#and Reading the room so to speak because he knows she said they were to turn him not kill him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

santaasi · 1 month ago

Text

obviously blind

pairing: james potter x bsf!fem!reader

summary: for years, james potter thought he was chasing love. sirius black knew better — he’d been holding it all along.

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love, james calls reader love, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 11.3k

a/n: it was probably the longest idea to write and edit. i rewrote every moment a bunch of times trying to bring it all to perfection. therefore, this time I hope more than ever that you will like it and you will support me with a like, comment or reblog. have a nice time reading this work! love u <3

ᯓ★ now playing…

slaves – footprints

You left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

Would you promise me you'll never let me go

November 15, 1971 My dear best friend, Hogwarts is brilliant! You should see the castle; it’s massive, with these moving staircases that sometimes take you to places you didn’t even mean to go! I tried to get to Charms class last week and ended up in the Trophy Room instead. Sirius says it’s part of the fun, and I’m starting to agree. Speaking of fun, I made a new friend! His name’s Sirius Black, and he’s a bit of a troublemaker like me. Don’t tell Mum, but we might’ve let some Filibuster’s Fireworks off in the Great Hall during lunch. The teachers were furious, but the look on their faces was worth it. How’s Beauxbatons? Is it true your castle is magical in a totally different way? Sirius said something about unicorns roaming the grounds. Is that real? Write me everything—I want to know what it’s like over there. Hope you’re having as much fun as I am. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WAS UTTERLY SPENT. Not the charming, rakish kind of spent he might brag about after a late night of mischief, but truly, completely, soul-drainingly done. The journey to the Potter family cottage, which should have been a brisk jaunt, had turned into a Herculean trial. Blame the snowstorm that had swept through magical London like some vengeful Norse curse, burying everything in its path under heaps of frosty misery.

It started with a delayed train — no, not delayed, imprisoned. Sirius and James were already aboard when the announcement came, trapping them in a stuffy carriage surrounded by loudly complaining wizards and at least one crying baby. And because the universe clearly found Sirius’ misery entertaining, the train came to a jolting halt halfway to their destination, snow packing the tracks so thickly that it took hours of magical clearing before they moved again.

When they finally arrived at the station, they discovered that Mr. Potter, their much-needed savior with a warm car and a better attitude than either of them, had been delayed at work. Thus, Sirius and James were left to trudge through the snow-laden countryside, dragging their trunks behind them, with James’ endless chatter about Lily Evans ringing in Sirius’ ears like a persistent curse.

“Her smile, Padfoot,” James had sighed dreamily at least seventeen times, his glasses fogging up as if even thinking about Lily caused them to malfunction. “And the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating—”

By the sixteenth sigh, Sirius had been sorely tempted to shove a fistful of snow into James’ face. By the seventeenth, he was mentally composing a list of Unforgivable Curses and ranking them by efficiency. Yet, even as he grumbled under his breath, Sirius couldn’t bring himself to abandon the trek. The Potters were the closest thing he had to a family, and spending Christmas anywhere else — no matter how dire the journey — was unthinkable.

When they finally reached the Potter home, Sirius didn’t so much step inside as collapse into it. He shoved the front door open with the dramatic flair of a man escaping death itself and sprawled across the polished wooden floor like a martyr for his own cause. His trunk fell beside him with a satisfying thud.

“Home at last,” he groaned, voice muffled against the rug. “Tell me, Prongs, do they serve last rites before cinnamon rolls, or do we skip straight to the feast?”

The cottage, of course, was as warm and welcoming as Sirius remembered. Strings of fairy lights twinkled across the beams, casting a cozy glow of red, gold, and green. A holly wreath hung crookedly on the wall — lil’James’ handiwork, no doubt — and the scent of pine mingled with the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon, butter, and something sweet. Sirius’ stomach growled audibly.

“Oi, shut it, you ungrateful mutt,” James shot back with a grin, though Sirius could see his friend’s eyes darting toward the kitchen. “You’re embarrassing us in front of the wreath.”

James hadn’t even set his trunk down before a figure appeared in the doorway.

At first, Sirius barely registered her presence. He was too busy muttering about the injustice of underage magic restrictions. But then — oh, then — she stepped fully into view.

A girl.

Not just any girl, but you.

You moved with a kind of quiet confidence that Sirius instantly clocked, your steps unhurried, your presence undeniable. The golden glow of the fairy lights danced across your hair, giving it a shimmer that seemed almost unreal. You were wrapped in a deep blue jumper — Sirius realized this after a moment’s brain lag — and your cheeks were rosy, likely from the heat of the kitchen.

You carried a tray of steaming cinnamon rolls, the scent of melted sugar and spice trailing after you like some kind of domestic enchantment. Sirius’ mouth went dry, and for the first time in years, he was at a loss for words.

“Well,” he managed after a beat, hauling himself upright and trying for a semblance of decorum. “Now I see why you were so keen to come home, Prongs. You’ve got cinnamon-roll-bearing angels dropping out of the sky.”

You laughed, soft and melodic, the sound so unguarded it seemed to wrap the room in warmth. Sirius couldn’t help but notice the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts inviting and mysterious.

“Hello to you too, Sirius,” you said, your voice carrying a familiarity that made his ears perk up.

Sirius blinked. Wait. Of course. This wasn’t some celestial being summoned to his rescue; this was James’ childhood best friend. The one James had vaguely mentioned — just a handful of times over the years, always in passing and with a strange softness that Sirius hadn’t thought to question before.

And yet, here you were. In the flesh. Standing in the middle of the Potters’ living room with a tray of baked goods and a smile that Sirius suspected had the power to stop traffic.

“Well, well, Jamie-boy,” Sirius drawled, nudging James with his elbow and watching his friend with amused curiosity. “You never told me the famous cinnamon-roll angel was also — what’s the word? Ah, yes — real.”

You raised an eyebrow at Sirius’ antics, though your smile didn’t falter. Instead, you glanced toward James, who looked like he’d been hit with a Confundus Charm.

Sirius smirked. “James, mate, you alright? You’ve gone all... slack-jawed.”

But James wasn’t paying him any attention. His hazel eyes were locked on you, wide and brimming with something Sirius couldn’t quite place. He watched as James' gaze traced over the streak of flour smudged on your cheek, the stray strands of hair escaping from your ponytail, and the red apron dusted with flour and cinnamon.

Sirius almost snorted aloud. This was the James Potter who couldn’t shut up about Lily Evans — the boy who spent half his waking hours plotting ways to win her over. And yet, here he was, staring at you like you’d just descended from the heavens.

“Jamie,” you said softly, setting the tray down on the nearby table.

It was just one word, but the way you said it — warm, tender, and utterly unguarded — sent a jolt through Sirius.

Before he could process what was happening, James crossed the room in a few long strides and swept you into his arms. You squealed in surprise, and the sound was pure delight, echoing off the walls.

Sirius blinked, startled. The way James held you — hands firm on your waist, his head dipping into the crook of your neck — wasn’t friendly, not by a long shot. Sirius had known James since he was eleven years old, had seen him charm and flirt with half of Hogwarts, but he had never seen this.

“Missed me, Jamie?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his unruly hair with the kind of ease that spoke of years of familiarity.

“Always,” James murmured, so quietly Sirius barely caught it.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

He glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to explain this baffling scene, but it was just him, James, and you, wrapped up in some intimate little bubble that made Sirius feel like an intruder.

James murmured something into your shoulder — too soft for Sirius to catch — and you laughed, your voice light and unrestrained. The sound pulled James’ head up, and Sirius couldn’t miss the way his eyes traced your face with a kind of devotion Sirius had only read about in sappy romance novels.

It was then that the memories began to click into place. The scattered mentions over the years, the odd tone James always took when he talked about you. “She’s not like anyone else, Padfoot. She just gets it.” Or that one summer when James had come back to Hogwarts looking utterly miserable and wouldn’t explain why. Sirius had teased him about it for weeks, thinking it was Lily-related. But now, seeing the way James looked at you...

“Wait a minute,” Sirius blurted, his grin widening as realization dawned. “You’re the one. The one he’s always sneaking off to write letters to, the one he’s all secretive about.”

James shot him a glare, his cheeks burning bright red.

“Padfoot—”

“—the one who sent him that hideous scarf last Christmas!” Sirius continued, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “I knew there had to be someone. Prongs doesn’t just get that moony-eyed look over just anyone.”

You laughed again, covering your face with your hands, while James muttered something about strangling Sirius later.

Before Sirius could needle him further, the kitchen door creaked open, and Euphemia Potter swept into the room. She was radiant as always, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her dark hair streaked with silver. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw James.

“There’s my boy!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug before he could even attempt to protest.

“Hi, Mum,” James mumbled, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

Euphemia pulled back, cupping his face in her hands as though memorizing every detail. “It’s been too long, Jamie. Too long. You’re far too skinny — have you been eating properly at school? And what have you done with your hair?”

James groaned, though his smile was fond.

Then her eyes fell on Sirius, and the warmth in her expression grew tenfold.

“Sirius, my dear,” she said, moving toward him with open arms. “I’m so glad you’re home, too.”

Sirius froze for a moment, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this — the genuine affection, the way Euphemia made him feel like he belonged.

When her arms wrapped around him, the embrace firm and filled with love, Sirius felt an odd lump form in his throat. He couldn’t help but think of his own mother’s cold, perfunctory hugs, her disdainful gaze, and the way her affection always felt like a transaction.

“You’ve grown even handsomer,” Euphemia said, pulling back to study him. “Fleamont’s going to be jealous.”

Sirius managed a crooked grin, the lump in his throat still stubbornly there. “That’s the goal, Mrs. Potter. Keep him on his toes.”

Euphemia laughed, her eyes twinkling, before cupping his cheek briefly. “You’re family now, Sirius. Never forget that.”

Satisfied, Euphemia turned her attention to you. Her face softened even more, and she reached out to squeeze your hands. “Oh, there you are, dear. I was wondering where my helper had gone. The mince pies won’t bake themselves, you know”

You shot James a quick, playful glance before following Euphemia toward the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” you said, your smile lingering.

As Mrs. Potter ushered you toward the door to finish the pies, Sirius remained rooted to the spot. The warmth from her hug lingered, and for a fleeting moment, he thought of how lucky James was to have parents like that — and how lucky he was to have stumbled into their lives.

James watched you leave, his gaze following you until you were out of sight. Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mate,” he said, clapping James on the shoulder. “You’re a goner.”

James huffed, shoving him away, but the goofy grin on his face was impossible to hide.

And Sirius? Sirius couldn’t wait to see how this played out.

July 2, 1973 My Love, Summer’s only just started, and I can’t wait to see you. Mum’s already planning another one of her “legendary” tea parties, which means she’ll fuss over you endlessly. You’ll smile politely and charm her like always, and she’ll end up spoiling you with biscuits to take back to Beauxbatons. I’ve got so much to tell you. Sirius and I found this secret passageway that leads straight to Hogsmeade. We’ve been practicing spells to make it even harder for Filch to find us. Remus is shaking his head, but I think he secretly loves our schemes. Oh, and Lily—she’s still brilliant. She’s got the most incredible laugh. But you, my love, I bet your laugh would still outshine hers any day.

Do you still walk in those Beauxbatons gardens at sunset? I can imagine you there, glowing in the soft light. It suits you. Write me back quickly, won’t you? The days are always better when I hear from you. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK HAD ALWAYS KNOWN JAMES POTTER WAS A TACTILE PERSON. James spoke fluently in the language of touch — claps on the back that lingered just a second too long, overly enthusiastic shoulder bumps that almost knocked you off your feet, and the occasional arm slung around your shoulders like he was staking a claim. But this? This was something else entirely.

It wasn’t just the way James touched you. It was the way he seemed to orbit you, like some lovesick moon drawn to its planet. Wherever you were, James was never far behind — hovering, grinning, completely and utterly besotted without even realizing it. And for someone so allegedly brilliant, he was astoundingly stupid about it.

Sirius noticed it within minutes of their arrival at the Potter cottage for the holidays. As the snow settled outside, so did James — right beside you, always beside you. If you were arranging the flowers Euphemia had insisted on, James was there offering suggestions like he’d suddenly become an expert on floral arrangements. If you were curled up in the drawing room with a book, James was sprawled across the nearest sofa, pretending to read but actually just watching you out of the corner of his eye like some hopeless romantic idiot in a badly written Muggle novel.

Sirius had been rolling his eyes so much, they were practically stuck in the back of his head.

THE SECOND MORNING WAS WHEN THINGS REALLY CLICKED. Sirius had woken up earlier than usual — a rare and uncomfortable event for him. He had no plans to do anything productive, of course, but the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway intrigued him. Padding out of his room, he peeked around the corner just in time to see James sneaking toward the kitchen.

Naturally, Sirius followed. He found James standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up like some kind of domestic god, arranging breakfast with the precision of someone preparing an offering to Merlin himself. There was a plate of toast with cream cheese and thinly sliced avocado, a bowl of berries that looked like they’d been picked by woodland elves, and a steaming cup of coffee. The smell alone was enough to make Sirius reconsider his usual disdain for mornings.

“Fancy,” Sirius said, leaning lazily against the doorframe, voice still scratchy from sleep.

James jumped slightly but recovered quickly, flashing Sirius a sheepish grin. “Morning, Pads. Coffee’s on the counter.”

Sirius eyed the tray suspiciously. “Is this for you, or is it for your favorite person in the world aka me?”

James’s ears turned pink. “It’s for her,” he admitted, almost bashfully, like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes crafting the most meticulous breakfast Sirius had ever seen.

“Of course it is,” Sirius muttered with a smirk, grabbing a mug for himself. “You realize this is bordering on embarrassing, yeah?”

James shot him a look, but before he could respond, you appeared in the doorway, still looking half-asleep. Your hair was mussed, and the oversized jumper you’d borrowed from James was slipping off one shoulder, but you somehow managed to look effortlessly radiant. Sirius rolled his eyes again.

“Morning, love,” James said, his voice soft and warm in a way Sirius had never heard before.

“Morning, Jamie,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you shuffled into the kitchen.

James practically tripped over himself to hand you the coffee. Sirius watched, amused, as James’s fingers brushed yours in the exchange, his entire face lighting up like someone had cast Lumos Maxima directly on it.

You took a long sip of the coffee, humming in contentment. “Perfect, as always,” you murmured, looking up at James with a sleepy smile that could have melted a Dementor.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Sirius nearly choked on his coffee. He wasn’t sure what was more painful — the nauseating sweetness of the moment or the fact that neither of you seemed to realize how completely ridiculous you were.

“Right, well, I’ll just... leave you two to it,” Sirius said, waving his mug in mock surrender as he backed out of the room. “Try not to get married while I’m gone.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” James called after him, but the way his voice wavered slightly betrayed his embarrassment.

By the time Sirius reached the living room, Euphemia and Fleamont were already seated by the fireplace, exchanging knowing glances like they’d seen this coming a mile away.

“Is he making her breakfast again?” Euphemia asked with a smile that was far too pleased for Sirius’s liking.

“Every detail,” Sirius confirmed, sinking into an armchair. “I’m starting to think he’s auditioning for Witch Weekly’s ‘Most Devoted Boyfriend’ feature.”

“Don’t tease him too much,” Euphemia said with a chuckle. “He’s just like his father was with me.”

“Merlin, it’s contagious,” Sirius groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. “If I start acting like that, someone put me out of my misery.”

But even as he joked, Sirius couldn’t help but smile. Because for all his teasing, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that James was hopelessly gone for you. And judging by the way you looked at him, Sirius had a feeling the feeling was mutual — even if neither of you was bright enough to figure it out.

AND THEN THERE WERE THE SMALL, INTIMATE TOUCHES SIRIUS COULDN’T IGNORE, no matter how much he wanted to. James’s hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you through a doorway, like you might somehow lose your way without him. The way his fingers traced lazy patterns on your knee under the dinner table, as though the contact grounded him. Or how he’d tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just long enough to make Sirius roll his eyes and fight back a gag.

It was maddening to watch, really. Not because Sirius minded the affection — no, James deserved a bit of softness in his life, and you were undeniably good for him. It was maddening because you were both so oblivious. James was a goner, sure, but you weren’t far behind. Every time you leaned into his touch, smiled up at him like he hung the stars, or called him Jamie in that soft, teasing tone, it was like watching two wizards tiptoe around a cauldron, waiting for it to explode.

One evening, as the three of you lounged in the living room, the dynamic was on full display. The Potters had insisted on a family movie night — Euphemia’s idea, of course, because family time was important. Sirius couldn’t say no to the fire roaring in the hearth, the massive bowl of popcorn, and the ridiculous Muggle Christmas film flickering on the screen. But as the minutes passed, he started to regret not escaping upstairs.

James had situated himself squarely in the middle of the sofa, with you tucked neatly under his arm. His hand played absently with the ends of your hair, fingers twisting the strands like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. You had your legs curled beneath you, leaning into him with the kind of comfort Sirius had only ever seen in old couples who had been together for decades. James pressed a kiss to your temple, murmuring something Sirius couldn’t quite catch.

It was unbearable.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Sirius interrupted, launching a piece of popcorn at James. It hit him square in the forehead, a small but satisfying victory. “Some of us are trying to watch the movie without choking on all this sap.”

You burst into laughter, sitting up just enough to toss a handful of popcorn back at him. “You’re just jealous, Black.”

“Jealous? Me?” Sirius placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Of what, exactly? Watching James Potter transform into a human puddle before my very eyes? No thanks. I’ll pass.”

James didn’t even flinch. He just grinned, looking every bit the lovesick fool he was. “You’ll get it one day, Pads,” he said with infuriating calm.

Sirius snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into his mouth. “Right. Because what I’m really missing in my life is the chance to turn into that.” He gestured at the two of you with a dramatic wave of his hand.

But despite his teasing, Sirius couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. James, the arrogant, Quidditch-obsessed, devil-may-care prankster he’d known all his life, was utterly, completely, hopelessly in love. And the worst — or perhaps best — part? He didn’t even seem to realize it.

BY THE END OF THESE COUPLE OF DAYS VACK AT THE POTTER COTTAGE, SIRIUS KNEW. James Potter wasn’t in love with Lily Evans — not really, not anymore and maybe not ever. He was in love with you. It wasn’t in the dramatic declarations Sirius had once teased James about making to Lily. No, this was quieter, deeper. It was in the way James’s gaze softened whenever you spoke, like he couldn’t believe you were real. In the way his hand always seemed to find yours, even when there was no need for it. And in the way his entire being lit up when you smiled at him.

And you? You weren’t much better. You laughed at his terrible jokes, poked fun at him with an ease Sirius envied, and looked at James like he was the center of the universe. It was so obvious it made Sirius want to scream.

“This isn’t normal, you know,” Sirius said later that night, cornering James in the kitchen as he made tea.

“What’s not normal?” James asked, far too casually for Sirius’s liking.

“You and her. You’re not just friends. Stop pretending you are.”

James frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “We are just friends. She’s my best mate, Pads. You know that.”

Sirius laughed, loud and sharp, shaking his head. “Oh, Prongsie. You’re an idiot.”

“Am not,” James shot back, but there was a flicker of doubt in his voice.

Sirius leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “If you’re just friends, then I’m a unicorn. Face it, Potter — you’re in love.”

James opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then you walked into the room, yawning and looking for all the world like you belonged there. James’s expression softened immediately, his gaze lingering on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Sirius didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to.

Because James Potter was already lost, and for once, Sirius didn’t mind watching his best mate fall.

March 30, 1975

My Love, It’s been ages since your last letter, and I miss you like mad. Exams are coming up, and I’m hopeless at concentrating without your words to keep me sane. The Marauders are in full swing, though—our latest adventure involved sneaking a swamp into one of the corridors. Filch is still grumbling about it. I told you before how Lily has the most beautiful laugh, right? Well, I think she might finally be warming up to me. I’m playing it cool, but honestly, every time she looks at me, I feel like a kid with a new broomstick. And yet... you’re still the one I write to when I want to share everything. Funny, isn’t it? How’s the ballet going? I remember you mentioned your school recital. I wish I could see you dance. You’d be like a dream on stage, graceful and bright. Maybe one day. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WASN’T ONE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE — not the kind spun into poetry or whispered in secret corners of libraries. Sweet words, fleeting touches, long glances… all of it sounded like an elaborate prank. A fantasy created by people who hadn’t tasted the bitterness of the world.

