock screen when I checked the time. Plus she’s married, I don’t think she’d be that dumb.” Hyunjin further proves his case, making sure not to leave any details out.

“M’sorry baby, please forgive me.” You plead for forgiveness, regressing back to your softer, more gentle side “lemme make it up to you daddy.”

“Nngh! Hyunjin-” you keen into his ear as you rub your clothed heat against his toned thigh, holding onto him for stable support.

You seriously felt bad for acting out like that earlier, all you want to do now is make him feel so good he forgets all about your previous unhinged behavior. Lord knows what you’d do if you ever lose someone so important to you. You can’t think about that right now though. Right now was all about him and making him feel good, but you can’t help but get something out of it as well.

The backseat of his car was a bit cramped as he decided to take his smaller convertible instead of the SUV, not exactly bargaining that later on you’d be getting freaky in his vehicle. Nonetheless you enjoy each other’s company, not needing much space anyway — if anything you wanted to be as close to him as possible. If you could get inside his skin you probably would. You love Hyunjin more than yourself, often feeling like you aren’t good enough to be with him. Maybe the reason you’re so protective and jealous is because you fear he’ll leave you for someone better.

Lazily trailing your lips down further, placing small pecks here and there until you land on his neck, adorned with a dainty silver chain, nuzzling your face into the crook of it. He smells so good, the cologne he’s wearing along with his natural pheromones is an intoxicating concoction. You stick your tongue out, gliding the wet muscle over his bare skin, still feverishly rutting into him while listening to his ethereal moans.

“Mmm.. I love you.” He murmurs under his breath, slipping his hands underneath (his) your hoodie to feel you up. His hands travel upwards to find the valley of your breasts, still covered by the bra you’re wearing he slides underneath the cups to lightly squeeze them.

You nibble on his neck in response, harshly sucking on the flesh to leave visible love bites, you want to make it abundantly clear to the whole world Hwang Hyunjin belongs to you.

“I love you more Hyunjinnie,” you stop for a brief moment to say, “gonna prove it.” Which you will once you’re satisfied with marking his entire neck and chest with dozens of purple and red hickeys.

Even though he’s touching you, grinding his hard length into you and purring out your name, you need more. Craving to see and feel more of him, you tug at the hem of his t-shirt in hopes he catches your drift.

“Off. Now.” You demand sharply, getting more impatient by the second.

He obliges instantly, stripping the garment off his body to reveal the most gorgeous set of abs you’ve laid your eyes upon, he’s so unreal it makes you constantly question if you’re dreaming. You went from his neck to kissing his plump lips, his hand cupping the side of your face to deepen the kiss, both so desperate and horny for each other. Running your manicured hands down his beautiful body, just the tiniest flexing Hyunjin does with his muscles makes you go crazy. You need him to manhandle you, have you bent over and get fucked senselessly.

“Lie back Jinnie, m’gonna suck you off.” You command him to move, getting up from him so he can pivot into a more comfortable position.

He shuffles around, leaning into the leather seat before quickly undoing his pants and sliding them down his ankles. You get on your knees, disappearing between his legs to come in contact with his stiff erection. Tracing figure eights on his thighs, he hisses from your delicate touch. You couldn’t resist planting a chaste kiss to his stomach, leaving another wet kiss to his v-line. Any little touch makes Hyunjin’s heart beat out of his chest, he can’t get enough of you just as you can’t of him— high off each other like an addictive, psychoactive drug.

As you finally free his cock from the last barrier, his boxer briefs, you’re in awe from just how much precum he’s leaking already. His length stood straight up resting on his stomach, faint veins protruding around the shaft. You kiss his pretty pink tip while looking up at him with innocent eyes, grabbing the base of his cock, opening your mouth just a little to provide a few kitten licks. You’ve only just started but he feels like he’s going to come undone already.

“Shit-” he lowly grunts, feeling his cock pulsate in your tiny hand.

Taking him further in your mouth now, you manage to fit half of his length, bobbing your head up and down while keeping a tight suction on his cock. Hyunjin involuntarily rocks his hips into you, making you gag just a little from how big he is. You could never fit all of him (except for that one time you were super drunk and magically forgot what a gag reflex was) but you still try your best and that’s all that matters to him. He loves that you’re always willing to give him random blowjobs whenever and wherever, you both love public sex and the idea of possibly being caught. You take a short break to collect more saliva, spitting on his cock and spreading it with your hand to make it even messier. His mouth was permanently agape, staring down at you with lust filled eyes, not knowing how much longer he can last. When you start pumping his cock much faster along with swirling your tongue around it , he thinks he might just lose it. Panting heavily, he shifts underneath you in attempt to get you to stop but you keep sucking like the cock hungry slut you are for him. He’s seriously going to nut any minute if you continue at this rate.

“Babe.. you’re gonna make me cum if you keep this up…” he closes his eyes, almost giving in to what’s inevitably about to come.

“Isn’t that the goal?” You ask quickly before going back.

“No,” he says, slightly frustrated with you for not obeying, “fucking this tight little pussy is.”

You’re confused when he’s pulling you away from him, moving you from the floor and back onto his lap all in one swift action, manhandling you for real this time. “What’re you doing!” You raise your voice at him like a brat, to which he spanks your behind in response.

“Shh.. relax.” He shuts you up by pulling you in for a slow, sensual kiss.

You moan into his mouth, melting right into his touch like always. “Need you so bad please..” you whine for to feel more of him.

“Tell me what you need, I’ll give it to you baby.” He promises, lacing his fingers in your hair, looking at you with pure admiration.

“Your cock.. need your big fat cock inside me now,” you beg like a good girl, “please daddy, i’m literally soaking for you.” Shameless at this point with how you talk, but you know the dirtier you get the more Hyunjin likes it.

He can’t say no when you ask so polite that. “I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you whatever you want princess.”

And he does.

Once he rids you of your shorts and underwear, you’re back on top of him, lining yourself up with his thick cock that slides right in from you being so ready.

“Fuck you’re so wet baby.. you take this cock so well cutie,” he praises you in the hottest way possible. You’ll never get tired of hearing him talk like this to you, hence why you love to have sex so much.

“Only for you daddy.” You breathlessly spoke, getting used to his length for a moment before beginning to move. Slowly bouncing up and down his member at first until Hyunjin slams his cock into you, walls clenching as you feel every inch of him. You shifted from grinding on him in slow motion to picking up your speed, placing both hands around his neck. Hyunjin throws his head back in pleasure, wrapping his hand around your waist as the other grips the soft flesh of your ass.

“Mine… your cock is mine,” you’re going faster and faster, crying out as he matches your movements, thrusting back into you hard. “Only I get to ride this everyday.”

He doesn’t hesitate to agree, letting you know exactly who he belongs to. “I’m all yours babygirl, can have this cock as much as you want, use me to get yourself off..”

You feel like you’re about to come soon, legs shaking and spasming from his girth splitting you open. “Yes baby..” you couldn’t think straight anymore, “love your cock so much Jinnie..” You mewl from being so full and cockstuffed “mmph.. wanna have your babies.”

“Yeah? Want me to fill your little cunt with all my cum and get you pregnant, hmm ? That what you want pretty girl?” He sounded so pussy drunk he couldn’t even blame you for wanting to any of this.

One more thrust was all it took for the thread to unravel inside of you, seeing white, glowing stars as you get closer to your orgasm.

“Jinnie kiss me.”

He does as he’s told, grabbing your face to kiss you roughly, entering his tongue in your mouth to intertwine with yours. He’s so good at everything he does it’s insane. Maybe if the dick wasn’t so damn good you wouldn’t be half as crazy.

“I’m so close princess..” he announces, slipping one of his long, slender digits onto your clit, coaxing your release.

“Me too.”

Everything feels ultra sensitive to you as you approach your climax, whimpering as Hyunjin sucks on your perked nipples while you continue riding him. A sudden rambunctious crackling sound startles the both of you, but what you weren’t expecting to see outside were fireworks lighting up the night sky. You’d completely forgot how excited you were to see them, watching in amazement as all the vibrant colors morph together. Leaning in to tenderly kiss your boyfriend who was also momentarily distracted, you get back right to business, chasing after your highs. Hyunjin finishes inside you like you wanted, feeling his hot seed spill into your aching heat. You came undone shortly after, holding onto him while your bare chests collide. Fireworks detonate inside your body as they do outside.

As if the universe had orchestrated the perfect 1 year anniversary pre celebration just for the two of you; a perfect moment to seal your love with the glittering magic of romance and fireworks combined. Hyunjin’s so happy to have met someone like you, someone who loves him so passionately and so deeply. He may not understand why you think the way you do sometimes, or react with such brash methods, but he knows that you do it out of pure love. It’s a whirlwind of emotions dating you but he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world or have it any other way.

- 完 ♡︎

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cheollipop · 1 year ago

Note

YOU DESERVE THE 2K BABES!!! Here’s one for you;

Where San’s lazy to clean up after sex so he ends up falling asleep with his cock inside you. And the next morning ends up fucking you with his cum when he realises that his cock is still buried in you. He’s totally fucked out from the pleasure since he’s still half asleep. ❤️

Have fun with this huhu \(//∇//)\

2𝙠 𝙎𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩

we've come full circle!! I started this sleepover with a somno drabble, and now I'm ending it with another one ^^ anonnie, I am not exaggerating when I say I nearly lost my mind reading this ask....I cannot. whenever desperate san is mentioned, I need to take a breather or else I might commit a felony. maybe it's because it's the last sleepover submission but...this turned out so fluffy and so sappy and ughhhh i love love so much. thank you so much for sending this in!! I had lots of fun writing it out, so I really hope I did it justice,, happy reading~ ( = ⩊ = )♡

pairing: choi san x fem!reader

w.c.: 1.0k

tags: smut, so fluffy, and sappy, somnophilia, morning sex, unprotected sex (👎), multiple creampies, breeding kink, overstimulation, mentioned oral sex (f), they're both very very desperate, and very very in love

nsfw under cut—minors dni!

The new day’s rays peppered kisses over honey skin, soft lashes fluttering open to take in the gold cast over painted walls. San was still groggy, remnants of his dream and hints of last night’s endeavours still clinging to the back of his eyelids as he fought off the insistent drowsiness. Your scent lured him in, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck while he drew you closer with arms around your waist, chest flush with your back as he inhaled what was left of your perfume.

He breathed out a soft groan against your skin, the pleasure shooting up his spine dragging him out of the idle state of somnolence he’d slipped into. Awareness flooded his senses—the morning birds sang a familiar melody, accompanying the steady pace at which your hips moved, dragging San’s hardening cock over your sweet spot, fluttering walls enveloping him in their heat. The thick cum he pumped you full of the night before now settled over your thighs and his, crusted over the fresh layer of sweat your ministrations drew out of your pores. San’s mind raced, and then calmed down under the blinding ecstasy coursing through him with every involuntary squeeze around his length, the fingers resting over your waist now gripping the flesh as he resisted the urge to fuck into you.

He allowed you to use him, angle your hips to fit San’s cockhead directly against your g-spot, and chasing your orgasm despite knowing he’d awoken. San grew harder, perhaps because you were so entranced by your own pleasure to pay him any mind, or perhaps because of the images his brain kept drawing up, the questions it kept asking—was his cock buried within your used cunt all night, or did you wake up so desperate to take another load of his cum that you stuffed it back inside yourself?

San groaned into your neck, sliding his hand down to your hip while he lifted his head to peek over your shoulder, the pretty ‘o’ painted on your lips going straight to his groin. Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth to your cheekbone, rolling his hips to meet your own, the steady echoes of skin-on-skin reverberating between the golden walls.

“I gave you so much last night, didn’t I? Oh baby, look at the mess we made,” he mumbled against your skin, fingers tracing a line down the dried-up stream of cum on your inner thighs.

“Sannie, ‘s not enough,” you whined, reaching around to dig your nails into his ass, guiding him into your needy, leaking cunt. “Want you, please, ‘want you so bad.”

“Ah, fuck—I’ll give you whatever you want, darling, I’m all yours,” he snuck an arm under your leg, spreading you wide open before snapping his hips into you once, twice, before his rhythm turned desperate. Desperate to please, desperate to feel you clenching around him, desperate to watch his cum seep out of you under the orange hue of the early morning sun. He fucked the moans out of your parted lips, the dizzying sound harmonising with that of the robins sat at your windowsill. “God, you feel so good. ‘Wanna fill you up again, watch your pretty pussy leak while we eat breakfast.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, repetitions of ‘yes’ and San’s name rolling off your tongue while you gripped onto the hand holding your legs apart, the wet squelch of your cunt as it spat slick out every time San buried inside you masked under the overlapping mewls and grunts shared in the air separating you.

And yet, you wanted more. San was in no way a stingy partner, and more often than not, he gave more than he took. Your mind sifted through hazy memories of the prior night: soft hands bringing you down onto his face, nose nuzzling into your clit while he curled his tongue between your walls; his sensitive cock—overstimulated yet still hard—pounding into you, spurting watery strings of cum deep inside you until the fatigue rendered you unable to ask for more, falling asleep with the twitching member stuffed inside you. Perhaps you were just too needy, too drunk on San, too addicted to his being to bare his absence, even if it were for a single second.

“You’re gonna take it all, won’t you? My pretty girl’s gonna let me breed her over and over again, until her pussy can’t fit any more of me inside.”

God, you felt dizzy. Pure bliss buzzed through your body as San guided you over the edge, holding your hand as you dove head-first into a warm ocean of blues, soft waves reflecting the orange beams of sunlight under which you basked. You clamped up around him, and his thrusts turned sloppy, slipping out with how wet you were. He pushed back inside, chest heaving against your back with raspy praise—‘just a little more,’ and ‘good girl, taking me so well’—muttered onto your nape, thighs shaking against the backs of yours while he used your stretched cunt to reach his high.

San’s cock twitched as he finally unloaded within you, his pace slowing into a languid grind, and the breath he’d been holding released over your skin, low-toned moans travelling into your ears as he milked himself of every last drop and fed it into your womb.

Comfortable stillness took over the room, and the thick scent of sex mingled in the air you breathed, but San’s warmth, his scent and body, engulfed your very being, and somehow nothing else mattered anymore. you shifted onto your back, his length slipping out of you with a hiss, and the familiar trickle of the translucent liquid sent a shiver through your spasming frame. San laid on his side, propped up on an elbow while he mooned over the tranquillity gracing your features, hints of sleep still imminent on your puffy eyelids, and yet he couldn’t help but find that endearing—wanting him, needing him, even while barely conscious. San wondered what good he had done in his past lives to be worthy of such unconditional love and adoration, but didn’t dare ponder for too long, afraid of missing the blessing—fucked-out and staring up at him—the universe had bestowed on his present.

#panda's 2k sleepover o(≧▽≦)o #cromernet #choi san x reader #choi san smut #san x reader #san smut #ateez x reader #ateez smut #choi san scenarios #choi san imagines #san scenarios #san imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines

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fatesundress · 2 years ago

Text

⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader

part i here.

summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)

tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.

note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡

word count. 6.3k

The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.

You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.

“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”

You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”

Pot. Kettle. Whatever.

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”

You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.

You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”

She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”

And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.

“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.

You have, of course, trained for this.

It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.

Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.

His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.

“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same.

You deserve applause for this.

“Tired?”

“Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.

“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.

“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”

“...Hm.”

That’s it. That’s all you get from him.

And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”

He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.

You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.

Well. Perhaps not, then.

You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.

And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.

You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”

“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”

“You are such a —”

You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it.

“Just — go then, before I hex you.”

“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”

“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”

You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.

“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.

You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.

Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.

It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.

“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”

You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.

You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.

What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction?

You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.

Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.

You manage a simple, “And yet.”

“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet.

You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.

“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”

Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.

It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.

“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”

Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.

“Pity.”

Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.

You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —

"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"

“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”

God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner.

There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s hardly charity.”

“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”

You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.

“You look lovely.”