How could anyone believe in love when raised in a house where affection was a weapon and the family motto might as well have been stab first, smile later? The Black family had given Sirius many things: wealth, privilege, and a last name dripping in infamy. But love? That was a foreign concept, spoken in a dialect he’d never been taught.

And yet, Sirius Black — child of darkness and rebellion — had found light. That light had a name: James Potter. From the moment James had barreled into Sirius’s life, grinning like the sun itself, everything had shifted. James had yanked him out of the shadows and dragged him into a world Sirius didn’t know existed — a world filled with warmth, laughter, and actual hugs.

It wasn’t just James, though. It was the whole bloody Potter family. Euphemia and Fleamont were like characters out of a Muggle holiday film. Euphemia, with her soft, unrelenting affection, had made it her personal mission to drown Sirius in love and sweaters. Fleamont’s laughter could fill a room, a deep, belly-shaking sound that warmed Sirius from the inside out. Together, they moved through the world as though their love was an unshakable force, a steady undercurrent in every shared look and word.

“Darling,” Fleamont would call from across the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a newspaper in hand.

“Yes, Fleamont?” Euphemia would reply, her smile soft and teasing as she stirred whatever heavenly dish she was making.

Never by name. Always darling.

Still, if love like that was rare, James bloody Potter seemed hell-bent on stumbling into it without even realizing.

James and you had been dancing around each other for years, so oblivious it was borderline painful. Sirius sometimes wondered if you two were practicing for a comedy sketch, the way you acted like best mates while exuding the kind of tension that could make a Dementor blush. If Sirius had a Galleon for every time James looked at you like you were the only person in the room, he could have bought his own Quidditch team by now. And he's only been watching you for a couple of days.

IT WAS THE FOURT DAY OF HIS CHRISTMAS STAY AT THE POTTER HOME, and the dynamic was impossible to ignore. You and James were practically inseparable, moving through the house like two planets caught in the same orbit. You helped Euphemia with the decorations while James carried boxes of ornaments up from the cellar, always hovering nearby like he was afraid you might vanish if he looked away.

“You know,” Sirius said, leaning casually against the doorway, “most people don’t need to supervise someone hanging tinsel.”

James didn’t even glance back. “She’s not most people, Pads.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For Merlin’s sake, just marry her already.”

James froze, an ornament dangling from his hand. “What are you on about? We’re just friends.”

“Sure, and I’m a Muggle,” Sirius shot back, rolling his eyes.

You, blissfully unaware of the conversation, turned from where you were perched on a stepstool. “What are you two arguing about now?”

“Nothing,” James said quickly, his cheeks tinged pink. “Sirius is just being Sirius.”

“That’s never good,” you teased, smirking at Sirius.

“Oi! I’ll have you know I’m delightful company.” Sirius crossed his arms, feigning offense. “But if you’re not careful, pretty, you’ll end up trapped in Potter’s web of undying devotion.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping down from the stool. “Potter’s web of what now?”

James shot Sirius a warning glare, but Sirius just grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just that James here is—”

“Hungry!” James interrupted, loudly and awkwardly. “Right, Pads? Didn’t you say you were starving?”

Sirius barked a laugh, shaking his head as James practically shoved him out of the room. “Subtle as ever, Prongs.”

From Sirius’s vantage point, it was painfully obvious. James was hopelessly, stupidly in love with you. And you? You weren’t much better. The way you smiled at him, teased him, trusted him without question — it was all the evidence Sirius needed. And yet, you were both blissfully, idiotically unaware.

One evening, as Sirius sprawled on the sofa in the Potters’ living room, he couldn’t help but notice the way you and James interacted. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, rifling through a box of Christmas decorations Euphemia had set out.

“Jamie, hand me the gold bauble,” you said, tossing him a quick glance over your shoulder.

James, who had been half-heartedly untangling a string of lights, immediately perked up. “Which one?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “The one in your hand, genius.”

James laughed, tossing it gently toward you. It missed entirely, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.

“Good aim, Prongs,” Sirius drawled from his spot on the couch. “Truly inspiring.”

“Shut it, Padfoot,” James shot back, but his grin never faltered. He turned to you, sheepish. “Sorry, love.”

Love. Sirius didn’t miss the way the word slipped out so naturally, like James had been saying it his whole life. And he definitely didn’t miss the way your cheeks flushed as you ducked your head, pretending to focus on the decorations.

LATER THAT EVENING, SIRIUS FOUND HIMSELF LAYING ON THE SOFA IN THE LIVING ROOM AGAIN (it probably was his favorite place in the house by now), a book abandoned on his chest as he watched Euphemia and Fleamont dancing in the kitchen once, a slow, swaying movement that didn’t match the upbeat Muggle music crackling from the wireless. Euphemia had rested her head on Fleamont’s chest, his arms wrapped around her like it was the only place in the world she belonged. It wasn’t dramatic or flashy — just simple and unshakable. And it made Sirius ache in ways he didn’t understand.

And a moment later they were in the same kitchen, preparing tea and laughing softly as they worked.

“Darling, pass me the sugar, would you?” Fleamont said, his voice warm and affectionate.

Euphemia handed him the sugar bowl without looking up, her smile soft. “Here you go, darlin'.”

It was the kind of exchange that Sirius might have mocked once. But now, as he watched the way Fleamont leaned in to kiss Euphemia’s cheek, or how she swatted him away with a laugh when he tried to sneak a biscuit, he felt something unfamiliar tugging at his chest.

“They’re sickeningly sweet, aren’t they?”

Sirius turned to see you standing in the doorway, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands.

“They are,” he admitted, sitting up and motioning for you to join him. “But it’s sort of... nice. In a vomit-inducing way.”

You laughed, settling beside him. “I think it’s lovely. They’re so in tune with each other, you know? Like they’ve been dancing to the same song for decades.”

Sirius tilted his head, watching you as you spoke. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want that? The whole ‘dancing to the same song’ thing?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your mug. “I don’t know. I suppose it would be nice, but... I’m not sure it’s in the cards for me.”

Sirius frowned. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “Because my dance partner’s too busy tripping over his own feet to notice I’m right here.”

Sirius stared at you, his mind racing. Did you mean James? Surely you meant James. But before he could say anything, James walked in, ruffling his hair like he always did.

“Alright, what are you two plotting?”

“World domination,” Sirius replied without missing a beat. “Want in?”

James grinned, flopping onto the sofa and immediately throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Always.”

Sirius watched as you leaned into James, your head resting against his shoulder. James turned to look at you, his expression soft and unguarded.

And that’s when Sirius knew — again, because he seemed to be realizing this every ten minutes — just how much trouble you two were in.

DAYS LATER, SIRIUS WAS STANDING BY THE WINDOW OF THE POTTER COTTAGE, a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming his hands. The world outside was a vision of winter — snow blanketed the ground in pristine white, the trees bowed under its weight, and the air held a sharp, crystalline stillness. Inside, the house was alive with warmth: the crackle of the fire, the gentle hum of Euphemia’s humming, and Fleamont’s cheerful banter as he set up a chessboard by the hearth.

But Sirius wasn’t watching any of that. His attention was fixed on the two figures trudging down the snow-covered path just beyond the window.

You and James walked side by side, your mittened hands brushing against each other with the kind of unconscious familiarity that spoke volumes. The path ahead glittered in the weak afternoon sun, the frost catching the light like scattered diamonds. Clouds of breath curled into the frosty air as you laughed at something James said, the sound clear and bright, even from a distance.

Sirius couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He saw everything in the way James turned his head toward you, his face lit with the sort of joy that was impossible to fake.

Then it happened — your foot slipped on a patch of hidden ice. Sirius’s grip on his mug tightened for half a heartbeat, but James was already there. His hand shot out, steadying you before you could fall, as if the world might crumble if he didn’t catch you in time.

“Careful there, love,” James said, his voice carrying easily through the crisp winter air.

You laughed, brushing snow from your coat as your cheeks turned pink — not just from the cold, Sirius was sure. “You’d think I’d have learned how to walk by now.”

James grinned, tugging you a little closer to his side. “Good thing you’ve got me.”

“Good thing indeed,” you replied, your eyes crinkling at the corners, your voice soft and full of affection.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, James reached out to brush a stray snowflake from your hair. His fingers lingered for just a moment, his expression open and unguarded, filled with something so pure that Sirius had to look away for a second.

It wasn’t the first time Sirius had seen that look on James’s face. It was the same quiet, awestruck gaze he’d noticed a thousand times when James thought no one was watching. But seeing it now, against the backdrop of snow and laughter, it struck Sirius like a Bludger to the chest.

That’s how Fleamont looked at Euphemia, Sirius realized. He’d seen it that very morning, when Euphemia had walked into the kitchen with a sleepy smile and Fleamont had paused mid-sentence, his face lighting up as if she were the sunrise itself.

Sirius took a long sip of his hot chocolate, the sweetness of it sharp against the lump forming in his throat. He muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips, “Never by name. Always love.”

“What are you smiling about, Sirius?” Euphemia’s voice broke the quiet, warm and curious. She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

He turned, raising his mug in a mock toast. “Oh, nothing, Mrs. P. Just watching James make a right fool of himself in the snow. Again.”

Euphemia chuckled, stepping closer to peer out the window. Her gaze softened as she spotted you and James, now engaged in some sort of playful shoving match, James clearly letting you win.

“Hopeless,” Sirius added, shaking his head.

“Like father, like son,” Euphemia said with a knowing smile.

Sirius huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the scene outside. Sirius’s gaze lingered on James’s hand as it rested on your shoulder, the ease of the gesture speaking louder than words.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Sirius allowed himself to believe. Not just in the love he saw in James’s face or the easy affection between Fleamont and Euphemia. But in the idea that maybe—just maybe—love wasn’t the cruel, twisted thing his family had tried to make him believe.

Maybe love, real love, was something entirely different.

November 27, 1976

My Jamie, Winter has settled over Beauxbatons, and the mountains are kissed with snow. I wish you could see how the frost sparkles on the trees. I think of you often, imagining the mischief you’re up to at Hogwarts. I heard you’re Quidditch Captain now — congratulations! I can already picture you soaring through the air, the wind in your hair and that unstoppable grin. You were born to lead, Jamie, and I’m so proud of you. Your mum wrote me again last week. She’s sent another scarf, this one in Gryffindor colors. She says it’ll keep me close to you. It does, in a way — I wrap it around myself when I miss you most. Do you think of me as much as I think of you? You’re my constant, my warmth on the coldest days. Soon it’ll be Christmas, and we’ll have the stars and endless nights to talk about everything. Until then, stay safe, my Jamie. Forever yours, Love

THE CHRISTMAS CHAOS AT THE POTTER HOUSE STARTED BEFORE SIRIUS EVEN HAD A CHANCE TO GRUMBLE ABOUT THE HOUR. The sun wasn’t up yet, but Fleamont Potter most certainly was, barreling into James’s room with the energy of a man half his age. Before Sirius could properly complain — or hide under the covers — he and James were unceremoniously hauled to the garage. Their mission? Assembling the absurdly large Christmas table that Euphemia insisted on every year.

Sirius swore under his breath, wrestling with the oversized wooden monstrosity. “You know,” he grumbled, glaring at James, “if your parents had just gone for a nice, normal-sized table, we wouldn’t be out here freezing our—”

“Language, Sirius!” Fleamont interrupted cheerfully, though there was a definite glint of amusement in his eyes.

Sirius rolled his eyes but complied, though only because Euphemia’s kitchen smelled like heaven, and he was determined to earn his way to a plate of whatever was roasting in the oven.

Inside, the house was a picture of festive perfection: holly strung along the bannisters, twinkling fairy lights glowing softly in the corners, and a wireless by the fireplace playing carols just loud enough to make Sirius hum along when no one was listening. Euphemia’s soft laughter echoed from the kitchen, mingling with yours as the two of you prepared a feast fit for kings — or in this case, a house full of Marauders.

And James? Well, James wasn’t himself.

Sirius noticed it almost immediately. His best mate was usually a hurricane of enthusiasm during the holidays, cracking jokes, sneaking sweets from the kitchen, and generally making a nuisance of himself. But today, James kept glancing toward the kitchen like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home.

The idiot was besotted.

Every time your laughter drifted into the room, James’s head whipped around like he was under some sort of spell. If you so much as said his name, he’d stop mid-sentence, his eyes lighting up like the Christmas tree in the corner. Sirius would’ve teased him mercilessly if it weren’t so... obvious. Painfully, ridiculously obvious.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, WHEN JAMES AND FLEAMONT HAD VANISHED TO THE GARAGE — probably to charm something they had no business charming — Sirius found himself tasked with tidying up James’s room. He grumbled the whole time, of course. Cleaning wasn’t his style, and James’s room was a disaster zone: Quidditch magazines spilling off the desk, parchment crumpled in corners, and socks scattered in ways that defied the laws of physics.

“Honestly, Prongs,” Sirius muttered, holding up a suspiciously stiff sock with the tips of his fingers. “How are you supposed to woo Evans — or anyone, for that matter — when your room smells like the wrong end of a hippogriff?”

As he moved to clear a particularly cluttered shelf, a box caught his eye. It was tucked in the far corner, partially hidden behind an old textbook. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Anything stashed away like that was bound to be interesting. With a mischievous grin, he reached for it, only for the entire thing to tumble off the shelf, spilling its contents across the floor.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, crouching to pick up the mess. His hand froze mid-reach when he realized what had fallen out: letters. Dozens of them, bundled in ribbons of various colors.

Sirius sat back on his heels, eyeing the pile. His curiosity, as always, got the better of him. With a glance at the door to ensure James wasn’t about to barge in, he grabbed the nearest stack and plopped himself onto the bed, cross-legged and grinning like a kid about to open a box of Zonko’s best tricks.

The first letter he unfolded smelled faintly of vanilla. Your scent, Sirius realized, and his grin faltered for just a moment.

October 7, 1971 Beauxbatons is so different from Hogwarts. The professors here are so strict, James, sometimes it feels like I’m being watched all the time! I miss the feeling of freedom you must have at Hogwarts, even if you’re always getting into trouble with Sirius. Do you ever just wish you could escape the rules and run wild?

Sirius chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting. “Trouble? Me? Never,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

But as he reread the letter, a strange tightness settled in his chest. The way you wrote about Hogwarts — it wasn’t just about the school. It was about James. Even miles away, you saw him as something larger than life, as the embodiment of freedom and adventure.

And James? The idiot probably thought you were just being polite.

February 21, 1971 Sirius sounds like a bit of a handful, but I bet he’s hilarious. I think I’d like him, even if he does cause chaos. You all sound like you’re constantly up to something, but I imagine you get into trouble a lot, don’t you? Anyway, I’d love to hear more about his pranks— I’m sure you and him must make a great team!

Sirius barked a laugh. “A handful? Pretty, you have no idea.”

Still, the words struck a chord. He could see it so clearly now: the way you’d woven yourself into James’s world with every playful question and teasing remark. You weren’t just curious about his adventures; you wanted to be a part of them, to understand the boy behind the Quidditch bravado and the wild schemes.

Then came the letters about Lily.

March 25, 1973 James, you always talk about Lily, and I think it’s sweet that you have such admiration for her. I bet she doesn’t even know how much you like her. She sounds like she’d be really hard to win over, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just don’t forget to have fun along the way, yeah?

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s saggy pants, Prongs, how thick can you be?”

He could almost picture you writing those words, the careful balance between encouragement and self-sacrifice. Even as you pushed James toward Lily, your letters were saturated with love — pure, unguarded, and heartbreakingly unspoken.

It was infuriating. How could two people so obviously meant for each other be so oblivious?

By the time Sirius reached the later letters, the humor had drained from his face.

December 5, 1974 Your mum sent me another gift! She’s so sweet, and I can’t believe how kind she is to me. It always makes me feel so loved. You know, when I’m away from you, it’s like I’m missing something... like the best part of my day. I never want to take our friendship for granted.

The parchment crinkled slightly as Sirius’s grip tightened. That wasn’t just gratitude — it was devotion, raw and aching. The kind of love that didn’t need fireworks or grand declarations because it was already woven into every moment, every memory.

And James? Sirius shook his head, a pang of frustration mixing with pity. James had spent years chasing the idea of love, blind to the fact that he already had it.

The final letter undid him.

December 12, 1975 I was thinking about you today, and how you’ve always been there for me — whether it was listening to me complain about the Beauxbatons professors or laughing with me when I’m in a bad mood. You’re always there, and I think that’s why I trust you more than anyone else. You’ll never know how much that means to me, Jamie.

Sirius closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. You didn’t just see James; you knew him. The real James — the boy who laughed too loudly, who lived for Quidditch, who couldn’t resist a good prank. You loved James, not the idealized version he tried to be for Lily or anyone else.

Sirius exhaled sharply, folding the letter with a reverence he didn’t usually bother with. His heart ached — not for himself, but for you, for James, for the years you’d both spent dancing around the truth.

“Merlin, you’re both idiots,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now.

Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it further into disarray, his mind replaying what he’d just uncovered. The letters — those bloody letters — had been the key. Now everything fell into place: James’s barely-there smiles over the past few days, the way his gaze lingered when you entered the room, the softness in his laugh when you said something clever. James Potter, his brash, unrelenting, wildfire of a best friend, was utterly transformed around you.

Balanced. Grounded. Sincere.

It was unbearably obvious now, as if someone had pulled back the curtain.

And yet, the idiot still had Lily Evans’s picture on his bedside table in his dorm.

Sirius’s gaze fell on the stack of letters once more, neatly tied with a ribbons that seemed far too delicate for James’s usual chaos. He could have left it alone, let James figure things out in his own thick-headed way — but that wasn’t Sirius Black’s style. If there was one thing he’d learned from years of pranks, broken curfews, and bending the rules until they snapped, it was this: sometimes people needed a push, even if it stung a little.

Sirius exhaled and leaned back against the headboard, the letters still in hand. "You're a fucking idiot," he muttered under his breath.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. Oh, the look on James’s face when he confronted him — it would be priceless. Sirius wasn’t one for sentiment, but for you? For James? Maybe, just maybe, he’d make an exception.

The door creaked open, and James stumbled into the room, his steps heavy with exhaustion. Sirius watched as his best friend all but collapsed into the armchair by the bookcase, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He looked like he’d been wrestling dragons all day — or, more likely, his dad’s endless list of chores.

But there was something else, too. A tension in his jaw, a restless energy that practically vibrated off him. Sirius could see it plain as day: James hadn’t seen her all day, and it was driving him mad. She was so close — just a staircase or two away — and yet untouchable.

Sirius cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, Prongs, is this why you’ve been obsessing over the owl schedule for years? Didn’t peg you as the secret pen-pal type.”

James’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes narrowing in confusion. They darted to the bed, where the stack of letters lay exposed, and then to the shelf where the box had clearly been moved. He froze for a second before letting out a long, resigned sigh.

“Pads,” James said, his voice low and uneven, heavy with an edge Sirius rarely heard. “It’s not cool to read someone else’s letters.”

The room seemed to still, the words settling into the air like dust, soft but laden with weight. James’s eyes — those unmistakable hazel orbs that always held a spark of mischief — were guarded now, a flicker of something raw and unspoken behind them.

Sirius leaned forward, a grin stretching across his face like the blade of a knife, sharp and unapologetic. “Not cool,” he echoed, his voice laced with mockery, “is keeping this from me for six bloody years. Care to explain, or should I guess?”

James flinched, the tension in his shoulders visible even through the soft knit of his jumper. He moved toward the bed with the slow, deliberate steps of someone walking a tightrope, balancing the fragile threads of anger and restraint. The dim light of the room cast long shadows over his frame, making him seem taller, older — more vulnerable.