It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”

And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.

He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.

His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”

What?

You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —

“Unbelievable…”

He quirks a brow. “What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”

“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”

He — that was —

“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”

“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”

You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.

Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”

You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.

“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”

Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”

“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”

No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.

But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”

Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.

“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”

You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.

“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.

You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.

Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”

You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party.

Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.

If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.

And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.

And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.

And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.

He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.

His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.

You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.

You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.

“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.

The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten.

This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.

“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again."

You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?

You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.

You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.

It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.

His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him.

He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.

You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins.

This is not like that.

You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.

You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.

His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.

How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?

And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.

You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.

His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.

“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks.

At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them.

Tom smiles. “Hm, you did."

And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.

“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"

Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.

His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.

And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.

Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.

You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”

That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”

His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.

But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.

You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.

“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.”

Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)

He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything — is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.

More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.

It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.

“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.

As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.

His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.

Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting.

He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.

His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.

But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.

You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.

And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.

When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.

A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers.

When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.

Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.

Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.

You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient.

But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.

There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still.

Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”

Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.

And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in.

It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.

Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.

His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him.

“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.

You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.

It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.

You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.

“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”

Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.

He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.

And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.

The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.

You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.

But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.

You did say he was yours.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x y/n #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle oneshot #NO LONGER!#but it is only a two-parter sorry. this is it #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 3 months ago

Note

Hiii! could you maybe write a Grayson x reader fic with a reader who doesn’t feel she is lovable cos her parents were abusive and taught her that?

hi!! thanks for your request, I realise it’s taken me a while to get around to writing it, so very sorry about that. It was a little dark but I’ll gave it a go. pre-warning I’ve never written anything like this before, so if it’s inaccurate or insensitive, I’m very sorry.

title: never good enough

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: a make out session brings back some unwanted memories that you’re forced to face

warnings: really heated make-out session, suggestive themes (but nothing bad bad), lots of past trauma, swearing, panic attack, abusive parents

a/n: if any of the warnings trigger you, please do not read on, I don’t want to be responsible for someone else’s pain!! I’d feel so guilty!!

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @heartwithsimplenotes @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual

I like the way he tastes and the feel of his lips on mine. It’s not something I see myself getting bored of. It feels nice. But what feels nicer is the feeling of someone desiring you, someone wanting you, maybe even needing you. The feeling that someone chose you for a reason, because you matter to them. I like that feeling the best.

With each kiss I imagine that he actually feels something for me. It’s easier to play pretend. If you play pretend for long enough it can start to feel like reality. Growing up, I used to create things in my head all the time. Fictitious fantasies to fill in my empty voids of emotion. I suppose the habit had bled into my adult life.

He moans against my lips. The sound of pleasure indicating I’ve done something right, something he enjoys. My heart swells at this symbol of approval. Why do I thrive off of approval? I shake the feeling away in another deep kiss, burying it under a mound of other things I was ignoring. If I can’t see them they’re not there, if I turn my back, if I close my eyes.

These kisses are meaningless really, my brain knows it, actually it keeps attempting to remind me but I’ve gotten quite good at discarding things people say. They hurt my heart but not my head.

Grayson isn’t one to display how he feels for me publically. He’s mentioned before that he feels he doesn’t need to display how he feels to the world, he’s doesn’t care what the world thinks, he only cares what I think. It’s a beautifully designed excuse to tell me secretly that he doesn’t want to show affection in public because he doesn’t want me. I’m an embarrassment to love. I always have been.

But I don’t care. Our private moments together are bliss because I get to escape the truth and I like that. The truth is bitter like the cud, it’s harsh, it’s cruel, it’s painful. I’ve had too much of that already. So in the moments where I can I indulge so much I blind myself from it, I revel in the occasion. For the while.

His hands are firmly on my hips and I can feel the warmth of them through my clothes. They feel strong and supportive. They might be the only thing holding me together right now or it feels like it anyway. My hands are buried deep within his hair but I’m too caught up in the moment to think about it much. His kisses are quick and sweet, a little gentle. Sometimes he’d draw one or two out into longer, more passionate kisses. I didn’t care, as long as his lips were on mine, my memories would be forgotten. He begins to slide his hand up my body, tracing the curves of my bodice and up all the way until his cupping my face in his hands.

“I love you,” he pants, cheeks rosy and flushed, as we pull apart for breath, “more than you’ll ever know.”

Every time he says those words it ignites yet another fragment of my heart, that burns into ash in my chest. He’s killing me softly and I’m sure he’s enjoying it. He’s just telling me he loves me so I’ll stay with him, give him what he wants until he’s bored enough. That’s fine. I don’t mind. I know this, I’ve always known this. But getting to live in these moments, these moments laced in fierce passion and licked with flames of lust always made the harsh reality easier to swallow.

I don’t reply. Instead I kiss harder, more intensely. Maybe if I kiss with even more vigor, even more passion I can completely forget my pain. Maybe my mind will go blank and won’t be able to fill it in this time. I want the piercing sensation of white light to hit me and if it does I will let it burn me. Until my memories are incinerated and I no longer have to live with the weight of fear on my chest

He registers my sudden serge for more and begins to deliver. He matches my yearning for something deeper, something more. We’re caught up in heavy breathing, racing hearts and profuse sweating. Neither one of us cared. My hands find the hem of his shirt and I am tempted to tug down on the fabric but I don’t trust myself. My mind is too hypnotised by the sweet poison of his persuasive lips, I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t make decisions like these. We’ve never gone further than kisses and I’m not sure if going further right now would make me feel better or worse. But who cares right?

No. I don’t let myself get that carried away. Not yet anyway. Even though I’ve previously been stripped of my dignity I will not be the one to do it to myself now. I take my hands away and slide them around the back of his neck.

We stop. Suddenly. And for a moment the standstill is uncomfortable. The absence of married lips is eerie almost. My mouth is tingling and I crave his taste already, it hasn’t been two seconds. It’s worse than drugs. I don’t want to stop kissing, every time we stop it opens a window for me to remember. A window I’ve been trying to avoid for far too long now.

He looks into my eyes and for a second I actually believe I’m wanted. Pools of gray, like a clear lake glistening in the moonlight. Pretty eyes, pretty face, pretty lips. But pretty doesn’t get you love. He smiles at me gently, a quiet kindness sparkles in his eyes. Sometimes I wonder how he is so perfect at forging this tenderness, how he claimed these masterful acting skills.

He trails his fingers gently down my face. It feels like he cares, the tentative manor misleading. Then suddenly I’m no longer in the apartment with Grayson. I’m back in my old house. No. I couldn’t be here. Not here. Anywhere but here. I don’t want to be back here. I escaped, I ran, I left, it was all over. I made sure it was over. I, I, I -

I’m back.

Sat on the living room sofa, that horrible itchy dull grey sofa, that appeared in my nightmares frequently. It even smells the same. The sour smell, that makes my stomach flip and my hands begin to shake. These four walls still haunt me. It looks as if they’re closing in, slowly, slowly. Like the room is getting smaller and I’m trapped. Claustrophobia seems to be my only companion.

My hands shake uncontrollably and no matter what I try and do to calm down, nothing works. I thought I was getting better, I thought I was coping well, I thought that it was going away. But this is proving otherwise.

I’m reliving a memory. A memory I’ve always wanted to forget. A memory scorched into my brain that tended to replay over and over like a relentless broken record that could never be smashed. I feel sick. I know what’s coming. No. I know who is coming.

His footsteps are an immediate giveaway and the faint smell of alcohol lingering in the air. I’m curled in a ball down, small, hiding like a helpless animal in a hole. If I curl up maybe it won’t happen. Maybe he won’t see me.

“What are you doing?”

A shiver runs down my spine. Every note in his voice is exactly how I remember it. The question echos around my head but I say nothing in reply. My words won’t form in my state of paralysis.

“Answer me girl!” my father barks. His voice venomous, dangerous.

“Nothing,” I reply quickly.

He grabs my arm, his fingers so tight around me that I’m sure that they’ll be bruises forming soon. He yanks me up as I attempt to cower backwards.

“Don’t take that tone with me you whore,” he spits in my face, the pungent wreaking of alcohol on his breath as he throws me to the floor.

I hit it with a thud. A dull aching thud. Just like the dull aching monotony of this scene that was just a part of every day life back then. I don’t move from the ground, I’ve learnt not to fight back. That only landed me in hospital last time. I lay there so still I hope he thinks I’m dead so he’ll leave me alone. He does not. He knows better. Unfortunately for me, he knows his daughter.

“You’re nothing but a piece of shit,” growls the voice that makes my blood curdle, “you hear that?”

I thought I’d left him far behind. I thought he was gone. I thought wrong. I am naive and I’m the idiot I have always been. I don’t reply again. There’s nothing to reply with. Of course I heard.

“I said, you HEAR that?” he screams it louder.

I don’t reply. Stupid mistake but he doesn’t give me time to undo it. He’s already standing over me. It had already begun.

***

He beats my body until my brittle bones long to snap. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. Those four words repeat over and over in my head. They might be the only thing keeping me conscious. No matter how much it hurts he cannot know he’s won. I refuse to hand him that victory of a silver platter, decorated in my jewels of agony.

And for a split second I wonder where my mother is and I don’t even know why. She would’ve do anything, she never did. She just stood there, emotionales, detached. Mothers are meant to protect and defend their children against anything in the world, it made me wonder why mine did not. It made me wonder if I were born to different people or maybe not born at all if things might be better off.

It’s not the time for thinking, I’m reminded. Another kick. I will not cry. A punch. I will not cry. My lip splits open. I will not cry. A twist of my left arm. I will not cry, I think my nose is broken. I will not cry.

“Stubborn little bitch won’t even shed a tear,” he snarls, bitterness so evident on his tongue I was surprised it hasn’t dissolved yet.

Yes I am stubborn. No I will not cry. Not for him. And then it happens. All over again. Beaten, bruised, battered, broken.

I can’t breathe. I’m in so much agony there’s no way I could even scream. So tears roll softly down my face as I’m curled up on the floor in defeat, desperation and humiliation. My body is nearly motionless, my limbs lay slack at my sides. I can’t help myself and no one is coming to save me. I let myself cry, broke the only promise I had to myself. I’m even betrayed my own brain for him.

I look up at him, tear streaked face. Is he happy now? Is he finally happy with me? Am I finally going to revive some sort of approval? Stupid questions to be wondering when I know exactly how this story ends.

As my eyes meet his, my father trails his fingers gently down my face. It still stings from the slap, the cells on my cheek screaming in agony. There’s the faint tinge of metallic blood in my mouth. My father trails his fingers gently down my face. Grayson trails his fingers gently down my face. My father trails his fingers gently- Grayson trails his fingers- My father trails- Grayson tr- my father Grayson my father Grayson my father Grayson my father.

SNAP.

I shiver and jerk away suddenly standing up. I try to back away as Grayson’s eyes fill with concern.

“What’s wrong,” he asks me, trying to reach out to me. I recoil at his attempt of a touch, like a frightened animal.

“I need to leave,” I barely get out, through my shallow breathing as I turn to find the door.

Where is the door? I couldn’t find the door. Breaths come in quicker and faster. Suffocating. I am suffocating. An invisible man has a plastic bag over my head and he is choking me slowly with it. I’m losing oxygen, I’m losing the things that keeps me alive.

Grayson is on his feet beside me, careful not to touch me, “did I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s not you,” I pant, so breathless I wonder if I’m still breathing at all, “it’s all me.”

Dizziness rolls over me and I close my eyes. I feel my body sway slightly, my sense of balance robbed from me. A pair of strong hands catch my waist and pull me upright again. I try and focus my eyes but the room is spinning.

“Woah, hey,” it’s Grayson’s soft voice, “come here.”

That’s when I realise his hands are touching me. I try to pull away but can’t see where I’m going. I can’t see anything as black dots dance across my vision.

“No!” I yell, my ear beginning to ring.

“Hey, stop,” he says gently, ”sit down and take a breath.”

“No I can’t, I can’t, you don’t understand,” I hyperventilate, my chest in so much pain.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs rhythmically, extending his hand out towards me for me to take if I wanted.

I flinch away. His eyes are deep with realisation, he knows, he understands. I’ve given my secret away.

“Who hurt you?”

His voice is almost ragged, almost angry. His eyes are blazing, the soft grey hardens into cold steel. I open my mouth but no sound comes out. The words are unable to be spoken, they feel to forbidden. I don’t think I’d ever admitted my childhood out loud. I need air, fresh air. I can’t breathe. I need to breathe.

I feel like I’m drowning. Water blurring my vision, my heat pounding in my chest, my lungs screaming at me for the oxygen I cannot give them. My limbs frozen in a state of paralysis, heavy as lead, dragging me down. I can’t kick myself to the surface, I’m helplessly lost. All I can do I stare up and watch the last sight I’ll probably ever see. Sinking, sinking, sinking. I think I can feel my lungs fill up. They burn as if eager flames are licking the internal organ in pleasure. I can hear someone’s voice, it’s muffled, like there’s water in my ears. I can’t make out what they’re saying. I wonder if this person will haul my body from the water or they’ll give up on me like everyone else.

“It’s okay,” the voice is soft and sweet, it becomes clearer by the second, “don’t say anything, just focus on breathing for me, okay?”

Grayson Davenport Hawthorne. I take one look into his silvery grey eyes and in this second trust him with my everything. My heart is racing and I can hear my sharp intakes of breath. I manage a small nod as he helps me back down onto the bed, propping pillows up behind my back. I’m sweating, profusely and I feel revolting. The tremor in my hands is slowing slightly as he clasps them in his.

“I need you to breathe,” he tells me, making direct eye contact.

My chest is so constricted it physically hurts. The aching only grows the more I think about it but I can’t seem to stop. Hair is stuck to the back of my neck and the side of my face. I slick it back using my own sweat.

“I… can’t…” I manage to get out in breathless gasps.

“Yes you can,” he murmurs, “look at me, focus on me.”

I do.

“Yes you can,” he repeats, his voice strong, confident full of faith. Faith for me.

I close my eyes and attempt to slow my rapid breathing. I feel his fingers around my wrist, squeezing a little to check my pulse. He is warm against my cool skin. I reach for his hand with my other one and guide it slowly to my chest. I want to feel his hand on my heart. I want him as close as possible. His hand is on me with my hand pressed firmly against it. I open my eyes and stare at him, wondering if he could read my pleading eyes as well as I could read his compassionate ones. Mellow grey stares back at me in understanding. He keeps his hand on my heart.

“Don’t let go,” I whisper, “please.”

“I’m not letting go,” he murmurs back, “don’t worry, I’m here. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

In and out. In and out. In and out. I try to calm myself. It’s not like I’ve ever faced something like this before, I’d just never faced it in someone’s presence. The fear of him seeing me in this state of vulnerability, stripped of my many masks that tell the world I am okay when I’m not, that made it all worse.

But with some time, that could’ve been two minutes of two hours, my breathing slows, becomes more regulated. Things begin to calm down. I’m no longer sweating uncontrollably though my body is still wet. My shaking hands grow stiller by the second as I fiddle with the ring on my middle finger. Finally my heart rate begins to go down. I hear it less in my ears and feel it less in my chest. But it’s still there.

Grayson’s hand has still not left my heart, just like I asked. Gently I place my hand on his, and guide it back to his lap, letting him silently know he’d done his job. I take a hair tie and throw my hair up into an abomination on my head that I’m too tired to care about.

Grayson’s features have twisted into a way that almost makes him look worried. His eyes are larger than usual, his pupils dilated, swallowing up the comforting concrete grey. His eyes brows are pinched inwards slightly, only just and his lips are parted as if he wants to ask a question but can’t find the words. I want to pretend this look is real, I want to pretend he’ll still want me even after seeing me in my state, I want to pretend that this time it’s different. But I can’t afford to pretend anymore.

“Better?” he asks quietly, after a long period of silence.

“Better,” I rasp, my voice so hoarse it’s unfamiliar to me.