He reached for one of the letters, his hand hesitating for the briefest moment before his fingers curled around the parchment. His thumb brushed over the faded ink, tracing the loops of her handwriting like a blind man reading Braille. The edges of the letter were frayed, softened by years of touch, and as he lifted it to his face, Sirius caught the faintest smile tugging at James’s lips.

It was a small, private thing, that smile. Reverent. It wasn’t the boyish grin Sirius knew so well, the one James wielded like a weapon to charm or disarm. No, this was different — softer, as though the mere act of holding the letter in his hand brought James closer to something sacred.

Sirius felt his chest tighten. He’d seen James in every possible state — triumphant on the Quidditch pitch, livid after a prank gone wrong, devastated when the world seemed too heavy — but this? This was new. This was James Potter unguarded.

“She’s different, isn’t she?” Sirius said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

James didn’t look up. He sat on the edge of the bed, sorting the letters with a precision that bordered on ritual. Each movement was deliberate, his fingers careful not to smudge the ink or crease the paper. Sirius had never seen him handle anything with such care — not his broomstick, not his glasses, not even the Marauder’s Map.

“It’s not what you think,” James murmured, but the words lacked conviction, as though he knew they’d crumble under scrutiny.

Sirius scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exasperated snort. “Not what I think? Mate, I think you’re in love with her and too much of an idiot to admit it. Am I wrong?”

James froze mid-motion, the ribbon he was tying slipping from his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move — just stared at the letters as if they might answer for him.

“She’s…” He trailed off, his voice barely audible. “She’s different, Pads. She’s… everything.”

There it was. The confession, raw and trembling in the space between them. Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression unusually serious.

“Yeah,” Sirius said softly. “She is. And that’s exactly why you’re a bloody idiot for pretending she’s not.”

James let out a bitter laugh, the sound low and fractured. He raked a hand through his already-messy hair, his movements frenetic, as though he were trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice cracking under the strain. “It’s not that simple.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Sirius shot back, his tone sharp but not cruel. “I’ve watched you for years, Prongs. You talk about Evans like she’s some kind of bloody trophy, but her? You look at her like she’s the air you breathe. Like without her, you’d suffocate. And you’re sitting here telling me it’s complicated?”

James’s laugh turned hollow, empty. “Lily’s… safe. She’s who I’m supposed to want. She’s not my bloody childhood best friend.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Sirius said nothing. Then, he barked out a laugh, loud and biting.

“Safe?” he repeated, incredulous. “Since when have you ever played it safe, James Potter? Love’s not supposed to be safe. It’s messy, terrifying, and completely bloody worth it. Or are you seriously telling me you’d rather be ‘safe’ than happy?”

James looked up at him then, and Sirius’s breath caught. His best friend’s hazel eyes, usually so full of fire and mischief, were red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears.

“Do you think…” James’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “Do you think she feels the same?”

Sirius’s grin returned, slow and wolfish. “Mate, judging by these letters? She’s just as much of an idiot in love as you are.”

For a moment, James didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. And then, like a dam breaking, he laughed — a shaky, unsteady sound that grew louder, freer, until it filled the room.

“What do I do?” James asked, his voice raw and trembling with vulnerability.

Sirius stood, crossing the room to clap a hand on James’s shoulder. “You start by telling her everything. No more hiding. No more pretending. You owe her — and yourself — more than that.”

James nodded slowly, the faintest glimmer of determination flickering in his eyes. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Sirius said, smirking. “I’m always right.”

As James reached for the letters, carefully tucking them back into their box, Sirius watched him with a rare sense of pride. This wasn’t just James Potter, the fearless Quidditch captain, the prankster extraordinaire. This was James Potter, a boy on the cusp of something extraordinary.

And for once, Sirius Black wasn’t just causing chaos — he was helping someone find their way through it.

THE SNOW OUTSIDE FELL IN HEAVY, DELIBERATE FLAKES, BLANKETING THE WORLD IN A SOFT, UNBROKEN QUIET. Sirius stood on the second-floor landing of the Potter home, a mug of hot coffee cradled in his hands. The rich aroma mingled with the faint scent of pine and cinnamon wafting from the decorated tree below. The whole house seemed to hum with a kind of warmth that Sirius rarely allowed himself to imagine, let alone experience.

From his vantage point, he had a perfect view of the living room below. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, casting golden shadows across the walls. Mr. Potter sat on the sofa with an arm draped around Mrs. Potter, the two of them cocooned under a soft plaid blanket. A book rested on Fleamont’s lap as he read aloud, his voice low and steady. Euphemia’s head rested against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed in serene contentment. Every so often, she’d smile at something he read or reach up to adjust her husband’s glasses, her touch so light and familiar it made Sirius’s chest ache with longing — not jealousy, but something softer. A wistfulness for this kind of unshakable bond.

But his gaze didn’t linger on the Potters for long. It drifted to the corner of the room, where the Christmas tree’s twinkling lights bathed two figures in a kaleidoscope of warm colors. You and James sat on the floor amidst the chaos of torn wrapping paper and open boxes. The morning’s gifts had already been exchanged, but it seemed James had saved something special for last.

Even from here, Sirius could see the faint nervousness in his best friend’s posture. James wasn’t one to fidget, yet his hands moved restlessly, smoothing invisible creases on his trousers, brushing imaginary dust from the tree skirt. His eyes, though, were unwavering as they watched you. You were cross-legged on the fluffy white rug, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulder as you picked idly at a ribbon. Sirius noticed how your gaze lingered on James, curious and full of quiet affection.

James leaned closer, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable lilt of mischief. “One of the owls was late,” he said, holding up a slightly weathered envelope. The parchment looked a little worse for wear, its edges crumpled as if it had been handled too often. “It dropped this off this morning… asked me to give it to the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you reached for the envelope. “Still using that line, are you, Potter?”

“Can you blame me? It’s worked wonders so far.” His grin was cocky, but Sirius saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he handed it over.

You rolled your eyes, but the way you bit your lip betrayed your own anticipation. Turning the envelope over in your hands, you ran your fingers along the black-inked scrawl of your name before carefully breaking the seal. Sirius leaned forward slightly, his coffee forgotten as he watched the scene unfold.

The moment the letter emerged, the air seemed to shift. Your eyes darted across the page, your expression softening with each word. Sirius could see the precise moment the meaning settled in — the way your lips parted in surprise, the way your shoulders tensed, then relaxed, as if letting the weight of something long unspoken sink in. James’s hand rested on your knee, his thumb moving in small, nervous circles.

“Love?” James’s voice was barely above a whisper, his usual bravado stripped away. He was watching you as though the world rested on your reaction, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around yours. “You’re awfully quiet. Should I be worried? Say something. Anything.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, even as a tear slipped down your cheek, catching the light like a tiny diamond. James froze, his face paling slightly.

“Hey, hey, no…” His voice cracked. “Don’t cry. If it’s rubbish, just say so and we can forget it. Burn it, even.” He laughed nervously, though it sounded forced. “I’ll… I’ll pretend it never happened.”

That’s when you looked up, meeting his gaze with eyes so full of emotion it made Sirius’s breath hitch even from across the room. You didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached out, cupping James’s face in your hands. He stilled under your touch, his wide-eyed surprise melting into something softer as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss Sirius might have teased him about — not fiery or impulsive. It was quiet, deliberate, and full of a tenderness that made Sirius feel like an intruder, even though he couldn’t look away. James’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as though you might slip away if he let go.

Sirius smiled to himself, feeling a rare swell of pride. James had always been the heart of their little group, the one who wore his feelings openly. And now, here he was, finding a kind of love that Sirius knew would anchor him forever.

A sharp click shattered the moment, and both of you turned your heads to find Sirius standing at the bottom of the stairs, a wide grin plastered across his face as he waved a freshly developed photo in the air.

“Perfect!” he announced, shaking the picture. “This one’s going in the family album. And when my godchildren ask how their parents got together, I’ll tell them Uncle Sirius orchestrated the whole thing.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against James’s shoulder, while James groaned, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “You’re a menace, Pads,” he said, though his voice held no bite.

“A charming menace,” Sirius replied, retreating toward the couch where the elder Potters were watching the scene unfold with amused smiles.

“Everything alright, dear?” Euphemia asked, her eyes twinkling with affection as she glanced between you and James.

James nodded, his hand still firmly clasping yours. “Yeah, Mum. Everything’s perfect.”

Mrs. Potter’s smile widened, and she reached over to pat your hand. “Welcome to the family, my dear. Though, truth be told, you’ve always been part of it.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

THE REST OF THE DAY PASSED IN A GOLDEN HAZE OF LAUGHTER AND WARMTH. Euphemia roped you into helping her in the kitchen, insisting you learn the secret to her mulled wine. Sirius watched from the doorway, sipping his coffee and grinning as you tried to follow her directions, only for James to sneak in and steal a taste from the pot, earning himself a playful swat on the arm.

By evening, the fire burned low, and the snow outside had blanketed the world in an even deeper hush. Sirius sat in his favorite armchair, a blanket draped over his legs as he watched the scene before him. You and James were curled up together on the rug, a cozy tangle of limbs as you whispered to each other, your laughter soft and unguarded. The Potters sat nearby, sharing quiet conversation, their hands intertwined.

For a moment, Sirius closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the room and the sounds of contentment wash over him. He thought of his own childhood Christmases — cold, sterile affairs devoid of joy. And then he thought of this… the home James had built, not just for himself but for everyone he cared about. It was the kind of love Sirius had always believed was out of reach. Until now.

“Merry Christmas, Prongs,” he murmured, raising his empty mug in a toast to his best friend.

James glanced up, catching his eye. “Merry Christmas, Pads,” he replied, his grin soft but unmistakably James.

James had turned to you, his hand cradling your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his arm.

"Merry Christmas, love," James murmured, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that made Sirius’s chest tighten.

"Merry Christmas, Jamie," you replied, resting your forehead against his.

Sirius chuckled, settling back into his chair, the warmth of the moment settling deep in his bones. The world outside might be cold and uncertain, but here, in this house, surrounded by love and laughter, everything felt exactly as it should be.

He thought about how James Potter had once given him the home and warmth he never had. And now, it seemed, Sirius Black had helped his best friend find his way home, too.

FROM THE ARCHIVE OF SIRIUS BLACK:

To my future, undoubtedly brilliant, devilishly handsome, and wildly talented nephews,

Listen up, you little rascals. You don’t know me yet, but let me make one thing very clear: I’m the reason you even exist. That’s right, your ridiculously perfect Uncle Sirius is the mastermind behind it all. Without my charm, wit, and expert meddling, your parents might still be doing the whole "will-they-won't-they" nonsense.

So, when you’re out there ruling the world, remember to thank yours truly. The coolest, suavest, and most humble uncle you'll ever have — Sirius Black. You're welcome.

December 25, 1976 My Love, It’s Christmas, and the house is quiet now, the soft hum of the tree lights the only sound. I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at this parchment, trying to find words big enough for what I feel, but they don’t exist. Still, I need to try. Love, I see it now—what I’ve been too blind to see all along. I’ve always thought of myself as brave, fearless even. But when it came to you, I was a coward. I didn’t want to risk losing you. You, who have been the brightest part of my life since the moment we met. You, who’ve filled every corner of my world with warmth and light, even when we were miles apart. Every summer, when you stepped into my life again, it was like the sun breaking through a storm. You’d sit by the lake with that book you never quite finished because I was always distracting you. You’d laugh at my terrible jokes, your nose crinkling just so. And you’d hum when you thought no one was listening, always off-key but somehow more perfect than any melody I’ve ever heard. I thought I was looking for the kind of love my parents have — their unshakable bond, the way they look at each other like the world begins and ends with them. And all this time, it was right here, under my nose. You were under my nose. I think I was afraid, love. Afraid that if I let myself feel what’s always been there, I’d ruin us. That I’d lose the only person who’s ever truly known me, the only one who can look past the pranks, the bravado, and see me—the real me. But Sirius, being Sirius, knocked some sense into me. He said I’ve been acting like a fool, and for once, he’s right. Rereading our letters with him was like seeing my life laid out before me, and every line, every word pointed to you. Even when you were far away, you were my everything. The letters you sent were more than ink on parchment; they were lifelines. When Hogwarts felt too big, too chaotic, you were the quiet in the storm. When I felt lost, you reminded me who I am. Do you know how many times I reread your words, just to feel close to you? I kept your letters in my trunk, hidden from the others like a secret treasure. Because that’s what you’ve always been — my treasure. How could I have been so blind? How could I have wasted so much time thinking it was Lily I wanted when it’s always been you? I’ve spent so long chasing a dream when the real thing was right in front of me. I see it now, clearer than I’ve ever seen anything. You are my stars, my moon, my sun. You’re the laugh that makes everything brighter, the voice that feels like home.

I love you. I love the way your handwriting gets messier when you’re excited. I love the way you argue with me over the silliest things just to see me smile. I love the way you hum when you’re nervous and how you always know exactly what to say to pull me out of my worst days. I love you. I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I hope with everything in me that you do. And if you don’t, I’ll understand. Because having you in my life, even just as my friend, has been the greatest gift I could ever ask for. But if there’s even the smallest chance you might love me too, then I promise to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve you. Merry Christmas, my love. You’ve been my greatest gift every day since I met you. Forever yours, Jamie

thankx for reading <3

god, this is my biggest work and I was so afraid to publish it, cause it seems to me that no one reads such long fics (I myself adore long fics).

and if you've finished reading this, thank u and I love you so much! I hope you enjoyed every part of it and I will be very glad if you leave a comment, because it seems to me that I have left all of myself in this work!

you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox. btw my requests are open so… make a wish :3

– your santi 🪐

masterlist

#– santi 🪐#james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x you #james potter imagine #james potter x y/n #james potter fanfiction #bsf!james potter #james potter x fem!reader

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theorphicangel · 21 days ago

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maybe I’m thinking about the moment sukuna sits yuji down and finally tells him the truth about him and reader

( full fic before this is here but not needed to read this drabble!!)

sukuna finally sits yuji down, it’s only the two of them in the living room with sukuna’s twin brother, Jin, away at work.

yuji was busy playing with his fire truck in front of the couch until he hears his uncle to come sit next to him.

'hey yuj' come here for a sec'

the little one comes by, his toy fire truck that sukuna had gotten him for christmas still in hand. his eyes are wide and curious, giving his uncle his full attention. just at this sight, sukuna feels his stomach drop.

how the fuck was he supposed to break it to a six year old that you won't be around anymore? yuji practically worshipped you, from the first time that he introduced the two of you, yuji got obsessed. he followed you around and bombarded you with questions, asking every little thing about you. he gave you his shitty drawings and you kept them, putting them on your fridge. you'd make time to sit and play with him, diving into yuji's imaginative world a whole lot better than sukuna ever did.

you were patient and caring around him which sukuna appreciated a lot, it made yuji look up to you and treasure you greatly.

but now...well it's not the same. you haven't come by in weeks and yuji's began to question your disappearance.

'well...' sukuna hesitated, his tongue suddenly caught in his throat. what were the right words? how should he phrase this correctly so that his nephew doesn't end up in complete tears?

'yuji, you know-'

yuji cuts him off, stating your name.

sukuna lets out a dry cough, 'yes...about her' he can't bring himself to say your name. '...well we broke up. a couple weeks ago.'

sukuna lets his words digest. yuji looks down at his lap, fiddling with his truck, trying to comprehend. 'broke up?'

'yeah,' sukuna sighs, 'we're not seeing each other anymore.'

silence forms in the living room excluding the clock on the wall suddenly loud in its tick-tick-tick-tick.

'so...she won't come over anymore?'

'no, she won't'

'oh, okay.' there's clear sadness in the six year old's voice, immediately disappointed and now sukuna understands what his brother meant when he said that it would hurt yuji more than it would hurt him.

sukuna throws a hand at reassurance. 'it's okay bud because you still have me... and-and we'll do fun things together alright?'

yuji nods before speaking again, reflecting a little.

'but aren't you sad?'

sukuna wasn't prepared for that question. he struggles to come up with a quick answer, hesitating. 'yeah...i am.'

'i don't want you to be sad 'kuna' yuji mumbles, kicking his feet.

'it's okay yuji, i'm-'

sukuna's words are cut off by yuji coming in for a hug. his toy is discarded with yuji now focused on the task of wrapping his tiny arms around sukuna's large frame. sukuna shifts yuji onto his lap and returns the hug.

sukuna barely hugs his nephew, only in circumstances where he knows he won't see yuji for a long time.

'i hope you feel better soon.' yuji mumbles, his voice muffled. sukuna says nothing more as suddenly his throat is caught and words fail to escape from his lips. if it didn't hit him before then it sure does hit him now.

he hopes yuji doesn't notice his eyes getting blurry.

#take it or leave it #sorry....#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader fluff #jjk x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna #jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu sukuna #jjk #jjk headcanons

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melminli · 1 month ago

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Love To Dream

summary - there was this one girl that thanos really wanted, though, she didn't really want to have anything to do with him. unfortunately, that made him want her even more.

pairing: (thanos) choi su-bong x fem. reader

word count: 1.5k

contains: modern au, mention of drugs, enemies to lovers vibes ig, crack, yearning

a/n: i don't even know what this is tbh but I felt like we all deserved some laughs ;)

Life was good - life was really fucking good, Thanos thought to himself as he winked charmingly at a group of hot girls. They had been looking in his direction for a while now while giggling, clearly interested in him. He continued to watch them as he sipped his drink, the club music pumping through his veins like adrenaline. Thanos's eyes darkened as the girls continued to cast lustful glances in his direction - he knew he could easily get more than one of them into bed tonight and why wouldn't he? It hadn't been long since his last performance on stage, reminding everyone present once again of his legendary status in this club.

However, his attention was focused somewhere entirely else after the most breathtaking person ever decided to walk past him. The pick-up lines he had been thinking of for the group, vanished from his mind after this angel showed up in front of him since the other girls could barely compare. The whole thing looked like something out of a scene from a Kdrama because time seemed to pass in slow motion and your hair was swinging in the air like that of a princess - which would have been the perfect time for some product placement because it just looked so damn soft.

Thanos had his mouth wide open in shock and put a hand over his heart to check if it was still beating while his eyes never left your figure. You - who was leaning prettily against the bar right next to him as you ordered something from the bartender.

“Hey.” he finally recovered from the moment and casually moved towards you. “I'd introduce myself, but I assume you already know me.” he talked to you with his flirty face as soon as you looked up at him.

You smiled shyly. “Yeah, I watched your performance,” you answered him and seemed quite grateful that he was speaking to you right now. “You were pretty good.” you giggled slightly as you complimented him.

“Yeah, that's just how I am.” he sighed as he looked around the room as if it was a burden for him to have to live with all the recognition. His eyes met yours again and he tried to impress you by unpacking a few bars while emphasizing them with the movements of his hands. “Girl, I know you and I are meant to be because after I looked at your pretty face everything stopped being. If only you saw what I can see, you'll understand why I want you so desperately.” he rapped to you, stealing the last line from some One Direction song, but you didn't need to know that.

You shyly put your hands in front of your face to hide your smile. “Oh my god, that was so incredibly sexy, I'm so horny for you right now.” the words came out of your mouth and made Thanos screw up his face weirdly for a second.

Because first of all, those vulgar words didn't match your innocent demeanor in the slightest - and secondly, you said exactly what Thanos had imagined you would say - it was actually a bit creepy since you literally said it word for word. Thanos hardly thought that he could foresee the future all of a sudden or that you could maybe read minds, though he decided to ignore the whole thing as soon as you started touching his chest softly with your hands. He wanted you so bad.

“You don't even know what you're doing to me right now,” he whispered to you while you felt him so sensually and he was about to kiss you, hadn't you stopped his lips with your hand as you laughed into his face. “I think you should wake up now. Otherwise, the pink elephant will keep handing out balloons to people.” You told him, pointing behind him to where the bar was supposed to be.

“Hah?” he asked you confused and turned around while continuing to hold you in his arms, but all he saw were a few dogs breakdancing - and that was nothing out of the ordinary. He continued to look at the scene with a grin, even though some inner voice inside him was stressing out about kissing you immediately as if he was running out of time. He finally turned back to you and was about to continue when he suddenly heard a man speak. “You really should wake up man.” Nam-gyu's voice told him and Thanos only caught himself almost kissing him after he took a closer look. He just pushed him away from him in disgust and then -

Thanos woke up from his sleep, bathed in sweat, when he saw your face in his field of vision. “Finally, you're sleeping like a dead man. There's some guy at the door who wants to talk to you,” you told him as he sat up tiredly while slowly recovering from his strange dream.

That's right. You weren't just some hot girl he met at the club, you were his fucking roommate. Thanos discreetly pushed more blanket over his lap as he tried to shoo you away from his room with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah - I'll be right there, just - give me a moment,” he said without looking you in the face.

You just sighed slightly and complied with his request, though not without letting him know how unhappy you were. “I told you to stop giving our address to these dealers. I don't like it when they show up here,” you grumbled under your breath before dashing out and closing the door behind you.

After that, Thanos let out a very heavy sigh and stroked his face aggressively. ��Now she's showing up in my dreams, too? Fucking great.” he grumbled to himself and got up from the bed to put on some decent clothes. His eyes met his own reflection as he pulled a shirt over his head. “Get a grip man, what's wrong with you?” he asked himself as he grimaced in annoyance. “You're Thanos the destroyer, not some kind of -”

“Stop taking so long and come here already!” your voice suddenly shouted, coming through his door slightly muffled.

He looked even more annoyed at that and made his way to the living room while shouting back at you. “I'm fucking on it, alright!” and it only took a few loud steps from him to your front door for him to yank it open to fix the damn problem. He looked at his friend, completely bothered by his presence. “What do you want?” he asked him and was kinda glad that it at least wasn't Nam-gyu because he just really didn't want to see his face at the moment and probably for a little while.

“Hello, to you, too.” the man in front of him greeted him, already used to his weird mood swings. “I just wanted to do you a favor by bringing you some of the pills you wanted because last time you almost beat me up when I didn't have them with me,” he explained, holding the bag, which Thanos grabbed instantly before inspecting it more closely. “Don't act like you didn't deserve it, I paid you the money in advance, man. Of course, I was angry,” he complained again and would probably have beaten him up for real right now if he had ruined his morning over something completely unnecessary. However, he would still have to make sure that something like this didn't happen again so that you didn't have another reason to kick him out of the apartment.

“You know, maybe this was meant to be. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been greeted by an absolute hottie today,” he said happily as he stood there, still interested. “Is she your cousin or something? Do you want to introduce me to her?” he asked and was quite confident in the way he acted, but Thanos just looked at him emotionlessly for a few seconds until he slammed the door in his face.

"Okay, he's gone now!" he exclaimed, bored, and made his way into the kitchen, where you were sitting with a cup of coffee or something while scrolling on your phone. "Don't open the door for that guy if he shows up again," he said, grabbing a cold Sprite from the fridge. You just looked at him with a displeased look. He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'll make sure that he and no one else shows up after today. But, I'm just saying that in case it still somehow happens."

Thanos then opened the can and drank from it while he continued to watch your face from the side. Eventually, he sat down next to you, although, to his dissatisfaction, that didn't seem to get your attention. "Hey, you want to go on a date?" He asked, and you weren't sure how many times he asked you that by now. You kept scrolling on Instagram. "You know my answer to that."

Thanos continued to grin hopefully. "Yes?" he asked and then watched you disappear out of the kitchen with your cup of coffee in your hand - probably to your room. "You should be glad that I'm even asking you! Other girls would die for..." he muffled towards the end before he stopped talking entirely once he realized that you weren't giving him a reaction.

Maybe, I should just go back to sleep, he thought to himself dejectedly, unable to believe that he had actually better chances with you in dreams with pink elephants and breakdancing dogs.

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softbabybelle · 2 months ago

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corruption 001. 𓍯𓂃 rֶָ֢ cameron

rafe cameron x shy!reader

𝜗𝜚 Summary : rafe finds sarah's best friend sitting in her room after she sneaks out to see her boyfriend, topper, and offers to keep her busy while teaching her something new.

𝜗𝜚 words : 2.5k

𝜗𝜚 c!w : weed, smoking, drvgs, suggestive.

part 2. part 3.

by the time sarah had re-entered her own bedroom, you were laying on your back across her bed, twisting your hair above your face, absentmindedly playing with the strands.

"i have a favour to ask." upon hearing your best friend's voice, you turned so you were laying on your stomach.

you liked having sleepover's with sarah but sometimes, she wasn't all that reliable. "m'kay." though you already had an idea what following words would pass her lips.

"i just got off the phone with topper and he wants me to go meet him." she settled herself against her drawers. "but my dad'll kill me if i stay out past curfew. think you could cover for me?"

you batted your lids at the girl, frowning for various reasons. you'd brought all your stuff so you and sarah could hang out, you were getting a little tired of her using you as an excuse to see her boyfriend and you were downright petrified of ward cameron. there was something awfully frightening about your friends' parents.

but you didn't like to be troublesome. so a small "okay." passed your lips with a thin smile.

it took sarah less than twenty minutes to get ready and before you knew it, you were waving goodbye as she snuck out the window.

she left the tv on so you could watch one of your shows but you were much more inclined to reading the book in your bag. at this point, you'd grown accustomed to sarah leaving you during the middle of your sleepover's, you had to come prepared.

the reason she invited you over and snuck out was because she knew ward wouldn't dare go near her room when she had a friend over. none of her family did.

well, none aside from one.

"sarah!" you heard a familiar voice from behind the door followed by a bang against it that rafe cameron would later excuse as a 'knock'. "listen, i know you took my fuckin' charger, so give it ba―oh."

rafe was sarah's older brother, you'd seen him around plenty of times and he'd surely seen you. at this point, you practically lived in the house. many times you'd sat across from him at the dinner table or sat on the beach chairs with sarah while he was in the pool. though you didn't often speak to him.

perhaps that was your fault more than it was his, though.

"you're here." he stated, glancing around the room for the white charger he was missing.

rafe often initiated conversation with you but it was only in your shy nature to nod after he said something and use less than two words to communicate before scurrying down the hall after sarah.

this time, she wasn't here to be your human shield.

"uhm, yeah." you sort of just squirmed, hoping he didn't ask about why you were in here alone.

but you didn't often get what you hoped for. "where's sarah?" snatching up the charger. upon his question, you blinked at him, a stretch of panic flashed across your face. you didn't even need to say anything, your look gave it all away. "snuck out with topper, huh?"

your top lip snuck your bottom teeth in. "please don't tell." you weren't used to being so confined with rafe. sure, you'd been in a hallway with him before but come to think of it, you weren't sure you'd ever been in a small room like sarah's, alone, with the door shut.

"wasn't going to." he counters. his eyes pass over the room, raking down to you. you were sitting on the bed with a little book in your hands, pink bookmark sticking out from the page you left it on. "you don't need to be sittin' pretty in here all alone, though." he approached the door before turning to face you. "you comin'?"

it was as if he'd expected you to follow. you hastily stood, pink blush across your cheeks. "where are we going?"

he shrugged. "my room." as if it'd been obvious.

a nervous pit swirled in your stomach. you hadn't spent enough alone time with rafe to be invited into his bedroom. sarah was the one out of the two of you who talked to many guys. you kind of just stood idly by, a nervous look on your face as you bit your bottom lip and angled your head to look at the ground. you supposed rafe wasn't so bad, though.

after all, you practically grew up with the boy.

but that didn't make it any easier.

"so, uh, how's school?" he sniffed, inviting you into the room before shutting the door closed.

you'd been around sarah and her friends long enough to know that the smell swirling the room was weed. something you'd never so much as touched. the room also had a smell of some expensive cologne, the same one you often detected from rafe.

"it's okay." you offered, standing idly near his dresser, hands messing with the hem of your shirt. "what about you?"

a soft sort of smirk fell across his face. "i'm not in school anymore." he reminded you before taking a seat on the bed, taking something out from the beside table's drawer.

"i knew that, sorry." you felt your face flush. you hated this, always making yourself look silly when you spoke to rafe. it was why you avoided him in the first place. you wanted nothing more than to run out of the room to where you came from. but sarah was gone, meaning you had nobody to use as an excuse or a getaway.

you'd merely have to endure.

he didn't say anything, only offering a humorous huff from his lips.

"you mind?" your eyes trailed down to what was in his hands, the source of the smell you'd detected earlier. "asked you a question, sweetheart."

"oh, uhm." your eyes snapped up to meet his, head feeling floaty at the name. "i don't mind if you smoke. it's you're room."

again, he offered no response but continued to take out his pieces. he was currently in search of a lighter. "what are you standin' all the way over there for? sit down. i don't bite." but there was a quirk to his lips when he said it that made you think he did bite.

"sorry." you mumbled before shuffling to the bed to sit on the furthest edge you could.

you didn't miss the way rafe rolled his eyes. he looked back at you, studying your features. "split one with me?" he was testing the waters. he knew you enough to gauge assumptions about you. asking him? you didn't drink, didn't smoke, didn't have sex. you were the type of girl who stayed in your friends bedroom reading a book while they snuck out to meet their boyfriend.

he wanted to see if you'd give in.

your eyes were watching his hands, the way he rolled paper between his fingers. "uhm, 've never smoked."

ding ding ding.

he cocked his head. "want to try?" he could see immediate panic flash across your features. in a way, it was exactly what he wanted. he wanted to soothe you into this, not for you to instantly kneel at his every command. he knew you weren't easy. "c'mon, baby, 's just me. promise i won't let anything happen to you."

"i don't know." you shook your head slightly.

you were no stranger to the names he used on you. he often spoke them in a soft yet playful voice, especially around sarah. you just thought he liked seeing his sister get angry, tossing a pillow his way and telling him to stop treating you like one of his 'notches on his belt' but if he was only keen on making sarah angry, then why was he calling you such things while you were alone, sarah nowhere in sight?

"how long have you known me?" since you were very, very young. "one can't hurt. you trust me?" you slowly nodded, eyes still wavering to his hands. "so what'do you say?"

you knew you shouldn't. if your parents ever found out, they'd kill you with their bare hands and rafe would be next in their death note journal.

but there was something about the way he was looking at you that had your stomach folding in two.

besides, you never did like upsetting people.

if you didn't say yes, rafe would think that you didn't like him. he would be upset that you'd be so mean to refuse such a kind offer.

so nonetheless, a small squeak of an "okay." left your lips.

"atta girl. c'mere." he gestured down and you blinked at him confusedly. was he asking you to sit in his lap? you swallowed thickly. "c'mere." he repeated, this time between a soft chuckle. he reached out for you, helping you to sit flush against his lap.

instantly, you swore you had never been so red in your life.

your eyes were all wide and embarrassed, cheeks flaming red hot while you tucked your bottom lip under your top one again. a habit you supposed you'd die with. to say you were shocked to feel his hand against your face was an understatement. his thumb pulled at your lip from between your teeth, securing it away from harm. "don't do that." he mumbled. "you know how to take a pull?"

awkward and embarrassed were two words you swore were forgetting their meaning. this was above and beyond that. "you just... suck, right?" you squirmed in his lap at your own words.

"inhale, sweetheart." he moved the rolled blunt up to your lips. "open." you complied and he stuck it between the two, lifting the lighter to set the top to a low burn. "don't try to keep it in, 'kay?"

you nodded, inhaling the blunt and finding a strange sensation fill your mouth.

you'd never smoked a cigarette before, much less a blunt.

it was a weird feeling but you did what he said, you didn't try to keep it in. you moved the blunt from your lips with your fingers and didn't feel the need to couch heavily. you just blew the smokey air back out.

"good girl." the soft pads of his fingers trailed softly against your bare thighs below your sleep shorts. you felt your stomach do flips at the praise. "did so well. you sure you haven't done this before?"

you nodded with a slight giggle. "'m sure."

you watched as he lifted the blunt to his lips, taking a drag, then another. he didn't seem as phased as he did. "mm, don' know if i believe you on that one, princess."

"i haven't!" your hips gently reached up against his own. "swear." before simmering back down.

he lifted the blunt to your lips. this time, he didn't need to tell you to part your mouth, you just did it. "cross your heart 'n hope to die?"

he was staring at you so intently that you swore you'd never seen anyone's eyes so vividly, never been more interested in the squiggles of blue in someone's iris or the way his pupils slowly began expanding.

all you could offer was a slow nod as he watched you take another inhale of the blunt, eyes suddenly now steady on your lips, watching you stain the end of the paper pink with lipgloss.

a smirk fell on his lips as he leaned back onto the headboard. one minute, you were too shy to leave sarah's room, now you were sitting on his lap, smoking a blunt with him.

rafe merely had a way with women.

"so what, you feel like 'm corrupting you yet?" his steady smirk and sly hand trailing up your thigh.

a giggle passed your lips as you shook your head. "no."

he hummed. "plenty of time for that." you weren't too sure what he'd meant, though you hadn't actually asked him either.

it didn't take long for you to get high. rafe realised this within less than a few minutes. your pupils had turned wide, eyes gone glassy and suddenly you couldn't stop licking your already wet lips. you were staring at him, a little too much, not that he was complaining. he'd spent too long waiting for you to shyly meet his eye. with the weed in your system, you couldn't seem to look away.

"can i ask you something?" his voice was low, hardly a whisper as he spoke now, as if afraid he'd awake something and the room would turn to dust, the moment would fade from his memory and this moment would dissappear.

"uh-huh." you were busy looking at him, downright gawking. your eyes were shamelessly staring right at his lips.

he wasn't as buzzed as you. but to be honest, he'd been doing this a long time before you. "have you ever been kissed?"

it was his turn for his eyes to advert to your lips. all glossy and wet. for the thousandth time, your tongue peaked out, wetting them again before biting your bottom lip.

he couldn't get you to stop biting it, no matter how hard he tried.

he'd merely have to train you, when the time came.

"mm-mm." you shook your head at him. finally, your eyes broke from his lips and looked up at his eyes. he could see now, how truly buzzed you were. your eyes were all red and glassy, it was almost as if he could feel you floating. you tilted your head at him. "are you gonna kiss me?"

his hands ran up and down against your skin. "do you want me to?" a hesitant nod followed his question. "say please." pulling the blunt up to his lips for another drag. it was almost out now.

it was a mindless tease but he felt you squirm in his lap again. "please, rafe." voice but a whiney murmur.

he blew the smoke out from his lips and watched it fall into your own parted mouth.

your eyes fluttered shut and he didn't give you a chance to think, his lips replacing the smoke. his were hungry, your's were soft, inviting. and he took the invite as soon as it'd been handed to him. his hand ran up your back, shoving your body as close to his own as he could. he wanted the heat to envelope him, wanted your skin against his own. wanted so badly to rip off every piece of clothing that tainted you. wanted you to be his for the taking.

but the way you suddenly pulled back, those doey, bloodshot eyes and fearful voice murmuring the words, "you're not gonna tell sarah, are you?" told rafe exactly what he already knew.

he need to be patient with you. take his time unravelling you until there was nothing left.

he shook his head, fingers soft against your face, running across your cheek.

"don't worry, sweetheart, your dirty secret's safe with me."

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just-some-random-blogger · 4 months ago

Text

Tormented Spirit | 1

Part 2

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, eventual smut, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, mentions/depictions of death/suicidal ideation, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i nearly decided on nuking this because it feels so fucking bad and aimless guess in the end I'M really the tormented spirit huh anyway if I'm glad i didnt and decided to wait it out. if you enjoy this please think of leaving a comment and/or reblog because i need the reassurance. | cross posted on ao3

Tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

"Father," Alicent pleads, "she needs to see you."

Otto's jaw clenches as he lifts his gaze from his desk. He looks upon his youngest child's features. You were one in the same, his first daughter and last. He thanks the gods that she did not inherit the curse you bear.

Alicent picks at her fingers while awaiting a response. Though she draws blood, no sound leaves her lips. She did not know it, but her father catches this anxious tick. He mentally corrects himself: at least she did not inherit it at equal intensity.

"A man has no place in the dressing room of a bride-to-be," the Lord Hand dismisses.

Alicent knew about as much would be said, yet she still tries, "please. She is having a-"

"And when has my presence ever soothed her?" Otto interrupts, raising his voice to make his point clear.

It was enough. Alicent understood.

He turns back to his papers. He reads them but none of the words register. He says, "I am sure your brother is already there, coddling her as he does."

Alicent does not respond.

Otto lifts his gaze, "go," he speaks as though his daughter missed the obvious, "if she needs someone so badly, coddle her with Gwayne."

Alicent returns to your chambers. Her heart pinched in every which way at the sight of you. Here you stood, clothed in one of the few precious dresses that belonged to your mother— a bride. Dark blue satin and gold jewelry embellished your form. Your brown hair was curled and plaited and pinned. Your face had a glow, only because it was stained with tears. It was terrible and magnificent all at once.

Rhaenyra goes to her best friend, and the two girls clutched hands before walking towards you. Gwayne spots them and gives your hands a tight squeeze. Because of this, you turn from your older brother to your younger sister. Your eyes are pink with melancholy.

"Lord Hand," Alicent mutters, "is deep in his work."

On his daughter's wedding day, thinks Gwayne.

Rhaenyra clenches her jaw, loathing your father more than normal in this moment.

More than your own, you cannot stomach your sister's duress. You stroke her cheek, "I am well now. Worry no more."

Alicent catches Gwayne's expression and knows that is a lie. Still, she smiles and nods, "I am glad," she looks you once over, "you are an exquisite bride, sister."

Rhaenyra offers a smile, "I agree, dear aunt."

Your face twists at the young princess's words, though you knew she meant well. You will away the dreadful sensation in your stomach and manage a smile, "thank you... sweet niece."

You relish their company for as long as you can in this moment. You gather strength from Rhaenyra's smile, from Alicent's touch, and Gwayne's words. Then, all at once, you were alone, walking towards Daemon Targaryen.

In truth, he was not curious of you. He despised you, for after all, you were the spawn of that Cunttower. But, gods, what could possibly be the reason you were taking so long to walk down the aisle? It was not like this room was that big. And so, he turns over his shoulder to inspect you. His hand remains on Dark Sister and his weight still rested mostly on one leg.

He squints at the sight of you, moving like a snail. He is about to roll his eyes, but then he catches a glimpse of your countenance.

Tis strange.

You were not nearly as repulsive as he remembered you, and not nearly as similar in likeness to your rotten twin. How could that be, when it was not only- what, a season since he had pummeled Ser Cuntface to the ground? He will never forget your screaming face in the audience, and how deliciously distressed your father had been from hauling you away.

Even now, as Daemon's lilac eyes appraised your distant silhouette, gliding towards him like a phantom intent on haunting, he second guessed if that weeping woman from the tourney was you. But then he turned to your brother and saw his jaw harden. It was unmistakable then you were the weeping woman, and now, you were his weeping bride.

Gwayne, could not help the way his hands tightened into a fist as he helplessly watched you inch towards his most ardent foe. Beside him, unmoving, stood the very man who allowed such madness to ensue: your father.

You pass the pew that seated your family. Your twin's expression softens. He nods, and you know he means take heart. Your sister does the same. But your father, who stood between his children, does not spare you a glance.

Daemon notices the coldness. He would feel bad, but then again, he has been proclaiming his ill-guided brother's Lord Hand was the biggest cunt in the realm for so long, so he doesn't. Oh, but then you look at him with those beady eyes, and he did not know why his thorax felt uneasy.

Twas strange indeed.

Soon you stood in front of your promised, and, finally, Otto lays his eyes upon you. He does not see you though. He does not see the woman dressed in the garments that once belonged to his wife. He does not see your trembling hand and glassy cheeks. He sees his timid, tremoring, little daughter that he had to leave a moon's length for work. He sees her frail body that shook on her tiny bed and found no comfort in the way he held her tiny hand when he returned.

As the septon begins this damning rite, all he could hear was the voice of the maester that promised the new medicine he procured would heal his girl. As tears rolled down your eyes, he remembers how he nearly killed the maester for feeding you herbs that caused you to retch the little food you had eaten.

Has my child not suffered enough?