I rest my head back and close my eyes. Breathing in and out normally feels like a luxury now. I’m suddenly more grateful than I’ve even been for a steady flow of air to my lungs. Once I’m completely back to normal I make eye contact with Grayson. His face is difficult to read.

“What happened back there?” he asks me quietly, almost looking guilty for the question.

“What do you mean?” I reply, confused. Hadn’t he been there, hadn’t he seen?

“Why did you start to panic,” he clarifies, “what did I do to set it off?”

I want to shoot the conversation down there and then. Absolutely not. I am not ready to tell him anything, I don’t want him to know. I don’t want him to look at me different because of it.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say quickly, averting my eyes.

“Of course it does,” he presses further, “sweetheart I love you and-

Oh those three words. How the act as another knife to my chest every time. I love you is not meant for girls like me, I love you is meant for people who are worthy and special, I love you has never once been said to me with any true meaning behind it.

“Stop,” I snap, the word louder and harsher than I intended. It silently echoes through the empty space and takes a moment to sink in.

“What?” he asks after a few beats, confusion distorting his features.

“Just stop that,” I almost yell, as I go to get up, “stop doing that.”

“What am I doing?” he asks quickly.

“You’re lying to me,” I say, my voice wavering when I really didn’t want it to.

“What?”

“Every time you say those stupid words and I can’t afford to believe them,” I exclaim, welling up with this sudden surge of emotion.

“Slow down sweetheart,” he says slowly, “what are you talking about?”

“I know you don’t love me,” I shout. I’m exhausted. Exhausted of living this lie and now I’m at my breaking point and I can’t afford to continue. There are too many lies, in my head, in my heart, in my life. This one I want to be rid of.

“What?”

“I know it so you can stop pretending I matter, that I mean something to you,” I sob.

Great. Now I’m crying again. Again. Pouring out my weaknesses for him to see. I’ve never felt so unbelievably helpless.

“What are you talking about? Of course I love you,” he says it as of I’ve said something stupid or in gibberish.

Of course. Why of course? It isn’t obvious and I’m not an idiot. I’m stood here crying and he has the audacity to tell me this. I look him dead in the eye, my vision blurred a little due to the heaviness of my heart.

“No one can love me.” My voice is low and laced with the agony I’m so desperately trying to conceal.

“Who told you that?” he asks.

How did he know? How could he see through my mask so easily? Was it cracked, had it slipped or was it just all transparent now?

“I didn’t need to be told, it’s just how I am,” I spit back, hoping my bitterness might deter him.

“No,” Grayson replies, his voice so sharp it cut dangerously through the air like a knife.

“What?”

“No, that’s not how you are,” he says, “because I love you.”

He digs a finger into his chest in attempts to prove his point, it looks hard enough to hurt but he doesn’t wince.

“Stop saying that!” I yell over him, “it makes it more painful, every time you say it, it’s like a stab in the heart and I can’t take it anymore.”

I expect him to get angry, to stand up and hurl insults at me. We’ve never argued before. But instead his face softens. “I’m not lying,” he tells me gently, his voice like caramel, “how could I lie?”

He’s not lying? Or at least that’s what he’s telling me. But the softness of his eyes look like he means it. No. I can’t let myself be so naive, I can’t believe everything I’m told, I’ve learnt that the hard way.

“Everyone who I’ve ever trusted has lied to me, why would that make you any different?” I ask bitterly.

“Because I do love you,” he tells me, “with all of my heart. You don’t understand what you do to me. I can’t stop thinking about you, even when you’re not around, you’re the main character of all my thoughts and dreams for that matter. Not a moment goes by without a thought involving you. You are the other half of my heart, you have it, you stole it from me the day we met. And I don’t even care because if I were to meet any thief I would choose you every time and I’m so glad you took it. I mean goddamit, you mean everything to me, everything. I would die for you without thinking twice, without even blinking,” he says, “I just wish you could see yourself how I do. And whoever made you feel this way never deserved a fraction of you. Your beauty, your kindness, your love. They truly didn’t.”

I don’t say anything for a long while. I’m too awestruck. He loves me. He really actually loves me unconditionally. He always did and I always pushed that notion away.

I’ve never said anything about my past out loud. It makes it less real, I can forget if I bury it. Except I can’t I’ve tried and tried desperately to do so but relentlessly as ever my brain has never let it go.

“My father,” I choked horsely, “my abused me physically from when I was young. I thought it was normal.”

Something twists in Grayson’s stomach, I can see it all over his face. He looks ill, all the colour has drained from his face and his eyes are sorrowful, mournful even.

“But the bruises, they were okay,” I murmur, “even the scars, I could deal with them. It was my mother who cut the deepest, without even laying a finger on me. Her words were…” I attempt to pull myself together, “…her words left scars no one will ever be able to understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

The words are so quiet I can barely hear him. He looks mortified.

“It’s not your fault,” is all I can reply with. There’s nothing else to say.

“No one should have to-“

“But they do,” I choke, my voice getting shaky again, “and you know what, I’m tired.”

I wish I didn’t feel this weak, this powerless. Tears start free flowing down my cheeks, uncontrollably. Salty droplets leave glistening trails on my cheeks like in some sort of abstract painting in an art museum.

“I’m tired of this pain,” I sob, “I just want it to go away, I just want to be normal.”

The pain wracks my body. Grayson takes me into his open arms and holds me to the warmth of his chest. I nuzzle into him, seeking comfort I’d never received from anyone else. I cling to him like a frightened child to their mother, my knuckles white. I’m almost scared to let go, incase that means I have to let go forever. I can hear his steady heartbeat against my ear. I sob louder, my body physically beginning to ache from the crying.

“Hey, shhhh,” he soothes, stroking a soft hand down my hair, “you’re going to get through this and I’m going to help you.”

“How?” I wail. I’m hysterical and I hate it, but it’s taken control of me now.

“We just are, I promise,” he says, so much passion, so much faith behind the words. I want to believe him but I’ve had too many promises broken.

“I thought I was getting better,” I laugh bitterly, the tears flowing thicker and faster and harder, “I thought that I was coping better with all of this and now this is just proof that I’m not.”

I get it all off of my chest, words I’ve longed to speak for so long, the ones that have been locked away and avoided. I can say them. Freely. The caged bird is remembering she has wings, remembering she could once fly.

“Listen to me,” Grayson says, his voice clear, defined, “what you’ve been through isn’t something you just get over overnight, it’s not something you can wash away.”

“Why can’t it be?” I ask, snivelling in an attempt to gulp back my tears that seemed to be endless.

“It doesn’t work that way love,” he says, his voice so soft it could melt butter but instead it melts my heart.

“But…” I trail off into more sobs. I can’t carry on. Words are not enough to describe what I’m feeling, they’re not deep enough, the they aren’t raw enough.

I sob uncontrollably feeling more humiliated by the second. Loud, ugly, horrible sobs. When things are buried you don’t realise that they’ll eventually resurface. My body jolts backwards and forwards each time I let out a cry.

He pulls me close to his chest and whispers sweet nothings to me to comfort me. He doesn’t say anything the whole time. Somehow he knows that’s what I need. He just holds me, lets me know he’s there with the melodic rise and fall of his comfortable chest. He’s so gentle, so soft, he makes me feel fragile and delicate like a sharp of glass. I cry until I’m so dehydrated that there are no tears left and I’m so exhausted that I want to pass out.

And even then he stays holding onto me, supporting my broken body. He holds me, holding all my dilapidated pieces together, keeping me from falling apart. He cradled my head in my arms and tentatively strokes my hair. I feel myself relax a little more, I feel myself shut my eyes. Suddenly I’m aware of a sensation in my chest. At first I think it’s the panic coming back to prey on me some more but the feeling is too calming. It’s spreading across the left side of my chest, tingling a little but in a ticklish manor. It’s almost a warmth.

Is this what love feels like?

I open my eyes and sit up. What am I roping him into? He doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve to be held back by someone like me. He could have anyone, any body in this whole world. I’m the last person he needs in his life.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say trying to pull myself free of his arms but his grip is tight, oddly reassuring. He’s not going to let me go, he’s not planning on leaving, he wants to say. To take care of me.