ᴴⁱˢ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈ ⁱˢ ᵐᵃʳʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵐᵒⁿˢᵗᵉʳ

Daemon turns to the pew beside the Hightowers' and finds his brother's face. Viserys seemed pleased to witness this wretched affair, as did Aemma, who clutched her pregnant belly. Rhaenyra beside her seemed more interested in you however, or at least the dress that she and Alicent helped dressed you in.

The septon blabbers and tells you both to speak your vows. You do, one as reluctant as the other. Then, as instructed, Daemon cloaks you and presses a kiss on your salty lips.

Twas bittersweet. On one hand, as he takes your clammy one, the image of Otto's face when Daemon told the King that he wanted to marry you comes to mind.

Oh, how excited he was to see the old fool look as though he was a breath away from lunging at him across the table, and how utterly horrendous that he hadn't. He would have simply, and justifiably, killed him. Then all this bother would not have ensued. The look upon the said man's face this moment, now that he's sullied what he so dearly protected, made his stomach giddy.

As the same time, as he held that same clammy hand of yours and felt it tremble, he remembers that you and he were bound. Though not in the manner of his house, he knew he could escape only so much of his wretched duties. Otto's vexation would only last so long, and deep down the cunt must enjoy that his daughter was now a princess. He knew soon Viserys would also begin nagging him again.

But then out of nowhere, he laughs. It was so abrupt that a few guests looked at him in confusion.

How could he forget? There was the matter of your... affliction. Perhaps he can frighten you to death on your wedding bed.

He chuckles once more.

The idea is so delicious, he is in good spirits the whole wedding feast. He does nothing but embarrass and shame you by entertaining literally every other lady save yourself.

What makes matters worse, at least on your end, is that your father refuses to go to your side and forbids not only your brother but as well as your sister from leaving their spots to come to your aid. There was no need to make the matter bigger than it was. You are left alone at your seat at the table, looking nothing but pathetic and weepy.

You sustain such temperament until you're in your marriage chambers, but then you do a funny thing and down two glasses of wine. Daemon laughs at how it spills from your lips, down your neck.

He, who had already much more than a measly two cups, comes behind you and takes the one you loudly prop on the table. You squeak and bolt away when Daemon's arm sneaks up from underneath your own; it only further amuses him.

"V'you a change of heart?" he pours himself a glass, "ready for debauchery, yes?"

You turn unbelievably pale, and it merits the fondest of laughs from your sadistic groom. Daemon drinks and licks the wine off his lips.

You gulp, reaching out a trembling hand.

He raises a brow at it. Suddenly, he's annoyed— twice was much because he has absolutely no idea what the gesture means.

That is, until you speak, "may I have some more?"

One of his faint silver brows raises. Suddenly, he is greedy with the wine he thought tasted too sour on his tongue. However, a curiosity within him urged to hand over the cheap drink, for why did his shivering wife have the nerve for this to be her first words to him?

He watched you throw your head back as you down the wine just as quick as you did the previous ones. He chuckles and crosses his arms. When you turn to Daemon, he tilts his head, "thirsty?"

You inhale deeply, though it is strangled, "for my anxiousness."

It takes a moment for him to realize what you mean, and when he does, his nostrils flare. Had he breathed fire, surely smoke would have come out his nose at this moment. Daemon releases an airy, unamused chuckle and averts his gaze, "eager to bed me, harlot?"

Your throat tightens, for that was not what you meant at all.

You forcibly swallow a lump that forms when he comes to your side. Your throat only further constricts when he grabs and yanks you into his chest. You whimper as he presses his nose against your ear. Goosebumps form when his hot breath hits your ear, "on the bed then."

Your heart thunders as he shoves you towards the bed. You nearly miss it. Actually, only your head and arms touch the cushion, and the rest of your body collides with the floor and the hard bed frame. Your tailbone throbs at the impact, but it doesn't hurt nearly as much as your chest that tightened, and tightened, and tightened and—

You barely manage to gasp. You are hard of breathing when Daemon crouches and grabs your thighs, pulling your skirts up. He feels your flesh tremble beneath his palm. His fingers touch your skin, and it brings him to hiss; you are ice against his burning hands.

He looks up at you. A line forms between his brows. You gasped for air that seemed unwilling to enter your lungs. Not only was your face stained with tears, but as well as your neck now

He mutters, "nyke pendagon jaelā naejot sagon ipradāri," I thought you wanted to get eaten, "I do so find fear delectable."

You continue to slump into the floor until you're a melted mess. You can do nothing but clutch your chest, not that it helps one bit.

Daemon is satisfied at this point. He stands and dusts his hands off. He looks at the pitiful Hightower, your dark locks spilled on the ground as if blood from a crime scene.

"Is that your affliction then, wife?" he tilts his head, "do you seize up when you're nervous?"

You look at him, but do not respond.

"S'rather inconvenient, no?" he sighs, as though he actually cared.

You shut your eyes and curl into a ball.

"Mmm, well, I suppose I will have to claim the womanhood owed of me some other time," he said, uninterested. With that, he exits the room with a skip in his step, pleased to know he had such a tremendous effect on you.

You remain in this turmoil for what felt like hours.

By the time you peel yourself up from the floor, your body is encased in sweat. You command yourself to calm; you cannot afford to slip into another bout of insanity. Your tears cannot be contained as you struggle to undo the ties of your dress; at least tremendous relief comes after you do. You struggle to your feet and remove the pins in your hair while making for the vanity table.

You sit before yourself; your horrid face reflects on the mirror that was far too clear for your liking. As you free your hair from its bounds, you think, perhaps it was fortunate that your husband did not lay with you. At least not tonight.

But then, comes to mind, the argument you with your father. Your chest threatens to tighten again as the severity of his voice replays in your head.

It was no secret, Otto despised Daemon. How then could he be so shocked at your horror of learning he had approved your marriage to him. His raging voice still rings in your head: "you ungrateful fool!"

You fall apart in your palms and nearly succumb to yourself again. Thankfully, you manage to take deep breaths and pick yourself up before you fall apart.

You always knew you were the spare in your father's eyes, but you thought that merited indifference. You did not think he hated you so deeply. How could anyone hand their child to their enemy? Perhaps this was his way of finally having use of you.

A spare. A pawn. Will it ever end?

You go to bed and wrap yourself tightly under the sheets. You stare at the ceiling, praying the same prayer you've prayed since you were eight: Seven, let this be my final slumber.

You nearly choke when you are awoken by such violent shaking. You jolt up, or at least as much as you can from the blankets you were so tightly bound in.

Daemon grins and brings the hands he had shaken you with behind his back, "I would say good morn, but it is apparently opposite to you, wife."

The name makes your skin crawl. You push yourself out of the sheets and sit up. You wipe your face and tell yourself; you must get used to this, "good morrow, husband."

Your brown curls spill down your shoulder as you sigh to yourself. Daemon thinks you look much more palatable this way, unlike yesterday, when your hair was jailed so tightly. He motions with his head, "ta. We make haste to the dragon pit."

Your eyes are suddenly devoid of any trace of sleepiness as you look at him.

His lips remain curled, "it would only be proper to do so, no?" He does not let you retort, as he is already making his way out, "tis Caraxes' right to know who his master has been shackled to," he opens the door, "at least momentarily."

If he was self-satisfied with how you shook under his grasp last night, one can only imagine his exhilaration over your severe disinterest in meeting his mount this morning. What's more, Caraxes could smell your anxiety, and it made him chuff and snap his jaws.

Of course, Daemon chastised his dragon, telling him to obey, even though he very much did not want him to. He eagerly fantasizes: oh, a shame my bride died the day I introduced him to my ride.

A true shame.

"Calm yourself," Daemon sniggers as he forcefully pushes you towards the blood wyrm, "the harder you make this for yourself, the harder it will be."

You found no encouragement in that, for no part of it meant to encourage. You continue to writhe against him, pushing yourself back, only to be pressed against the prince's chest and urged forward. It didn't help that he shackled his hands on both of your wrists, preventing you from elbowing him away.

Though your hair was braided to the side, you still manage to whip it to Daemon's face in your attempt to free yourself, only causing him to be more impatient. You could not help the harrowing shriek that left you when he ultimately brought you to the beast's maw, and the said creature pressed himself against your chest to sniff you.

Caraxes rips away and shakes his head at your piercing reaction. He shrieks in like, as if disapproving, or showing offence. He must exact appropriate retaliation. He draws a deep breath, readying to set you ablaze. Daemon would have let him, had he not been a direct target of his mount's wrath, "keligon, Caraxes!"

Caraxes hisses.

"Keligon!" Stop!

He does not enjoy the order, exemplified by the way he licked his teeth, but obeys, nonetheless. He roars one last time, spit sputtering onto your face as he does. It's enough to make you finally lose your resolve.

You cease your wrangling and find yourself going limp in his arms. Daemon is pleased. He can finally drag you on dragon-back and torment you even more mid-air. What he did not know, however, was that your stomach was tingling; it was not that of the usual dread so familiar to you, but twas familiar still.

Daemon takes you by the arm and tries to make you climb up to the saddle, but then he stills when he hears the sound you make. He pulls away just before the acid from your stomach rushes out of your mouth. You retch so much it comes out of your nose, and you feel yourself grow lightheaded.

"Fucking gods," Daemon recoils in disgust. He turns to one of the dragon keepers and orders you away.

The dragon keeper, who looked far older than your father, spoke to you in a language you could not make out. You understand the part where he says maester as he leads you out of the pit. You manage to convey you no longer needed his assistance once you were out and walked off by yourself. You flinch and shriek when Daemon takes off on Caraxes.

You do not go to the maester's, instead, you have your servants draw you a warm bath and stay in it until it is cold. Only then do you scrub your skin until it is tender.

Once you were clean, you looked for the only person in the world that did not use your name interchangeably with hysteria: your twin.

"That uliginous blinkard," Gwayne slashes the dummy before him. You watch him pace from the bench you were sat upon. "He is incapable of procuring a morsel of dignity out of his wretched existence."

You clench you jaw when he chucks his sword to the ground.

"I should smother him in his sleep."

The thought chills you.

"But then I would be no better than he, would I not?" he seethes as he walks to your side, grabbing the towel beside you.

He wipes his face. You look up at him, a line forming between your brows, "remember you are my confidant, not my vindicator."

"If not I," he chucks his towel back beside you, "then who?" His forehead wrinkles, "an affront to my twin is worse than one to myself."

"Then you would know better than anyone that I share your sentiment," you grab his arm, hoping to calm him down.

His face is hard. He pushes your hand away.

You sigh, "and you know well that I suffer more in circumstances where you've acted on my behalf."

He clenches his jaw. He draws a deep breath and denies the thought with the shake of his head, "father will not hold it against-"

"Father holds everything against me," your eyes instantly water, "he would not be our father if he did not."

Your twin has never spoken your name any other way but in gentleness, yet it is precisely why it chips you apart. Gwayne continues, "be it as it may, but I do not believe that he gave to the prince— certainly not willingly."

You laugh and lift your countenance to the sky. Tears fall from the corner of your eyes, down your ears and neck, "does it matter?"

"It does," he urges, "he fought for you."

"He does not fight for me," you turn back to him, "allow yourself to come to terms with it as I have. It will hurt you less."

Gwayne does not manage a response as someone else speaks in that moment. The way you both tense at the sound is that of instinct.

"You vomited in the dragon pit?"

You turn over your shoulder and shoot up from where you sat. You watch as your father walks towards you. He places a hand on your neck and looks you up and down, "did the prince jostle you so on his ride?"

His touch is like a searing rod against your skin, his eyes, even worse. The raised hairs on your neck remain even as he pulls away. You quietly retort, "I did not even touch his saddle."

"Oh," Otto raises his brows, "then perhaps your affliction is that of you carrying."

Carrying?

Both you and Gwayne are mortified by the idea. You stutter, "s-surely it is not that quick."

"The blood of the dragon runs hot," he sighs, "as he would so boldly proclaim."

Your face burns upon hearing this.

Your father looks past you, "take your sister to the maester at once."

"No, I-"

"Make sure that she is good condition and take note of what will be instructed of her."

"That is not-"

"I am sure she will be required to take further precautions because of her affli-"

"We did not!" you blurt, finally regaining the attention of your father.

Your heart races as Otto looks at you. Suddenly, you are like a deer shot by an arrow, pained and powerless. He is annoyed that you interrupted him, only to say nothing. He presses, "we did not what?"

You take a strangled breath before reply, "we... did not consummate ou-"

"You what?!" he steps forward.

Gwayne immediately takes your arm, eager to get between you two, "father-"

But Otto does the same and pulls you toward him, "you did not consummate, or you did not want to consummate your marriage?"

Gwayne's hold on you falters. Your saliva lumps in your throat, "I-"

"You do understand the consequences if you do not bear your husband heirs, correct?"

You turn to your feet, unable to hold his heated glare, "I-"

"Look at me when I speak to you," he shakes you.

You lift your eyes, and hot tears begin to rush down your face.

"You've proven your point, father," Gwayne blurts, "release her."

"Release her?" Otto redirects his ire. Though he does just that, release you, it feels as though an iron clamp around your neck replaces your father's hold. "Even if I were to release her, boy, your dearest twin sister will not be free of the truth," he turns back to you, "nor my point. Your failure to do what is necessary will lead you straight into the dragon's belly."

You clench your jaw tighter than anyone should.

"Do you understand, girl?"

You nod before you allow yourself to breathe. You blurt, "yes, my lord."

Otto looks you once over before turning and walking away. The moment he is out of sight, you fold like a deck of cards, and Gwayne must keep you upright.

He hushes you and sits you back down. He kneels in front of you, observing if you were about to collapse into another episode. You do not, for he was with you, but you do weep until tears could no longer fall. He leads you to your room after this and urges you to rest.

You repeat the prayer you prayed on your wedding night before you sleep.

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ireverie · 28 days ago

Text

indulgence

pairing ↠ serial killer!sunghoon x (f) professor!reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, graphic depictions of murder, graphic depictions of violence, noncon, mentions of pregnancy, sunghoon is 43 (set in 2023)

summary ↠ you're an accomplished detective in the detroit area and park sunghoon is a prolific serial killer. when your department sends you on its behalf to pull back his layers, you attempt to convince sunghoon to recount his experiences and unravel the mystery once and for all.

wc ↠ 10.3k

a/n ↠ originally posted on my blog revehae, i am not plagiarizing myself. sunghoon’s american for the plot. part 3/3 of the in my blood series. as always, feedback is appreciated!

don’t like it, don’t read.

the deepest prick of unease settled through you and you shuddered from its nipping cold.

killers were your forte, but none like this. never in your life had you ever met a killer who’d been at their craft for over a decade. they typically got sloppy after the first half, which insinuated that this sunghoon park guy, whoever he was, was far from an ameteur.

“gate twelve,” came the guard’s voice, speaking into a transmitter. he was to escort you to sunghoon’s holding room.

the gate lifted. behind it, you clocked the riveting face of detroit’s worst nightmare, hands cuffed at his back as he sat facing you. there was a sort of twisted grin on his face, not as if he was excited to have a visitor, but excited his visitor had been you.

“good luck with this guy. officers tried to get him to budge. he didn’t take the fifth, but the bastard’s damn good at talking in circles,” the guard whispered in your ear.

“duly noted,” you replied quietly, stepping further and taking the seat across from sunghoon.

the guard left you to your devices, shutting the door behind you and leaving through the passage that led to the gate. complete and total privacy was the only way sunghoon agreed to talk. your department initially refused, insisting there should at least be one or two other officers monitoring the interview, but you let him have his way.

if you wanted to get this man to talk, that was your only option.

“hello, sunghoon. i’m detective ___ from the detroit police department,” you introduced yourself coolly, cloaking your nerves with confidence. never would you show a guy like this any fear.

sunghoon hadn’t stopped grinning since he made eye contact with you. you’d seen pictures at most and he was devilishly handsome, even more so in person, but it didn’t compensate for his unsettling aura. “that’s a beautiful name, detective.”

“flattery will get you nowhere, park.”

“it’s gotten me here,” sunghoon quipped.

“yes, it has. and i suppose you already know why i’m here.”

“yes, i do,” sunghoon said, pleasant thus far. “you want me to tell you about the murders.”

you bobbed your head. “i do. you see, you’re an enigma to me, sunghoon. you turn yourself in, get fingerprinted, and all of the sudden our datsbase’s going off because your prints are connected to three other crimes over the past twenty-five years.”

sunghoon feigned surprise. “wow, it’s been that long?”

“it has,” you replied, in spite of knowing he couldn’t have not been aware. “martina mortes in 1998, sabrina lee in 2005, christine dalton in 2013, and dr. lee this year.”

sunghoon leaned back in his chair. “i’m familiar with those names.”

“you should be. you sexually assaulted and murdered these women,” you spat, none too tender. “except for martina mortes. you only strangled her. do you want to tell me why that it is?”

“what’s the weather like today? i haven’t been outside, but summer has been kind to detroit.”

ignoring him, you persisted, “let me guess. she was your first victim and that kill, unlike the others, was spontaneous. her being dead defeated the purpose of the sex act, didn’t it?”

“well, do you like your partners warm or cold, detective?” sunghoon asked, deflecting.

you were heeding the guard’s warning. it seemed this guy liked to answer questions with questions, your least favorite type of offender. “that’s why when you subsequently added the sex act to part of your crimes, you kept your victims much longer, because you like to see them suffer. until you got bored. then, you killed them and dumped their bodies like trash.”

as if he was disinterested, sunghoon glanced to the side and yawned.

the audacity on this guy was astounding. “am i boring you, park?”

sunghoon replied with total indifference, “if you think you know everything, then why are we here?”

you answered without hesitation, “because i think you’ve wanted to tell someone about what you’ve done for a long time, sunghoon. but you realize that you’re not like other people. i’m giving you the opportunity to get it all off of your chest.”

sunghoon cocked his head to the side, as if he was contemplating your offer. his face was borderline inscrutable. it was difficult, if not impossible, to decipher what he was thinking.

you restrained from heaving a breath. there was a crushing weight on your shoulders, the expectation to get this guy to crack. if you couldn’t do it, nobody would - ever. “how many victims do you have?”

“four.” sunghoon’s answer was quick, automatic. like he didn’t even have to think about it for a second.

folding your arms on the table, you shook your head. “no, i just don’t think that’s true. see, we’re pretty sure martina mortes, your high school girlfriend, was your first victim, and the college professor was your last.”

sunghoon cocked a brow. “but?”

“but there’s no way someone like you could’ve resisted your urges between four kills over the past two decades and then some.”

there was no point in denying the four victims, because you already had substantial proof. nor did sunghoon deny that martina was his first victim, because given the decomposition of the bodies, she died long before the other three. admitting that she wasn’t would be admitting that there were unfound others.

and sunghoon had no intention of implicating himself more than he already had. the only reason he turned himself in was because he didn’t want to prolong the inevitable, for whatever reason. he pulled his lips into a mock frown. “your assumptions about my self-restraint are hurtful,” he replied.

whatever, moron, you thought irritability. “i think they’re more than just assumptions.”

sunghoon teased, “then, let me know when you know something.”

you narrowed your eyes, groaning, “oh, come on. i know and you know that you can’t ignore your desires for a month, let alone over ten years. you have a compulsion. killing makes you feel powerful, it makes you feel in control, and you can’t live without the high it gives you.”

“you make me sound like an addict,” sunghoon remarked, pretending to be offended.

“it wouldn’t be so far from the truth,” you said, glancing over the file at your end of the table. “the first two kills were seven years apart. the second two kills were ten. full offense, i don’t see how you could control yourself for so long.”

“you can believe what you want, detective. i didn’t kill anyone else,” sunghoon lied, not that you ever needed to know.

of course, he couldn’t control himself. the second he took someone’s life, it became a part of him, and his purpose in this world became clear to him. for the first time in his life, he felt as if he had something that made living worthwhile.

you surrendered. it was obvious sunghoon was intelligent and he wouldn’t be easily tricked into confessing. “okay, fine. let’s talk about the victims we know of. tell me about martina mortes.”

“what is there to tell?” sunghoon asked, brow cocked. “we met in junior high. then, in eleventh grade, we got together.”

“tell me about why you killed her,” you insisted, painfully curious. “it happened in chicago, before you moved to detroit over the summer. you killed her in the heat of the moment.”

sunghoon gave the impression that he would take a minute to crack, so you were surprised when he said in response to your prodding, “we got into a wrangle, if you will.”

that much was obvious. “what kind of wrangle?”

the garage was hot and the air was stuffy, making it difficult to breathe. to say nothing of the frustration scorching sunghoon’s skin, his face tensed into an irritated glower.

there was something about women he never liked, the seemingly inherent ability to blow almost anything out of proportion, as exhibited now as his girlfriend screamed in his face. his stepmother was the same, never not coming up with a reason to fuss at him. he was always walking on eggshells around that woman.

martina was bristling. “you always fucking do this, sunghoon.”

sunghoon heaved a breath, sighing, “what - what do i always do, martina?”

“you trivialize everything i go through. you make me feel like i’m overreacting when i’m not, you just refuse to hold yourself accountable,” she spat.

“martina, we’re about to go to college, for fuck’s sake! you can’t focus on your academics and a goddamn child. i don’t get why you won’t just have an abortion and call it a day,” sunghoon roared, heating up a thousand degrees.

“god, do you listen to a word that comes out of my mouth? my parents will kill me, sunghoon. if not for being pregnant at eighteen, then for killing it.”

sunghoon sighed. “i don’t see the part where that’s my problem.”

tears blurred martina’s eyes. she came up to him, shattered by his carelessness and embraced by isolation, and bellowed, “you want to know what your problem is? your problem is that you’re an incompetent bastard with no regard for other people!”

sunghoon’s body was engulfed in flames but his shoulders were cold, and he lost control of his emotions, grabbing martina by the throat. he effortlessly lifted her with a single hand and smashed her against the closest wall none too gently, watching her eyes wince closed.

“you wanna say that again?” sunghoon asked, nothing short of belligerent.

ache spread out through the back of martina’s head, a ceaseless throbbing worse than any hungover. her feet dangled off of the ground, waving and kicking, fingers weakly prying at the ones pressing down on her windpipe. until she was completely still, legs dropping, hands going limp at her sides.

“i didn’t even realize how long i spent standing there, until she felt… empty, and i knew she was gone,” sunghoon confessed, but his tone was far from sympathetic. “she scratched me. you know, when she was trying to pry my hands off. i didn’t know until hours later.”

you shook your head, disdainful. “you killed your pregnant girlfriend?”

sunghoon groaned, “oh, please. i was eighteen. i would’ve been a terrible father.”

“i would be slightly more inclined to accept that as an excuse if it weren’t for the fact that you had a son by sabrina lee only two years later,” you said viciously.

“a lot can change in two years.”

“i’m sure it did.” your eyes flickered over the file again, but nothing would allow you to familiarize yourself with this killer more than talking to him yourself. “for example, you realized just how much you liked killing.”

if sunghoon could’ve raised his hands, he would’ve. “your words, not mine.”

you leaned over the table, unrelenting. “tell me about it, sunghoon. how did it feel when you strangled her with your bare hands? what was it like?”

sunghoon chuckled. “is that what you wanna hear?”

you nodded.

sunghoon leaned in too, getting closer to you, and whispered in your ear, “i squeezed every last breath out of her, one by one, until there was nothing left for her brain and she went slack in my arms. and when i was done, i felt elated. i felt free. it woke up this dormant sensation inside of me that i swore to never repress again, because it made me feel alive.”

your lungs started to feel shallower, like no breath could reach the bottom, and you sensed your heart come to a halt for a minute. sunghoon pulled back, grinning from ear to ear, as if he was proud of himself.

“detective, did i startle you?” sunghoon asked, tilting his head ever so slightly.

your face hardened. “why would you ever think that?”

“you’re not as good at feigning indifference as you think you are, detective. full offense,” he mimicked, mocking.

he’s just a fragile man that kills women to make him feel better about himself, because he needs to be in control. don’t give him power over you. that’s what he wants, you said to yourself, shutting any and all other thoughts. “so, you killed martina, nobody could connect her disappearance to you, and by the time they discovered her body you were already studying for college two states over.”

sunghoon ignored you, at least for a little. he was taking a liking to making you feel uneasy around him. “has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?” he asked out of nowhere.

“you aren’t my type. i don’t fool around with serial killers,” you replied sharply.

sunghoon didn’t seem to be offended, but you didn’t expect him to. “really now? it feels like we’re on a date right now. after all, we are getting to know each other.”

you asked, “have you always had such a distorted perception of normal human interaction?”

sunghoon shot with no hesitation, “have you always had such a sharp mouth?”

you pulled yourself together. the only way you would get anywhere with this guy was by establishing that you were the one in control. “okay, enough. this is my interview, park. you answer my questions, not vice versa.”

“that’s not any fair,” sunghoon told you, that unnerving smile still on his lips. “i don’t have to tell you anything, you know. and without me, you lose the only key to those answers you want so badly.”

“you shutting up doesn’t make much of a difference, considering you’re already dodging my questions,” you replied.

“let’s play a game,” sunghoon suggested.

you weren’t in the mood for any games, but that was sunghoon’s method of operation. “i don’t like games.”

“you’ll like this one,” sunghoon insisted, laughing. “twenty questions.”

your shoulders dropped. “am i supposed to be guessing something?”

sunghoon shook his head, something sinister about him. “no, it’s much easier than that. we take turns asking each other questions until i’ve answered ten and you’ve unanswered ten.”

you stared into his eyes, willing yourself not to break contact. he was just as relentless, silently cocking a brow at you, as if to challenge. and you weren’t an idiot. that’s exactly what it was. you asserted, “i go first, you can only ask me yes or no questions, and if i don’t like your final answer i get to press you for another.”

sunghoon slightly lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “yes, ma’am.”

“okay,” you started. “what made you move from illinois to michigan?”

“i was kicked out of the house. didn’t have anywhere else to go. but i had a buddy here whose family took me in,” sunghoon answered frankly.

you pondered those words, wondering if his aforementioned buddy knew about his secret indulgences. or if he asked why sunghoon’s parents kicked him out of their home. it would’ve been the question scratching at your mind, itching to be answered.

sunghoon’s lips parted. “what kind of perfume are you wearing - honey lavender?”

“yes,” you said, focusing your attention on anything but the possibilities of how he could’ve known that. he’d been with so many people to the point where he just knew. “why did you get kicked out of the house?”

“my dad always thought there was something different about me, ever since i was a child. he was a nasty piece of work. he found my journal, read a couple of things i wrote, and decided there was no hope for me in the house,” sunghoon ranted.

that piqued your curiosity. “what did you write about?”

“wait your turn,” sunghoon sang. “your hair smells just as lovely as the rest of you. do you match scents all the time?”

you were mildly uncomfortable, but given the type of dude he was, you stifled it. “yes. you don’t have to be such a pervert all the time, you know?”

again, sunghoon rolled his shoulders, chirping, “you call it perverse. i call it amusing.”

you almost cursed under your breath when you realize you’d asked him a question. “wait, i didn’t mean to ask…”

sunghoon cut you off, “that’s too bad. it’s my turn again. do you like necklaces?”

“not ones made out of fingers,” you retorted. it was meant to be a joke to hide how unsettled you were, hyper aware of the necklace dangling around your neck. you could feel invisible pressure on your throat.

sunghoon snickered. “i’ll admit that was funny.”

you pressed, “what did you write about in the journal?”

“my dreams,” he admitted vaguely, though in reality, he wrote endlessly about his corrupt fantasies of abusing women. some pages were about his stepsister, and there was a few about what he’d done to martina, though not explicitly. “you have the most beautiful eyes. they’re the perfect shade.”

you were certain he had told many other girls those same words and were not flattered in the slightest. the glare you were giving him was ferocious. “i’m not sure if there’s a question in there somewhere.”

“do you think your eyes are pretty?”

“i haven’t really thought about it,” you told him, quick to change the topic. you’d encountered your fair share of stranglers and it was no secret why he was so interested in your eyes. “was your relationship with your father estranged?”

“nothing was enough for that man. i had the top grades in my class and the highest gpa, and he took my door off its hinges and seized my privacy,” sunghoon told you, words harsh, but his tone plain. “he was obsessed with being the perfect family, something that was ruined the second my mother destroyed everything, and rather than embrace me, he turned me away.”

your eyes flickered. there was something about his language that stood out to you. courtesy of the research you’d done on him beforehand, you were aware that his father was divorced then remarried his stepmother, who already had a daughter sunghoon’s age. but rather than describe his parent’s separation as a divorce, he said his mother destroyed everything.

what a hostile view towards women, you mused, repulsed. but given the nature of his crimes, it adds up. and it might’ve been the origin of his hatred.

his family was twisted. you couldn’t fathom how his father, aware of just how unwell his son was, clocked his abusive fantasies towards women, and instead of getting him the help he needed, he left him to his own devices to slaughter them as he pleased.

you blinked when sunghoon leaned, craning his face towards yours, and snapped out of your reverie when you jolted back.

“there you are,” sunghoon said, chuckling at your surprise. it was all over your face. “i’ve been talking to myself all this time. you must’ve been thinking about me.”

“no, not really. i was wondering if i forgot to feed my dog last night.” it was an obvious lie, but you would never encourage this guy to feel more important than he was.

amusement gleamed in sunghoon’s eyes. he was having a wonderful time, truth be told. had you not been so pretty, he would’ve clamped up like a crab, but you were so pleasing to the eye that he didn’t mind confessing a couple of truths. “a dog. that’s interesting. i myself have always wanted a pet - a snake. the constricting kind are my favorite.”

“you don’t say,” you droned, voice dripping with crisp irony.

your sarcasm was chucklesome to sunghoon, but his words were the truth. he remembered, all those years ago, asking his father for a pet snake. and when he refused, sunghoon, in turn, killed the family dog. he added, “they don’t just suffocate their prey. they coil around them, almost like a straitjacket, and cut off its blood supply.”

you replied, “yeah, but animals hunt to survive. you hunted because you had nothing better to do with your life.”

“in my humble opinion, we’re all animals of nature, and creatures of sin,” sunghoon told you in a whisper, as if he were telling you a secret of some kind. “anyways, it’s my turn now.”

you resisted a disgruntled exhale.

like his questions couldn’t get any more absurd and strangely perverse, sunghoon asked, “when you shower, what do you use - a washcloth or a loofah?”

“that’s not a yes or no question,” you replied with total disinterest.

“it’s hardly any less simple.”

“a washcloth,” you replied, though only because you needed to ask him your questions and resisting an answer would only waste valuable time. “why did you wait so long before killing sabrina lee?”

sunghoon smiled at the mention of his son’s mother, but the grin on his lips was distinguishable from the others. like he didn’t even realize he was smiling. “she was special. i loved her.”

“no, you didn’t. you don’t hurt people that you love.”

“maybe that’s true for you, but you’ve called me everything but a child of god and it’s clear you don’t think you and i are alike,” sunghoon said. “i don’t miss her, though, because she left a better print on this world. a world that was never made for her in the first place.”

a better print on this world. your brows furrowed, until you remembered the child they shared together. “you know what i think? i think whatever you felt for your son’s mother was the closest thing to love you’ll ever be able to pull from your ugly black heart.”

“you’re very strongly opinionated,” sunghoon responded, ever so unbothered. maybe some decades ago, it would’ve irked him to the point of breaking, but he was much more in charge of his impulses now.

you lifted your shoulders, gazing at him with the most discerning of eyes. all he could think about was how nice it would’ve been to seize you by the throat and watch the light dull from them.

to your surprise, sunghoon’s next question was not as a deviant as you assumed it would be, asking, “what made you decide you wanted to become a detective?”

“because of the people i used to know that aren’t around to tell you why,” you answered distantly, before pressing, “how was sabrina different, sunghoon?”

sunghoon perched over the table again, an uncomfortable distance close to you, made worse by his whispers. “because unlike the others, she didn’t beg me to stop - she begged me to finish. for it to be over. and when i wouldn’t, she begged me to kill her.”

the mental picture you got was cruel. your heart hurt for these women that had no idea what hit them until it was too late.

“i put these women out of their misery,” sunghoon continued.

you spat in a heartbeat, “the misery that you forced them to endure.”

sunghoon winced. “no, these women were miserable long before they met me. they were just ignorant of it. impressionability is a weakness.”

“either you have one hell of a god complex or you are working overtime to justify your sick actions.”

sunghoon merely shrugged, vicious and ominous and everything in between. there was something so dark about his spirit. you could feel it just from sitting within a couple of feet of him.

sunghoon’s memories were triggered. he was reminiscing about the times he shared with his son’s mother, how perfect she was. there were no other women like her. she was his favorite victim, someone he took his sweet time with, while the others were disposed of in a few months time.

midnight loomed, riding on the tail of dusk. sunghoon was counting down the minutes until the clock struck twelve, a self-imposed rule to gauge his willpower. the second the hour came, he bolted from the crackling sound of the cabin’s fireplace to a bedroom, anticipation like a stimulant.

the wooden floorboards creaked the closer sunghoon crept to the door. save for himself and the woman chained to the bedpost, the cabin was void of life. it belonged to the parents of a close friend who ensured it was vacant whenever sunghoon needed a place to indulge his twisted fantasies.

which was basically all of the time.

he meandered inside with a crisp bottle of water in hand, droplets condensing at its sides. sabrina laid right where he left her, just as broken, dreading her next breath. tape adhered to the flesh over her mouth, muffling her whimpers. there was nobody around for miles, the cabin was totally isolated, but it was a safety measure.

the chains were used likewise. when sunghoon was not there, the restraints kept her prisoner. sunghoon, reckless as he could be back then, was many things and stupid was not one of them. the chains stretched long enough to reach the bathroom but no further and he had his loyal friend help him test it after each victim.

“can you go further?” sunghoon called out.

heeseung’s lower limbs were shackled, ceasing his footsteps just shy of the hallway as he came to a total standstill. “not if i want my legs to follow me,” he’d retorted.

sunghoon had snickered. “good.”

had sunghoon been there, though, he would take the chains off. none of this was fair, even sunghoon didn’t believe that, but not giving them the chance to fight was too unfair. he needed not to chain them when he had the gift of his big, burly arms.

sunghoon waltzed over with a lighthearted and carefree gait, as if this was just another wednesday afternoon to him. and in some sick, despicable way, that wasn’t too far from the truth. he ripped the tape from sabrina’s lips, watching her face tense with pain.

“sunghoon,” sabrina rasped, voice croaking. he could tell from her flushed face and misty eyes that she’d been crying. “i’m thirsty.”

sunghoon cocked a brow, glancing to his hand. he had an irritating knack for playing dumb. it used to be endearing. now, with everything she knew to be true torn from her bare hands, sabrina didn’t know what to think. “what - you want this?”

sabrina nodded.

“yeah?” he popped off the top, throwing back a few gulps just before releasing a satisfied, “ah.”

sabrina’s lips trembled. “please.”

had she been anybody else, sunghoon probably would’ve dangled the water in her face just to snatch it away, but there was something about sabrina that made him gravitate towards her. in a rare moment of benevolence, sunghoon handed her the water, letting her drink.

she didn’t drink in short sips, but in giant gulps as if she’d known for some time that they’d be her last. when her thirst was satiated, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, handing the bottle back, and whispered, “thank you.”

sunghoon set the drink aside before returning to her, unshackling her limbs. sabrina’s breath quickened the moment the chains clacked harshly against the floor and nearly stilled when he brought his hand to her flushed face, tracing her chapped lips with a calloused thumb.

his thoughts rushed with unbridled exhilaration, ablaze with suspense, but he slowed for a moment to marvel at her loveliness. sunghoon’s hand touched her hair, touch tender in ways it would never be again, because he would never again know a woman as great as her.

he brought his lips to her ear, nibbling at the shell before asking, “do you know what i want you to do?”

sabrina bobbed her head, starting to halfheartedly peel off her clothes without needing to be told. with so many days held prisoner in this hell hole, it became routine. like she’d already resigned herself to her fate and knew sunghoon getting his way was inevitable. he always got what he wanted.

to be frank, it came out of nowhere. she never saw this twisted side of him coming. all she knew was that she became suspicious of his lack of family presence and it was too late when she saw him for the monster that he was, and then she woke here.

it had to have been months ago, although sabrina couldn’t have been sure how many. everyday started to bleed into the static hopelessness of another. sometimes sunghoon wouldn’t show for days, leaving her to live antsily, dreading his unavoidable return. other times, he would spend a day or two in the cabin, fucking her into kingdom come.

as if she couldn’t be any more faultless. sunghoon smirked. “smart girl,” he purred. he would never deny her wit, given that she’d caught onto him, but her lack of strength was her only vice.

sunghoon restlessly tossed his own shirt over his naked shoulder and came to step out of his boxers. there was mischief on his plush lips. he knew something sabrina only knew from the unkind churn of her gut.

the end was more than near. it loomed over her, relentless and remorseless, and all she could like it to was dark and leaden clouds in a somber sky. even then, there was almost nothing she wouldn’t give to see the world again, but she’d long kissed that hope goodbye.

“down,” sunghoon told her, tone dark and stern.

she pliantly did as told, bare back meeting the mattress. sunghoon crept over her, hard cock twitching at the sight of her so meek. typically, he liked when they put up a fight, but sabrina knew better.

sunghoon could tell she was fighting back tears, willing herself not to cry with a stabilized breath, but her endeavors were in vain the second he started to force his way inside her. they escaped her eyes and dampened her cheeks, unable to overlook the agony of the stretch.

“shh, baby,” sunghoon crooned in her ear, the weight of his body bearing down onto hers. “what’s the matter? you used to beg me to fuck you.”

sabrina shook her head, silently pleading for a mercy she knew deep down that sunghoon wasn’t capable of. “please make it quick.”

sunghoon’s tone was almost sweet. “but baby, you told me you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, remember?”

sunghoon knew that his words weren’t reassuring and he didn’t intend for them to be. there was a reason why he loved how she tried to hold herself together. he got to push her limits, find her breaking point. in the end, she would get her wish, and in a way, sunghoon thought that that was love.

her walls were just as tight and vice-like as they’d been all those times he’d taken her before. if sunghoon got close enough to her, let his hands wander and tease as they never not had done, sabrina would still involuntarily gush around his cock. like her body knew she was forever a slave to his touch.

just looking at her face as she wept sent shock waves of pleasure rippling through his dick and chest. sabrina didn’t cry in noisy, gasping sobs. her tears dripped from her thick lashes quietly, mouth parting in the most silent of whimpers.

and she orgasmed the same way, sunghoon remembered. back when things were normal between them, when she begged for him to fuck her, as he called it, her release was marked by a volatile shudder, but a silent cry of ecstasy.

sunghoon pushed sabrina’s lips into an upward curling with his thumb and index finger. “smile for the camera, sabrina,” he whispered.

sabrina’s brows furrowed, painfully oblivious to the camera tracking her every emote. sunghoon couldn’t not document his deeds. there was something about being able to play them over, immersing himself back in that moment over and over, even when the life itself could not be so easily brought back.

but for sunghoon, they could be. when he rewatched these videos again and again, it was like he could feel their pulses thump in their neck, resuscitating.

sunghoon’s hands were everywhere, fingertips traipsing towards sabrina’s neck where marks lingered from all the times he’d strangled her, only to slacken his grip when she was just shy of passing out. the bruises were different colors, indicative of different healing stages. sabrina tensed, startled, and wondered when it would all be over.

“sunghoon.” sabrina was overcome with defeat. her voice cracked as she asked, “sunghoon, please just cum.”

sunghoon’s face tensed with pleasure. “fuck, babe, when you say it like that…”

he stood at the brink of climax, threatening to teeter over, and there was only one thing that could knock him over quicker than anything else. it wouldn’t be anything she said, anything she did, but only a weakness sunghoon had the power to wield against himself.