“Do what?” he asks, brushing some loose baby hairs out of my puffy face.

“The door is wide open, feel free to walk out on this,” I explain with an elaborate hand gesture, “you don’t have to deal with me.”

“The door is firmly bolted shut and no one will be walking out,” he tells me slowly, “you’re not a problem to be dealt with, you’re a person. A wonderful, beautiful, spectacular person, that I have the pleasure of loving.”

Tears well up in my eyes for what feels like the hundredth time today, I’ve never cried so much in my life. The recurring lump in my throat makes another appearance. I don’t mean to get so emotional, but I do. I’m so used to being strong I suppose there’s only so much one person can take before they burst. I feel loved and wanted and needed and cared for, everything I’ve always wished for. Here is a man giving me all of that and more.

“And what if I don’t know how to be loved?” I whisper, fear clamouring up my throat.

“Then I’ll show you,” he whispers, pulling me closer to his chest.

“I’m going to get it wrong,” I panic, “I don’t know how to love.”

“Yes you do,” he soothes, “I know you do because I can feel it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, I hurt people when I love them,” I tell him as he gently caresses my hair, running his fingers through it.

“You aren’t going to hurt me,” he says, “look at me sweetheart, I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere. Ever. We’re going to get through this together, okay?”

I nod, my heart not feeling so heavy. I lean further into Grayson and let him kiss the top of my head. The small gesture meaning mountains more because I know he loves me. And for the first time in a long time I smile, a real true smile. And it feels nice.

a/n: again, I’ve never written anything like this before so idk if it did it right 😭😭 anyways so sorry for it taking so long, hope you enjoyed

TIG masterlist

#bella writes 🤍#the inheritance games #tig #grayson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne one shot #grayson tgg #grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson hawthorne x you #grayson davenport hawthorne #the brothers hawthorne #the final gambit #the hawthorne legacy #the grandest game

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kedsandtubesocks · 7 months ago

Text

your favorite kryptonite

Comic Bookstore Owner!Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

summary: you think it should be illegal for someone this hot to work at your favorite comics & fandom shop

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MDNI. non canon AU. Dieter as a big fandom nerd (affectionate), brief one sided annoyance to lovers, mentions and discussions of various medias including marvel, video games & anime/manga, light use of gendered language, moment of harassment from a creep, Dieter cosplaying surprise, spicy themes, reader wears Dieter’s robe but no physical description is mentioned, light drug use (marijuana), silly chaotic but sweet!Dieter

word count: 4.3k

a/n: So I’m back with another wacky AU LOL this is my love letter to all things wonderfully nerdy & to nerd Dieter who in my heart i believe is totally a Kakashi and Goku fanboy lol the biggest thanks go out to @perotovar & @burntheedges who helped championed this and gave me the power up strength to continue, so grateful for y’all babes! And to you reading this thank you so much ♡

The new mecha anime figurines immediately draw your attention. Their sharp beautiful sleek designs stand impressively and although you might not be a huge fan you admire the striking style.

You’ve been coming to Atomic Planet Shop since your best friend dragged you here in high school years ago. Containing a wide range of things like a whole area to flip through comics, to a wall of Japanese manga - it’s a nerd’s paradise.

Currently you search for a birthday gift to get your best friend and maybe snag a treat for yourself.

“Oh, a fan of Gundam I see.” An eager and new voice calls from behind.

Turning back you discover someone slinking out from behind the register. Normally Raymond, the sweet older man who runs the store, would be here. But now someone new stands in his place and you’re stunned.

The guy emerging from behind the counter is gorgeous.

Scruffy beard, fluffy hair, wearing earrings and rings on his hand, he’s hot. The shirt he wears says “Wolverine Call Me” in a heart shape. His deep chocolate even eyes seem to dance curiously.

“Uh, just looking.” You politely reply.

“Whatcha looking for?”

You explain how you’re here looking for a birthday gift for your friend.

“Oh nice.” He nods appreciatively.

While you’re turned, giving this new worker your attrition, you finally notice the glass shelf behind the register.

Your eyes go wide fast at what you spot.

“Is that a new Stardew Valley cookbook?” You can’t even process the words, you’re still in awe at the sight. Precious little drawings fill the space to show familiar dishes, like pink cake and lucky lunch, from the game. It’s gorgeous and so unique.

“Oh hell yeah, you a fan?” The mystery man exclaims. “You know we have a whole little-”

“Video game section off to the side. Yeah.” You warmly cut him off.

Originally the store had been very comics and graphic novel focused. However over the years it’s evolved to add more fandom-like elements and now there’s even a small but impressive video game focused area.

A sweetly surprised look falls over the guy’s face and it paints him utterly charming.

“So who’s your go-to spouse in SDV?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

You tell him and he nods sagely.

“I always go for Krobus. Gotta respect our cute sewer dweller.” He says.

While you laugh a flutter scurries across your heart.

A ring at the door chimes in breaking your sweet conversation and a cluster of guys walk into the store.

“Guess I’ll get back to birthday gift hunting.” You smile at the cute worker then return to the comic stacks.

Flipping through the different series and passing through many fun options, you catch the conversation off to the side.

The pack of young guys that walked in seem to know the cute worker and snicker with him about something.

“Oh yeah man, so I was rewatching Endgame the other day and the part where Scarlet Witch goes one on one with Thanos? Unrealistic!” One of them cackles and you pause.

Did they not even see or know about how powerful she’s confirmed to be in the other MCU projects? Even then, in the comics Scarlet Witch flat out changes the trajectory of reality. If anything Thanos is only strong because he got lucky.

But you hold your tongue and continue scanning through the comics.

These guys are probably just punk ass kids. You don’t want to waste your energy on these guys who probably also hate on other characters like Shuri and Carol Danvers.

Now the cute store worker scoffs amused but doesn’t correct them. Your face scrunches up.

You thought he was charming, maybe a bit eccentric, like a 90’s vibrant Lisa Frank vibe. Yet now your skin crawls just a little bit thinking he might be one of those unfortunately toxic gatekeeping jackass guys.

You decide to leave now. You still had time to look for a birthday gift for your best friend. So you’ll just come back later. Without a second glance to the cute worker, you slip out and wonder about maybe checking out another store.

Of course, you’re too tired to actively look for another store. The next time you return to Atomic Planet, you pray Raymond is there.

You’re excited and almost relieved to see the familiar eccentric older man smiling toothy at you from behind the counter.

“Well, you’re a wonderful sight for sore eyes!” He greets you and happily you catch up and chat with him.

Suddenly a chaotic bang clamors in. The handsome worker from last time tumbles out from the back room into the front as if he tried to rush over.

“Dieter man, what’s the rush?” Raymond laughs.

Dieter. So that’s his name.

The guy, Dieter, this time wears a Naruto shirt under a sleepy and cozy green robe. His hair is still fluffy and you don’t miss how wide eyes stare at you.

“Hey.” You politely but curtly reply.

“Hi.” Dieter waves and you hate how cute he looks.

“By the annoyed look on your face, I take it you’ve met this new headache.” Raymond chuckles and embarrassment rams into you knowing your annoyance is that obvious.

“Don’t worry, he’s harmless.” Raymond waves. “He cries when he watches My Neighbor Totoro.”

“Hey what the fuck!” Dieter cries and you press your lips together trying not to laugh.

“Just ignore him, honey.” Raymond winks and you grin wide.

After thanking him, you head back to the birthday gift search. Searching now through the manga selection you notice something moves by the corner of your eye.

Turning to the side, a large Totoro plushie floats beside you obviously being held up.

“Please don’t be mad at me.” A high pitch tone acting as the adorable creature's voice speaks out and your lips twitch.

From the side Dieter pops his head out.

His hair, rivaling a bird's nest, creates a cloud around him and his wide doe-like eyes peeking out are so hard to be fully annoyed at.

“You know,” he now fully speaks in his voice, moving to hold the large adorable plushie in his arms. “Never got your name.”

“You have my full permission to beat his ass if you need to, dear.” Raymond yells dully from the cash register and Dieter squawks horrified.

You laugh bright. Turning to the side you see Dieter already holds his hand out. The half crooked grin on his face paints him so boyish.

“Name’s Dieter.”

You shake his hand, finally giving him your name.

“So, do you really think Scarlet Witch can’t take on Thanos?” You offer light.

Dieter sighs loud. “I knew those guys and what we were talking about might’ve pissed you off.”

So he was watching you. That brings in a curious warmth that courses through you.

“Well I do apologize.” He bows his head a bit. You at least appreciate that.

“I bet those guys are the same ones that don’t like Carol Danvers either or even know that Squirrel Girl defeated Thanos.” You add a bit snippy.

“You know your shit, I like that.” Dieter replies proud and the way his voice drips out smooth does something dangerous to your heart.

You shrug but fight off the smug grin threatening to mirror his.

“Maybe you need to go Gandalf on my ass and teach me a thing or two, like maybe over coffee?” Dieter offers and you’re knocked out.

So he feels this spark, chemistry or whatever it is, between you too.

“Maybe,” you reply back with a grin. “For now I gotta get back to gift shopping.”

“You still haven’t found your friend a gift?! Geeze, what kind of bestie are you?!” He cries out teasing and you roll your eyes.

It’s getting harder staying annoyed with him and not taking up his offer to get coffee.

You eventually decide on a comic art book for your friend and then spot the assorted mystery box trinkets to maybe snag a few for her and even for yourself.

“I know everyone says Goku would beat the fuck out of Thanos, but you know who else would too without breaking a sweat?” Dieter’s voice again arrives at your side. He’s rather persistent, your cute, slightly not so annoying gnat.

“Sailor Moon.” He answers himself sagely.

“Yeah, you’re right.” You snicker amused.

He practically beams besides you when you agree.

You ask if he’s a fan.

“Oh hell yeah! Sailor Venus is my fav.” Dieter cries. “I can sing the entire song theme opening for you if you’d like. Not to brag, but that and the second Naruto theme opening are my go to karaoke songs.”

You laugh, feeling it deep into your bones. He’s chaotic, but unbearably endearing.

In a blink, a rush comes in all at once. The fun sweet bubble you had been cultivating deflates and you hate how disappointed you get seeing Dieter scramble to try and work.

When you go check out, you’re surprised he’s the one at your register.

Even though he’s focused on working you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker up to you shyly but with a confident smirk. He turns to fully gift wrap the items knowing they’re going to be a present and you thank him for that.

When you grab your bag he gives you a smooth wink and you playfully glare at him.

Later at home, when you unpack everything, you find an extra surprise in the bag.

It’s a small box of strawberry pocky snacks you know you didn’t buy.

There’s a sticky note attached to it.

A sweet treat for a sweet customer! ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈ ♡)

Call me if you ever wanna get coffee or just talk nerd shit and make me absolutely fall even harder for you

Underneath the message, he left you his number and you can’t believe it. After squealing about it with a few of your friends, you text him.

Dieter replies back quick with the funniest excited cat reaction meme and you realize you might be in the best kind of trouble with this guy.

— . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.—

You didn’t expect the convention to be this crowded. Chatter fills the air as cosplayers move all around.

The booths stretch endless with countless tempting merch.

Your best friend tried to get you to plan a fun cosplay with her. However neither you or her could decide on what to pick in time. Now you're gladly comfortable in an everyday outfit and simply allow yourself to be in awe at the intricate lovely costumes.

While scanning the convention and taking in the beautifully controlled chaos in, you also hope to catch sight of someone in particular.

“Dude, stop trying to look for your hot nerd boyfriend.” Your best friend snorts and your heart trips over itself.

Embarrassed, you chide her and remind her that Dieter isn’t your boyfriend.

“Oh yeah because texting a guy everyday for the past month and going to cute cat cafes with him isn't dating.” She deadpans with a smirk.

You playfully glare at her.

It’s not official and you don’t want to rush whatever this is with Dieter. You haven’t even been to his place yet. You don’t mind though. You’ve just been enjoying getting to know him more.

You learn Dieter’s favorite video game is Hollow Knight and his favorite anime is Neon Genesis Evangelion.

His favorite comic book villain of all time is the Condiment King.

Matcha flavored Kit Kats have become his newest obsession session.

He saw all the Lord of the Rings movies in theater and can practically quote The Two Towers. Still has the comic book his best friend in middle school gave to him. Also refuses to let any of his Animal Crossing villagers leave because he’s so attached to them.

Dieter had made you laugh more than you can count, but he can be a bit ridiculous.

Like when he called you after he got off a late closing night shift to ask if Pacific Rim was real did you think the Kaiju monsters would maybe stop attacking if they found out how much he loves them.

Dieter does have his headache moments, but he’s an endearing kaleidoscope of a soul.

Earlier this week when you visited him at the shop, he said he was going to be here at the conversation. But with how bad the convention center’s wifi is, you haven’t been able to contact him.

“He even said he was coming in cosplay just for today right? Any ideas what he’s showing up as?” Your best friend wiggles her eyes while you and her stroll down an artist alley.

“No!” You huff still upset. “He said he wanted it to be a surprise.”

While you appreciate him wanting to wait for a dramatic reveal, you wanted to know what his outfit was from the minute he told you.

You wanted to maybe try dedicatedly searching for him, but you get completely enthralled by the mass amounts of merchandise delightfully distracting you.

You spot incredible fan art pieces, adorable handmade keychains, and very expensive but beautiful figurines.

It’s like a mini wonderland.

Checking out the cute earrings at the stall you’re at, you lose sight of your best friend. When you turn to excitedly talk with her, that’s when you spot it.

She’s a few steps away, very politely trying to inch away from a guy, dressed in a Deadpool suit without the mask on. He’s talking way too aggressively and getting way too close to your friend.

Immediately you rush over and happily jump in.

“I gotta show you this!” You thankfully have the best excuse to pull her away.

But the guy only takes it as an opening to instead follow you both now.

“Just ignore him.” Your best friend whispers to you.

You and her continue to stare at the jewelry. Yet the guy remains. He continues his discussion and seems to get upset that you or your friend aren’t replying. It’s creepy and persistent especially with how he refuses to budge or take the hint.

You try lightly deflating the situation by apologizing and saying you and your friend just want to enjoy shopping.

“Oh, is shopping all you two came here for? You know, you fucking losers aren’t even in cosplay. Fake ass fans.”

Now he gets really aggressive.

The air and tension shift. The poor cute shop owner in her adorable R2D2 dress even reacts getting upset.

“Look, we just wanna enjoy the con.” Your best friend replies sharp with a hard scowl.

“What in the fantastic fuck do we have here?”

Suddenly Dieter’s voice rings out excited and bright and you almost sob.

You whip your face around to spot him.

Except it is and isn’t him.

His hair is slicked back, gelled and curled. Thick gray colored hairs line his temples. It even looks like he shaved a bit.

He’s dressed as Reed Richards, Mr. Fantastic himself.

The outfit looks based on the classic 1960’s first comic book released aesthetic and it compliments Dieter’s frame gorgeously. His shoulders look unbelievably broad and his even arms seemed bigger in the tight soft baby blue material. You’ve never seen him in something so form fitting and it has your throat drying up.

You’ve even momentarily forgotten about the guy bothering you and your best friend.

“You bothering these two, ya fucking creep?” Dieter says with a nudge of his chin.

It’s hot as fuck.

The guy stunned gapes like a fish and stammers, but no words come out.

“Beat it before I shove a lightsaber up your ass.” Dieter replies bored, but it adds a sense of deadliness to his words.

The Deadpool cosplayer turns on his heels and immediately scrambles away. Your knees almost buckle overwhelmed.

Your best friend and even the stall owner cry out wildly excited in a bright neon awe of Dieter. You swallow back a sob as you turn to embrace him. His warm large hands pat you comfortingly.

“You saved us.” You teasingly sob, but truthfully you know he did.