“you want me to finish?”

sabrina nodded.

sunghoon chuckled darkly. “then, in that case, it’s time for you to get your wish, baby.”

he watched her shoulders slump, releasing all hope of ever knowing anything different again and accepting that this was where things ended. thinking about the feeling he remembered none too distantly, one that almost seemed to keep his blood pumping through him, in a way, sunghoon’s fingers itched.

sunghoon lifted his hands, bringing them to sabrina’s face, but before he could touch her, she exclaimed, “wait, sunghoon!”

his brow cocked.

sabrina’s lips trembled. “can you tell me what today is? please?”

“wednesday,” sunghoon replied, holding his hands around her neck, but keeping his grip slack. for now.

“wednesday,” sabrina said, pulling her lips into the faintest of smiles as tears blurred her vision. “will you tell jake that i hope he has an amazing thursday?”

“that can be arranged,” sunghoon said, grinning.

sabrina nodded, setting her mind at ease. she’d already made peace with this day some months ago. she never knew when it come, but she saw it as something bound to happen. “thank you,” she whispered.

those were her last words. because when sunghoon tightened his grip at her throat, almost like tightening a noose, he couldn’t bring himself to stop in spite of the agonized gleam in her stare. and then her stare was empty, and sunghoon had already emptied his load inside of her.

to describe the sensation he got from killing in a way that captured its essence would be impossible. it was more than feeling the life leave her. it was more than watching her eyes become soulless. it was a release, a way of relinquishing all of the vacantness he harbored, and knowing that his heart was still there.

it would always return, sometimes as soon as the next day, but for a minute, sunghoon was whole and no drug could replicate that kind of contentedness.

sunghoon did tell jake what sabrina said. he wasn’t all too sure why, maybe it was because she was his mother and jake was her son that they’d created together, and sunghoon would never have it any other way. for her to be the one to give him a child, he couldn’t imagine any other woman in her place.

it was almost unfortunate that she had to go so soon. even sunghoon thought that her demise was premature. had she not grown so suspicious of him, sunghoon could imagine making her his wife, maybe even spending the rest of his life with her.

their marriage wouldn’t have been without his secret dark life, but sabrina wouldn’t’ve been a victim. alas, loose ends needed to be tied. sunghoon couldn’t trust that she would’ve kept quiet, and even then, she was in a much more fitting place for an angel like herself.

there was much of this memory that would be abridged. never would sunghoon reveal anything about the cabin or the dear friend that helped him commit his indulgences, or even the existence of the tapes. if they found those videos, that was proof of murder with a grand total of 106 women.

the air around you was heavy and the words you’d just been fed weren’t easily take in. “what you’re just told me is really sad.”

but sunghoon didn’t look sad. whether or not he ever truly cared for sabrina would perpetually be a mystery. “maybe,” he started. “but tell me that you wouldn’t hurt the person you loved most if it was what was best for them.”

“i did. but what i had to do is different from what you were.”

sunghoon’s interest was piqued. “how come?”

“it was my responsibility to decide whether or not to take my sister off of the ventilator. there was no hope for her,” you confessed, though brushed over it quickly. “what happened to your ex-wife?”

“not that interesting of a story,” sunghoon said. “she wasn’t sabrina, i got tired of her, here we are.”

“and yet she wasn’t a one-off like martina mortes.”

“had she been a one-off, my body count would be one number higher. that was a favor,” sunghoon told you, grinning as if you actually had something to be grateful for.

you didn’t waste a second to accuse, “because you need to keep your victims to extract all the relief that you can from them, right?”

“i’m afraid it’s not your turn to ask questions,” sunghoon replied tauntingly. “what was your sister like - did she have long hair? what color were her eyes? how long were her lashes?”

sick son of a bitch, bellowed the voice in your head, though you willed yourself to remain composed. it was plain on his face that sunghoon didn’t want an answer - he wanted a reaction. and as furious as that made you, you couldn’t let him provoke you. “that’s none of your business,” you said, but there was a loophole. “but she was beloved.”

that qualified as an answer. sunghoon glanced at you in a way that made you feel see-through, as if he knew that you were threatening to come apart at the seams and didn’t buy your nonchalance for a minute.

sated, he went on to feed you bullshit about his ex-wife’s death, though there were only four people who knew what truly happened to her and one of them was dead.

sunghoon remembered that day like it happened yesterday. it was a thursday evening when he’d come home from work. christine had picked jake up from school hours ago and sunghoon wholly expected to come home to her in the kitchen.

it was dark outside. the moon was a mere sliver and the stars were duller than they typically were, almost like they had witnessed something that drained their spirits. sunghoon remembered struggling to identify his house key, trying each of them until the door clicked open.

“i’m home,” sunghoon’s voice thundered as he turned to lock the door.

there were quick footsteps from upstairs. jake, sunghoon thought, more than familiarized with the sound. but there was none of christine’s usual voice.

“dad, i’m hungry,” came jake’s voice from the stairs, coming down them one by one.

that in itself should’ve been suspicious, but instead, all sunghoon could think about was how sabrina would’ve already fed her son. “hasn’t christine made dinner by now?” sunghoon asked, irritated.

jake shook his head, though sunghoon couldn’t see. he was hanging his coat on the rack, like he always did after he locked the door. “she can’t right now.”

“why not?”

“because i think she’s dead,” jake replied, nonchalant as ever.

that was the very second that sunghoon turned around and noticed that jake was stained with blood. it was all over his face and the spots would probably never come out of his clothes, not that they would be kept.

for half a minute, sunghoon was genuinely stunned.

jake didn’t say what happened, and there was no need to. “the blood won’t come off,” was all he said, showing his father the pair of hands that he’d washed with vigor.

sunghoon heaved a breath. he should’ve seen this coming. jake took after his father and he never liked christine. to say the least, sunghoon couldn’t blame him. “where is she?”

“where they all go,” jake replied, as if it was the most normal and natural thing in the world to him.

sunghoon headed for the basement with quick footsteps, jake following behind. if somebody were to come down there, they wouldn’t suspect a thing. not only was it decorated to look like one, but it was used as a man cave. behind a soundproof wall, though, was a dungeon for his prisoners.

in this case, there was a trail of blood leading to the wall, proof that jake had somehow brought christine there after he hurt her. sunghoon entered the cell and saw her there behind the bars, coming to her side to check her pulse.

pressing his thumb to her wrist and neck, sunghoon sensed a pulse, though it was weakening. “she’s not dead,” he said, wresting his phone out of his pocket.

jake didn’t look so relieved, but he didn’t voice his dissatisfaction. “are you mad?”

sunghoon glanced down at christine. jake had used a kitchen knife, attacking her in the heat of the moment. she was butchered and blood-splattered, on the verge of slaughter, and yet sunghoon couldn’t find it in him to offer any compassion. “that you hurt her? no. that you made a mess? a little.”

now that was a relief. to jake, at least back then, his dad was the coolest guy that he knew.

there was quite the scene in front of him and sunghoon didn’t have a thing for blood. he shook his head in reproach, chastising, “i’m going to teach you the right way to get rid of a woman when you’re sick of her.”

that piqued jake’s curiosity.

sunghoon was quick to dial heeseung’s number. he had medical experience and that was what he needed right now. when the call connected, he said, “i’m in calling in a favor.”

heeseung patched her up again. at least for a few months, sunghoon still needed her breathing. they scrubbed the floors free of blood, burned jake’s bloodied clothes, and it was as if nothing ever happened.

what sunghoon had told you was only a fraction of the truth, but still enough to make you want to grimace. it bemused you how he got away with murdering his ex-wife and nobody thought to suspect her husband with a track record of disappearing partners.

“you want to know what’s really amazing?” you started, though it was more like disgusting. “how three of the women you’ve killed were your significant others, and somehow, you’ve only now been incriminated.”

sunghoon looked proud of himself. had it not been for jake, he probably would’ve never been caught. “sabrina never told anyone that we dated, or that she had a baby by me. her parents wanted her to focus on her education. if they knew she’d gotten pregnant, she would’ve been the black sheep.”

“and you took advantage of that,” you hissed.

“so what if i did?” sunghoon asked, careless. “not to mention that dozens of teenage girls in chicago were going missing at the time. they added martina to that number and called it a day. is that sad? maybe. but that’s how it works.”

“and as for your co-worker?” you asked sharply. the boldness of his crimes astounded you. “her husband grieves her. were you having an affair?”

the thought of her made sunghoon chuckle. oh, were we, he reminisced. it was a misfortune that he didn’t get the chance to have his way with her the way that he wanted. and for that reason, he couldn’t regale you in a truthful account of her death.

what happened that day, the day his co-worker died, challenged his fate and was the reason that he only now knew the imprisonment he thrusted upon others.

sunghoon knew when he spotted her that he would revel in her vulnerability. married, but she hardly wore her ring. her kind was the most naive - the kind that believed ecstasy was without costly sin. one way or another, she had to reap what she sowed.

he worked his way inside her pants, but it was hardly any work; she was on a desperate pursuit for pleasure and when sunghoon promised it to her, offering content on a silver platter, she thought less with her brain and more with the throbbing between her legs.

for months, sunghoon slept with her, which was far from typical. if she were anybody else, sunghoon would have pursued her for a couple of weeks time, then banished her to the underground prison. though considering he already had a victim down there at the time, he had some time to spare.

it was no secret that she had grown fond of sunghoon in ways she hadn’t been of her husband in a very long time, and though sunghoon found her to be special, in a way, he could not reciprocate her feelings. when sunghoon saw her, all he felt was the overwhelming urge to use her with a lick of remorse, and squeeze those panting breaths out of her.

it was a shame that he never got the opportunity. sunghoon already tested the bounds of his self-restraint when it came to her, each of their encounters consensual with her oblivious to his deepest, darkest desires. sometimes, his fingers would wander to her neck, but even that was wanted.

what was not wanted was the tyranny over her body that preceded her death. it bemused sunghoon to learn that his son, along with two of his friends that he thought of like brothers and sunghoon thought of like sons, ravaged her to the brink of being unrecognizable.

had sunghoon held control over the situation, he wouldn’t have cared what happened to her and would have even permitted them to go to town. but what happened was somehow darker. when he got a call from the professor late that day, hearing her broken sobs over the phone, he told her to meet him at his house.

that was his first mistake.

it wasn’t that she didn’t come. she made it there, hopeful to confide in sunghoon about the nightmare that tore her apart, but it was jake that opened the front door. and when she entered, there was no hope out of her coming out breathing.

jake had been a downward spiral ever since a month ago when he stumbled upon the tape of his mother. ever since he was a boy, jake watched every tape he could find of his father’s dark life, even sharing them with his friends as if they were movies and not snuff.

but this was not like those. this was his mother. and watching her suffer, listening to her final request before her untimely death, broke jake in ways which he would never recover.

jake had known since he was little that his mother was dead and his father was to blame, but his understanding of what happened to her was skewed. if he’d known eighteen years ago what he knew today, when sunghoon had his own son aid him in his mother’s demise, none of it would have ever happened.

to say nothing of the fact that what sunghoon had jake do was only a mere fraction of his mother’s suffering. jake would fetch things from the other side of the cabin he vaguely remembered visiting every now and then for three months. when he was not there, which was often, he would lie to his neighbors about her whereabouts.

even though when she died he was only a kid being taken advantage of, jake hated himself for letting it happen right under his nose. he wished he would’ve told his neighbors the truth. maybe if he had, his mother would still be alive and kicking, and he would know the only woman he ever cared for.

that was why he went after his professor that he knew his father had also been eyeing closely and having an affair with. her fate was obvious. sunghoon would entertain her for a while, somehow charm and woo his way into her pants like he did every other woman, kidnap her and keep her downstairs for three months, then kill her and identify the next victim.

but sunghoon’s liking of her was also hopelessly discernable. she was living too long. and that was a telltale sign that sunghoon took a special interest in his son’s professor, something that jake feared would rival the affection (if it existed) for his mother.

jake was not keen on having his mother replaced. the last time it happened, he snapped and maimed his stepmother. and he was not afraid of doing so again.

when jake exacted revenge, it felt like nothing he had ever done before. vengeance tasted like heaven. his professor tasted elysian. and he had never felt so good about himself, but then the high wore off, comparable to the fading release sunghoon got after strangling his victims, and familiar pain seared through him once further.

vindictiveness was a lethal venom, festering quickly upon injection. after jake got what he wanted, there was a greed to replicate that feeling, in spite of the fact that nothing would compare to that first blow. in his own way, unlike his father’s but similar nonetheless, he was pivoting towards release.

jake was on the brink of something like psychosis when he heard those knocks on his front door. and when he peered outside, spotting the professor, his recklessness got the better of him.

she was dead before she even stepped inside the house. jake yanked her inside, brought her downstairs, and forced himself onto her for a second time that day. when she wept for sunghoon, wishing he would come home, jake almost pitied her naïveté.

if jake hadn’t killed her, wrapping his hands around her throat the way that he knew his father had been yearning to, sunghoon would have.

the look on his professor’s face was pitiful. “sorry,” jake said, though he clasped his hands around her throat harder. “but i have to make a statement.”

it was not particularly a difficult thing to do, at least not to stomach, but killing her was merely just a means to an end. he didn’t get off to it like his father would’ve, jake’s interest lay inflicting psychological damage, but he did it because he knew how much it pleasured sunghoon to squeeze the life out of his victims.

and if jake couldn’t have what he wanted, then as long as he lived, neither would his dad for tearing it away.

sunghoon came home moments too late. jake left his professor in the cellar for his father to find, eyes wide and face pale.

sunghoon glanced around. he saw her car parked outside, but no sign of her. when jake came from his bedroom on the upper floor, a creeping feeling of deja vu flooded sunghoon’s chest, but he asked, “where is she?”

jake’s face was expressionless. “she’s dead,” he replied, confident. “i mean it this time.”

sunghoon shook his head. “you killed her?”

“wasn’t it you that said you were going to teach me the proper way to dispose of a woman when i’m sick of her?” jake asked, approaching his father as he crept down the stairs.

though sunghoon wasn’t pleased, he willed himself to calm down. “did you strangle her?”

“yes.”

sunghoon figured, from the lack of blood staining his house this time around. “will you tell me about it?”

that caught jake off-guard. he expected his father to be angry, to let loose. he had to have been dreaming of choking her since the day he laid eyes on her. “you sick fuck,” jake sneered.

sunghoon snickered, unbothered. that’s rich. “who do you think you got it from?”

obviously, from the face jake was making, he didn’t like that. his nonchalant attitude dissipated. “i’m not like you!”

“keep telling yourself that. maybe one day you’ll delude yourself into believing it,” sunghoon replied, hanging his coat on the rack in spite of knowing he would be leaving again soon.

“i’m not like you - i mean that.”

sunghoon, miffed, rolled his eyes and said, “come on, son. you think i don’t know you and your friends have been watching my tapes for the past decade and then some like they’re cartoons?”

“but not mom’s,” jake spat, loathing fizzing in his stare.

sunghoon froze, then spun around. “is that what this is all about?”

jake nodded, pleased his father was finally getting the picture. “i found it in your study. you hid it more carefully than the others, because she was special or you didn’t want me to find it, i don’t know.”

sunghoon heaved a breath. “you were never supposed to see that.”

“but i did,” jake replied. “and i’ve suffered every day for the past month because of that.”

sunghoon shot without hesitation, “a suffering you brought upon yourself. nobody asked you to go snooping around in my things.”

jake’s lips were twisted into the meanest snarl sunghoon had ever seen. emotion wrecked through him in its totality. “is that what’s important to you? i shouldn’t be surprised. you couldn’t even spare your own son’s mother from your heartlessness.”

sunghoon massaged his temple, summoning all of his willpower. “please,” he groaned, sensing an incoming headache. “women are weak, cheating whores. just look at your professor. maybe your mother wasn’t, but she was a liability.”

if that was supposed to console jake, it had the complete opposite effect. “are you saying she deserved it?”

“i’m saying that you’ve always been too soft,” sunghoon said, not bothering to sugarcoat his chastising. “just like your mother. even when you were a child. that’s why i had you help me, i hoped you would harden up a little.”

jake scoffed. “unbelievable.”

“your mother went quietly. she didn’t even fight it, jake. so, why are you?”

“because of that,” jake told him, vitriol in his voice. “she didn’t ask you to stop one time. she just asked you to get it over with.”

sunghoon tipped his head back. “ah, yes. she really was perfect, wasn’t she?”

that was all it took to kindle an unforgiving rage within jake and in a moment of fury, flickering through him in a flash, jake lifted his hand to smack his father.

sunghoon caught his wrist, as if this weren’t the first time this had happened and it was wholeheartedly expected. his voice lowered to a mere hiss, “i’ve never laid a hand on you. ever in your life. don’t make today be the day i start.”

jake glared, but wrested his way out of his father’s grip and backed away.

sunghoon smoothed down his shirt and headed for the kitchen, knowing jake would follow. this conversation was far from over. “now, if you excuse me, i have to clean up your mess,” he said, pulling a burner phone out of a drawer. “if you don’t mind.”

“i can clean up my own mess,” jake replied, scowling.

setting the phone on the counter, sunghoon reached for a glass. “no, you can’t. not without digging your own grave. unless you want to go to prison, pack your shit, ask one of your buddies if you can stay with them for a few days, and take the tapes with you. hide them.”

jake made a face. “what are you talking about?”

sunghoon sighed. “we can’t get away with this one, son. her car’s parked outside. there’s too many loose ends.”

“we can get rid of the car. you don’t have to go to jail!” jake shouted.

“it’s either you or me. frankly, i’m doing you a favor. you wouldn’t last two seconds behind bars,” sunghoon hissed. he grabbed another glass, sliding it across the counter, then said, “now, wine? you know, to celebrate your old man going away? i believe that’s what you want.”

jake shook his head. never in his life had he been so conflicted. his father that he’d been so bent on despising until he the day he died was voluntarily confessing to a crime he didn’t commit, just so that his son wouldn’t have to suffer in prison.

“why are you doing this?” jake asked, bristling with emotion.

sunghoon sighed. “because i love you, son. even if you don’t think so. and because your mother would be turning in her grave if she knew you were in prison.”

jake blew out a breath. then, after a moment of reluctance, he grabbed the glass on the counter and reached for the wine bottle.

sunghoon snickered. “atta boy.”

“i wonder how your son reacted when he learned you were going to prison for murder,” you said, pondering. “you live in the same house. i wonder how he didn’t know.”

sunghoon lied, “he was at a friend’s house when i killed her. doesn’t like that it was his favorite professor.”

you nodded along, buying his lies. “that is a lot to take in. i mean, imagine your dad was having an affair with your favorite science professor. then, he kills her, like how he killed your mom.”

sunghoon shrugged his shoulders. “have you never heard the phrase ‘the heart wants what it wants?’”

“i have,” you replied. “and i guess your heart wanted to stop the function of others.”

sunghoon laughed at his own expense. “oh, please. you give me too much credit. you shouldn’t make me out to be more romantic than i am.”

you shook your head in disappointment. “you make these women want you, and then you undo everything. that has to be part of the amusement to you.”

“it gets a chuckle or two out of me.”

your lips were tempted to curl into a frown for the umpteenth time that day alone. “why?”

sunghoon leaned up in his chair, exclaiming, “because it’s fun!”

you were going to say something, but he didn’t give you the chance.

sunghoon continued, “everyday, as adults, we do the same job for hours and come home. people want excitement in their lives. women get exhausted of coming home to their husbands or nobody at all.”

your stare was blank. “and your point is?”

“i didn’t just make those women want me, baby. i made them need me,” sunghoon told you smugly. “i brought a spark to their lives, and i took it away just as fast. and i do it… because i can.”

“because you could,” you corrected, confident he would never be free of this place for as long as he lived. “you’re going to be in here a very, very long time.”

sunghoon grinned. “i wouldn’t be so sure.”

you cocked your brow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“wouldn’t you like to know?” sunghoon teased. you hated the smugness in his tone. like he knew something that you didn’t.

the door opened, and the guard from earlier returned. “i hate to interrupt, but it’s time for the count,” he said, coming behind sunghoon to undo his cuffs.

it all happened in a blink. sunghoon’s weight was pressed flush against yours, roughly thrusting you into the table. your body screamed, agony spreading through your side, but your gun was in a lockbox outside the room.

sunghoon knew from your conversations alone that you weren’t the type to go quietly. your first instinct was to fight back. naturally, you struggled against his hold, refusing to bend to his will even as panic shot through your chest. your whole body was on guard, aiming for survival.

but to your misfortune, your might was no match for sunghoon’s. you glanced to the guard for assistance, but when he only stood there as if he was waiting for it to end, the most unsettling feeling of realization washed over you.