“I’d been looking for you for a hot minute and was about to make some sort of raptor call noise to get your attention until I saw that shit going down.” Dieter explains.

“What a hero.” Your friend jokingly adds, but you hear it in her voice how grateful she is.

Dieter snickers.

“Guess you could almost say I was fantastic… mister fantast-”

You cut Dieter off with a quick kiss to his cheek before he can make the pun and your friend along with the stall owner laugh.

Gingerly, almost tentatively you move to intertwine your hand with his. He reacts immediately pulling you to his side.

For the rest of the convention Dieter stays besides you, walking hand in hand with you.

Even when you arrive at the booth for Atomic Planet, the real reason why Dieter was here to help work, Raymond waves him away saying to enjoy the convention with you.

Your heart flutters and Dieter squeezes your hand excitedly.

The rest of the time is a blissful geeked out dream. Dieter buys you a few keychains, even treats you and your best friend to a bite to eat.

You came to the convention with your best friend…

But you leave with Dieter.

Especially when your best friend urges you to go home with him and enjoy his hot cosplay.

You give her a look when she cheekily tells you that, but she isn’t wrong. Even when you grabbed the quick bite before the night ended, it was hard trying to ignore the amount of people turning to stare at Dieter with wide curious eyes.

And a little twinge of something faintly possessive bubbles in you.

That’s why when you slide into the passenger seat of his car, your heart drums loudly in your ears trying to fight against the urge to just suck his cock right here in the car.

“So uh…” Dieter begins cautiously and even a bit bashfully. “I don’t wanna sound too aggressive and you can tell me no, but can I kiss you-”

You don’t even let him finish before you’re sliding over the seat to him.

He scrambles and immediately pulls you close as his lips become a magnet to yours.

This is the first time you’re really truly kissing Dieter. You’ve kissed him gently good night before. He’s been cute with leaving kisses to your cheek or even against the back of your head like a Victorian gentleman. But now it’s a raw unraveling getting to tasting him from the source so greedy.

You won’t dare admit it outloud, but the soft feel of his lips, the scrape of his jaw, the smell of his delicious cologne, and how warm he consumes you -

It’s pretty fantastic.

— . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.—

Dieter’s room is a treasure trove.

Framed posters of Pacific Rim, AKIRA, The Iron Giant, and the original Pokemon Kanto generation line the walls. His bookshelf is filled not just with comic books and manga, but various impressive graphic novels.

A mock infinity gauntlet sits beside his television. So many anime figurines, including a really nice Goku one, stand protecting his reading collection.

What surprises you is his expansive and sleek gaming corner which includes a striking computer set up.

“You look hot as fuck standing in my robe and knowing I just came in you a few hours ago is even hotter.” Dieter says from his bed in the most sinful but half groggily asleep voice.

You smirk and continue to soak in his room.

“So do you get good discounts from the store?” You ask.

“Yeah, but it also helps that I co-own it.” Dieter casually tells you. You hear him shifting among the seats then catch the flicker of the lighter igniting.

However your eyes go wide realizing what he said and you whip back around to him.

“Wait?! You co-own the shop?”

“Well yeah, Raymond, that old fuck, is my uncle.” Dieter coughs out as he exhales from the hit he took off his weed pipe.

Dieter even explains how, because his uncle is starting to get a bit older, he decided to step in to help run the place.

“Besides, how else could I show off my extensive knowledge of elvish language other than at the shop?” He says proudly.

How did you just now learn this?

Dieter reminds you of a rubik cube you think you’ve finally figured out, think you found a groove for - until one out of the corners a jack in the box pops out.

Before you can even ask him about the shop or about his uncle, Dieter’s phone goes off.

The loud ringtone sings into the room and your eyes go wide hearing it. Dieter checks who’s calling then denies the call muttering out about how spam scam callers need to be fed to a sarlacc pit.

“Wait…is Cascada’s ‘Everytime We Touch’ actually your ringtone?” You ask, still not believing it.

“Fuck yeah it is, baby! That song is untouchable!” He cries and you can’t help but laugh.

Dieter smirks then pats the open spot on the bed where you had been resting before. Sliding back into the warmth with him, he gently pulls your face to him and kisses you softly.

The taste of the smoke lingers on his lips, but it’s still him beneath it all. You eventually wind up in his arms, cozy and warm in his embrace.

“I noticed the nice audio and mic setup.” You comment while his fingers draw aimlessly against your skin. “You trying to maybe go the YouTuber route?”

“Nah. Maybe. Who knows.” He shrugs. “It’s mainly for something else.”

Now his voice grows a bit distant.

You gently ask him what that something else is and Dieter fidgets

“Don’t… don’t laugh okay.” He mumbles adorably.

You reassure him earnestly you won’t.

He sighs.

“So I’ve been wanting to get into voice acting work.” Dieter reveals with a mutter, even sounding a bit embarrassed

However, you perk up so bright. Turning in his arms you eagerly smile at him.

“Di, that sounds amazing!” You mean those words.

You can’t help but ramble about how great he would be for that. He has the personality for it and he’s told you how he’s done some stage acting work. Plus, it just fits him. You think of all the silly voices he does and you hope now he can make this path a reality.

Dieter’s handsome face falls a bit and you stop. You wonder if you’ve scared him off, or maybe he thinks you’re possibly making fun of him.

You’re about to apologize when Dieter swiftly moves to kiss you feral and fierce. His tongue slides into your mouth with a moan you greedily swallow.

The conversation is put on pause when his hands slide up your thighs, straight to your core, and you fall apart with him once again.

Basking in the afterglow you rest against his chest now feeling sleepy, not even knowing what time it is. You realize being with Dieter is like existing in a realm a bit separated from reality sometimes and it’s beautiful.

“I don’t wanna be that lame guy,” Dieter begins. “But shit, I already really really kind of like you a fucking lot.”

Your lips fight back a smile you can’t beat. You turn to bury your face against his warm bared chest.

“I really kinda like you a lot too.” You admit.

“That’s unfortunate.” He replies and you snort.

“It’s okay. I only want the good discount on merch at the shop.” You reply cheekily.

“Aw! You don’t even want me for my body? Just my discount?!” He cries hurt and even jokingly moves to shove you off.

“Well.” Then he pauses. “Guess I could call my dick a discount, but then again… there isn’t anything short about that-”

You cut him off with an eye roll and he snickers wildly amused.

His fingers move to tickle you, to corrupt you into his same fit of giggles and you wheezing trying to squirm away from him.

Dieter’s hands eventually snake around you and draw you back into his chest. You melt against him willingly and even sigh comforted.

“Next time if we go to a convention, if you feel comfortable with it, you should cosplay.” He comments.

You admit that you’ve thought about it and list a few ideas you’ve had. But mainly, your mind thinks about the different outfits Dieter could go as.

The thought of him now as Doctor Doom instead of the heroic Reed Richards is a glorious thought.

But of course there’s so many other incredible options.

Dieter as Harvey or even Marlon from Stardew Valley.

Even a few anime characters that would fit him so well come to mind.

Specifically Kishibe from the series Chainsaw Man, with his striking cut across his mouth and incredibly lazy hot older demeanor, just fits Dieter so well it stirs something in you again.

“Maybe next con,” Dieter offers and pulls you from your thoughts. “I’m thinking about going as Tuxedo Mask. Do you wanna be my Sailor Moon?”

A couples matching outfit.

You didn’t even think of that. That’s what he was nudging towards.

You didn’t even think of that. But just getting to be beside him is something sweetly moving.

Then thinking about him in the sleek tuxedo outfit, in the white mask, is a dangerous thought you already ache to maybe see come true.

“We’ll see.” You hum with a smile, but when you go to kiss him it feels like a gilded warm promise.

“Never mind. I want us to go as Undertale characters and I wanna be Sans.” Dieter says suddenly and you snort against his shoulder.

This time spent with him, and the promise of maybe something more, is sweet starlit bliss.

#I blame this on wanting another anime tattoo so I’m sorry I’m here to spread the nerd Dieter agenda lol #comic bookstore owner!Dieter #nerd!Dieter #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x you #pedrostories

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