“don’t fight him,” the guard said, arms crossed. “you won’t win.”

sunghoon snickered when he noticed your eyes widen in shock. you hadn’t seen that coming. though you tried to resist, it was over once his slender fingers came to your throat, and you genuinely feared for your life.

you didn’t realize how good you had it just being able to breathe until you couldn’t anymore. your breaths wouldn’t come. it felt as if your bones were being crushed. your whole body was on fight mode, but it was like sunghoon had the reins, shutting down your senses one by one.

“you put up a good fight, detective,” sunghoon whispered darkly in your ear, admiring your struggle.

your lips parted, but you couldn’t speak no matter how hard you tried. your self-preservation instincts were no match against him. all you could do was meet sunghoon’s stare. the pressure on your neck was too much to handle, and in seconds, you were out.

“lights out,” sunghoon said. he released your throat, having no intention of killing you and leading you for dead, but knowing that you would likely regain consciousness in a matter of seconds, he grabbed you by the hair, smashing your head flat against the table to subdue you.

heeseung winced, but he did nothing to step in. “poor girl,” he mumbled under his breath, pitying you. “had enough?”

“for now,” sunghoon replied. “let’s go.”

heeseung gave sunghoon a uniform to wear so that he would blend in amongst the uniforms like heeseung had and when he was ready, the two of them fled before they could be deterred.

when they had successfully gotten away, heeseung asked with his hand on a steering wheel, “you know that i don’t agree with this, right?”

sunghoon snickered. it had absolutely been said. “you haven’t agreed with my lifestyle for the past twenty-five years, yet you still help me. why?”

heeseung frowned. sometimes, he asked himself the same question, but deep down inside, he knew the answer. “because we may not share blood, but we’re brothers,” heeseung replied. “and for my brother, i’ll do anything you need.”

sunghoon quipped, “like smuggle me across the border?”

“like smuggle you across the border,” heeseung said, chuckling. “when we get there, there’s gonna be this dude named sunoo. he’s gonna help you out. i’ll be in touch.”

sunghoon nodded. “i can’t thank you enough, man.”

“just lay low and stay out of trouble,” heeseung said, shaking his head.

sunghoon grinned with mischief. he was already thinking about all of the beautiful women he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. “no promises,” he answered, sighing contentedly.

taglist: @ribbioniki, @yunakj, @vvenusoncasual, @lovingvoidgoatee, @iloveu-143, @bigwforjay, @hooniehon, @adoredbyjay, @cloud-lyy, @firstclassjaylee, @captainsaposts, @tinycatharsis, @511rkive , @sangiewife

#park sunghoon smut #sunghoon x you #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon smut #enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen x you #enhypen hard hours #enhypen ff #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enha imagines

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misayani · 1 month ago

Note

Okay, this is a bit of an odd request, but could you write a threesome between No-el, Se-Mi, and the Fem!reader? Like both No-el and Se-Mi are ganging up on the reader to fuck hard enough for her to see stars.

I don't really have a plot in mind. Maybe another contestant was flirting with the reader and they both get jealous so they corner her in the bathrooms? And the reader is more than willing to fuck them too.

Thank you so much!

NOBODY KNOWS — NO-EUL (GUARD 011) & SE-MI (PLAYER 380)

◜ pairing ... no-eul / guard 011 & se-mi / player 380 x fem reader

◜you knew you were fucked, as you managed to get two women jealous over you.

𔗨 author's note — came ten times writing this so i apologize if i took so long /j. lets just pretend mi-na's still alive and happy in this fic <33 (i needed this no-eul fic as much as you guys do because theres little to no fics about her and im so sad and I JUST NEED HER.) [lowercase intended]

♡ upcoming fic — se-mi + comfort

warning: smut [threesome, fingering, oral]

"ugh, get off meeee!" mi-na tries to wiggle you off as you cling tighter onto her arm. right now was your second game, and they had asked everyone to team up into five— your team included you and mi-na, thanos, nam-su, and se-mi who had been acting distant ever since you guys sat down waiting for your team's turn.

you were sat in between mi-na and se-mi, the latter who had been sneaking glances to the both of you without you noticing.

"i'm scared, what if i mess up?" you unconfidently mutter to your bestfriend, who looked at you with an expression that read 'are you kidding me?'

"babe, i've seen you play gonggi ever since we were kids. and there was not a single time where you missed catching. you won't mess it up." mi-na said, grabbing your hand to reassure you.

"you've known each other since kids?" se-mi spoke up beside you, making you both turn your heads to her. your lips form into a polite smile, she finally spoke.

"yes, we were neighbours but she actually used to bully me—" mi-na cuts you off as she rolls her eyes, "yah! don't just go and tell some nobody shit about us." she nudges you as se-mi scoffs.

"the fuck you mean nobody? if it weren't for me, she wouldn't have made it past first game." your smile drops as se-mi speaks, well it was true— if it weren't for her catching you during 'green light red light', you would've been dead by now.

"you bitch—!" mi-na started but you immediately jumped in, "it's fine. not a big deal." you shoot your bestfriend a look to calm her down. please, not now.

mi-na flips her hair and crosses her arms against her chest, turning her attention to the purple-haired man beside her, who called himself thanos. he notices her and smiles, starting a conversation with her.

you turn to look at se-mi and give her an apologetic smile, "i'm sorry about her. she acts the same for everyone, if that makes you feel better." se-mi rolls her eyes, pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek as she darts her eyes back to the contestants currently playing.

you just pressed your lips together in a thin line at her lack of response before you turned your head back to also watch as you fiddled with your fingers anxiously.

ㅤ࿚࿚࿚࿚ㅤ࣭ㅤ𐙚ㅤ࣭ㅤ࿙࿙࿙࿙

"can't it be our turn already? my ass is starting to hurt from sitting." you hear mi-na complain under her breath. you roll your eyes playfully as thanos smirks, "don't you worry babe, i'll massage it for you later." nam-su—you think that's his real name. thanos calls him nam-gyu, despite nam-su correcting him many times already until he got tired and just let it be— looks at the purple-haired guy weirdly, you couldn't blame him.

"get a fucking room"

finally, the current team playing made it to the finish line. all of you stood up, cheering the group that won. you turned to mi-na the same time she does and you both crash into a hug as if your own team had won.

beside you, was se-mi staring at the both of you, jaw clenched and hands formed into fists. she sat back down as mi-na and you finally calm down, smiles still plastered onto your faces. the both of you sit back down and you tilt your head at mi-na, whose eyebrows are furrowed as her gaze was locked at something behind you. you follow her gaze, simply seeing a triangle masked guard.

you look back to mi-na before you spoke, "what's wrong?" you see her blink as she snaps out of it, looking to you instead, "nothing. just felt like that guard behind us was staring."

you laugh, "you're overanalyzing everyone. what? gonna fight that guard too?" she rolls her eyes at you as she shakes her head, sighing. "whatever."

moments later, it was finally your team's turn. what mi-na said was right— you didn't mess up during playing gonggi. in fact, the each of you managed to play all the mini games smoothly and went back to the large room without any scratches.

ㅤ࿚࿚࿚࿚ㅤ࣭ㅤ𐙚ㅤ࣭ㅤ࿙࿙࿙࿙

it was finally bedtime, after doing the votings. you and mi-na had voted for go home, while the other three in your group voted for the opposite. you toss and turn in your bed, unable to sleep. many thoughts are racing inside your mind and you would literally kill just for them to give you a break.

suddenly, your mind wanders off, and a girl with the bold personality comes to mind. se-mi. just the thought of her makes you squirm. you had noticed the way she looked at you, the way she touched you everytime she had a chance to.

heat rushed to your core. really? right now? you shift, removing the pillow supporting your head and placing it in between your legs instead. it's not enough, you thought. with a sigh, you hesitated before slipping yourself out of bed and drag your feet towards the door on the left side of the room.

you knock on the door softly, patiently waiting for the masked men to answer. seconds later, the hinged cover on the window swings open, revealing a triangle masked guard.

"restroom. please." you speak, before adding "my stomach really hurts." you see the guard pause for a while, before shutting the hinged cover and you sigh in defeat, preparing to walk back to bed. the door opens and you look up, the triangle masked guard standing on the side, making way for you.

"i need to go too." you flinch as you hear someone speak behind you. glancing to your back, your cheeks heat up as you see the girl you had just been fantasizing about earlier. se-mi glanced back, looking directly into your eyes.

you snapped your head back, facing forward. with an awkward cough, you walk forward, se-mi following behind as the triangle masked guard guides you both towards the restroom.

the guard opens the door for the both of you as soon as you reach the restroom. se-mi walks past you, going inside first before you walked in next.

the door shuts behind you just before you hear one of the bathroom stall's door slam shut. you just stand there for a moment, why was i here again? right. to get yourself off.

you felt disgust towards yourself as you made your way to the sink, turning on the faucet. you start to wash your hands as you think: but how the fuck am i supposed to do that when the woman you were thinking about is also inside this restroom and wouldn't that be so disgusting to think of someone like that an— your thoughts were cut off as you look back up to the mirror in front of you, startling as you see se-mi just meters away behind you.

you turned the faucet off before you turned around, facing her. "you scared me." you said quietly, your chest rising up and down. she snickers before she spoke up, "scared you, huh? don't tell me you don't like me being in the same room as you, alone."

she clicks her tongue, "you think i haven't been noticing your little stares?" oh so she felt it too, the thing between us. "you're probably having dirty thoughts right now for all i know." her lips form into a smug smirk, making your knees feel like jelly.

your lips part and the restroom door suddenly swings open, making you both snap your heads to look. your eyes widen in fear as you see a triangle masked guard walk inside, locking the door behind. your head turns to look at se-mi, who didn't look as scared at all. what the fuck? you thought.

your heart started to hammer in your chest. you hear rustling as you look back to the guard. he— or she— started taking the mask off, revealing piercing eyes, before taking off the balaclava next. it revealed a woman. a rather hot woman, she had short black hair and a scar on her right cheek that was still reddish.

"s-semi..?" your voice came out shaky, as you reached for the girl beside you. you were so confused and scared, not knowing what this guard's deal was. she glanced at you, walking in front in a protective manner, before speaking to the woman you didn't know the intentions of.

"why the hell are you here?" she bravely starts, "don't you guys have your own restrooms?" se-mi huffs at the woman. you admired se-mi for her courage to talk confidently but at the same time you're scared shitless for her.

the woman sighs, "why the hell—? fuck—" she starts, before adding: "to join in on whatever the hell you two are doing."

"to join in on—? ah." se-mi pauses as if she read the woman's mind. "i see. you want her?" se-mi chucks her head sideways at you, as the woman glances at your confused state— eyebrows furrowed and eyes doe. you looked like a puppy, which made her want to ruin you even more.

"wha-what?" you stuttered, fiddling with your fingers. "what do you mean? what do you mean you want me? how?" you hear se-mi chuckle as the woman in front of you crosses her arms. want me? want to kill me?? or like, sex? hopefully sex. different thoughts raced to your mind.

"don't act dumb now sweetheart. you know exactly what i mean by it." se-mi cooes at you mockingly.

"well.. what do you say? are you up for it..?" the woman speaks up again with her raspy voice. you bit your lip, as they both stare at you in anticipation. fuck it.

you shyly nodded as you look down at your fingers. "words." your head snaps up to look at the woman once again before saying, "fine— yes.. i'm down."

after hearing your confirmation, the woman starts to unzip her red jumpsuit, making your legs weak. se-mi walks closer to you, "take your jacket off, baby." she softly says. you comply, before se-mi speaks up once again "shouldn't have been so close to your 'bestfriend' in front of me"

you furrow your eyebrows in confusion, dropping your jacket onto the floor. "oh. i guess we're both in here for the same reason, then." the woman speaks, your cheeks heat up as you saw her figure— she had the jumpsuit unzipped down to her waist, revealing a sports bra underneath.

se-mi snickers as she pushes your shoulder, making you fall down to your butt. "you saw that too?"

"was observing them from afar." oh.

"huh? bestfriend? you mean mi-na?" se-mi hums as she squats down to your level.

"but- but we're just friends?" you lock eyes with se-mi as the other woman walks just behind you.

"we're just friends," se-mi mocks you, "bullshit."

the woman's also bent down to your level now and you can feel her hot breath against the back of your neck. "shirt, off." she whispers.

you hesitantly grap the end of your shirt, you were shy to show them your body, it'll make you feel too exposed and pathetic.

the woman behind you clicks her tongue, before she takes your shirt off herself impatiently. "hesitant now? you weren't as hesitant earlier when you kept flirting with your friend."

"won't be surprised at all if the both of you had sex before." semi continues, you were now left in your bra and tracksuit pants. "slut."

your breath hitches as the woman behind you started kissing the side of your neck softly, while her gloved hands traveled to your covered breasts and started caressing them over the cloth. "no-eul. my name's no-eul." she whispers in between leaving kisses on your neck.

you whimper, your hands going towards your pants to slide it down your legs. se-mi helps you and she throws it aside, exposing your soaked underwear. "you look so pretty like this. so wet for us." se-mi purrs as she presses the pads of her fingertips to your clothed cunt.

the woman— no-eul— unclasped your bra and you wiggle it off you as the cold air made your nipples hard. no-eul takes off her gloves and immediately brings them back to your boobs to grope them.

you let out a soft moan, head tipping back to kiss no-eul. she complies, taking your soft lips onto her chapped ones. the both of you make out as se-mi kept herself busy sliding down your underwear. you lifted your hips up slightly to make it easier for her, and once they were finally off, she spreads your legs as her breath hitches.

you pull away from the kiss and rest your head on no-euls shoulder while she continued to touch your chest. semi leans down and starts to leave kisses on your thighs, sometimes sucking them.

your head shoots up to look at se-mi. "se-mi please" you plead, "please what?" she murmurs against your inner thigh.

"please, eat me out. please."

"yeah? is that the same way you beg mi-na?" she taunts, "no, no— we don't fuck i swear! we're just friends." you cry out, your hips bucking up, desperate for any contact.

you tilt your head back to no-eul's shoulder once again, pouting and whining, "no-eul.." the woman chuckled at you and shook her head, "you have to beg, baby."

you look at se-mi as your lower lips tremble. you didn't even care at this point on, "please se-mi, i— i promise we're both just friends. really- i— i swear she's straight. just please, i need you."

"give the poor girl what she wants, don't be so mean." you were grateful that no-eul spoke up, as it finally led to se-mi giving in.

your back arches as your head falls down to no-eul's left shoulder. se-mi latched her lips onto your aching clit, swirling it with her tongue. soft gasps escape your mouth—that's very close to no-eul's ear— making her hear everything loud and clear.

"mnnnh— so good.." no-eul herself was getting wetter and wetter at your noises: soft moans and the lewd sound your wet cunt is making while se-mi hungrily makes out with it.

"fuck, baby.." you swear you just heard a low moan from no-eul, but maybe you're just tripping, considering your mind is spinning around right now out of pleasure.

you reach for no-eul's hand, bringing it to your mouth before you started to suck on her ring and middle finger. "shit," no-eul mutters, her fingers softly thrusting in and out your mouth, "don't do this to me."

se-mi hums against your cunt, her tongue teasing your entrance before she pushes it in. many things are happening too fast right now, you could feel your orgasm growing.

no-eul pulls her fingers out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting them. she leans down to kiss you, making your moans muffled. your hand travels towards se-mi's hair as you push her head deeper. you couldn't think of anything that's better than this: no-eul's tongue exploring your mouth while se-mi's explores your cunt.

"i'm going— to cum—" you say in between kisses, loud enough for se-mi to hear. you should be thankful for se-mi being nice, because she speeds up, eager to make you cum and taste you.

and then it happens. everything waist down tightens as you release, your orgasm ripping through you. a loud moan escapes your mouth and onto no-eul's who pulled away and watched your pleasured face. se-mi laps your juices up before you feel no-eul remove herself from behind you.

se-mi stands up and no-eul whispers something to her, nodding before she pulls her pants and underwear down and tosses them somewhere else. you lick your lips at the sight before no-eul spoke up

"on your hands and knees." holy fucking shit— se-mi places herself down as you turn around, your legs slightly wobbling while you try to support yourself using your hands. your face was met with se-mi's dripping core before she speaks "well?"

"i- i don't know how to... um," you shyly say, not feeling confident to make someone cum.

"it'll be fine, just trust your instincts." trusting her, you lean down to close the space between you and se-mi's cunt, giving her light kitten licks. "fuck— more." she forces out. you started making '8' patterns against her clit as she lets out a breathy moan.

your eyes widen as you moan out loudly from no-eul slamming two of her fingers inside you without any warning. "fuck—! mngggh!" se-mi didn't let you adjust as she forcefully pushes your head down to her core, making your moans muffled against her, sending vibrations to her whole body.

tears started to well up in your eyes as no-eul's fingers pound into you. no-eul grunts behind you as her fingers works wonders inside of you, hitting the right spots, "you're so fucking tight."

se-mi lets out a scoff, "surprising, thought you were a whore." you moan against her core, if it was possible— you grew wetter at her words.

you start to think that you're doing a good job because of how se-mi lets out small moans. you flutter your eyes open and traveled your eyes to look at her expression, you were surprised to see her already looking at you, eyes half-lidded with lips parted and sweat dripping down her forehead as you kept making out with her cunt.

your arch your back as you felt no-eul curl her fingers inside you. you felt another orgasm building up, this time faster due to being the second one.

"dirty girl, letting a guard fuck you senseless like this when you should be scared of me." you hear no-euls raspy voice— shit, her voice alone is turning you on so bad, making you feel butterflies inside your stomach.

"think you can handle one more finger baby?" no-eul cooes, as you hum against se-mi, tasting something salty— did she just cum? holy fuck did i make her cum?

se-mi tugs your hair up and shifts herself closer to you before crashing her lips onto yours. you could differentiate the way no-eul and se-mi kiss you: no-eul kissed you soft and slow while se-mi kissed you hungrily and rough. you moan into her mouth as no-eul pushes a third finger inside you, making you closer to releasing.

"you're taking it so well, so good."

you pull away from the kiss and se-mi immediately latches her lips on your neck, sucking on it.

"i'm gonna cum- i'm gonna cum," you moan out as no-eul's fingers work faster.

your eyes roll back as your second orgasm hits you, feeling an overwhelming bliss throughout your whole body. no-eul doesn't stop but she slows down her thrusts as she lets you ride your high. soon enough, you've calmed down and the woman behind you pulls her fingers out of you, making a squelching noise.

your knees shake before they gave out, if it weren't for se-mi catching you you would've fell to the floor face first.

"clean her up. i need to go back outside." no-eul speaks up. you can hear the faucet running so you assumed she was washing her hands. you can feel se-mi nod against you, before you turned around to look at no-eul who was zipping up her jumpsuit and tidying herself up before walking towards the door.

she's leaving already? the thought made you sulk.

se-mi leans you against the wall as she starts to dress herself up as well. no-eul pauses, her shoulders going up and down as if she let out a sigh before you see her turn around and walk back towards you.

you just stare straight forward dumbfoundedly, before feeling a cold hand tilt your chin up as no-eul leans down to give you once last kiss.

"i trust you to not tell a soul about this."

her voice was gentle but firm, and it made you not want to even think about telling anyone about this— it wasn't like you're planning to anyways. no-eul walks towards the door and pauses as she sees se-mi come back with a tissue roll on hand, she gives her a nod before unlocking the restroom door; she opened it slightly at first, checking for anyone outside, and walking outside when she confirmed it was clear.

se-mi picks your underwear and pants up from the floor and shakes it off, you stand up as she hands you the toilet paper and you use that to clean your slick off. she hands you your clothes after and you wear them, disposing the used tissue paper and then washing your hands after.

you glanced at where you dropped your jacket, frowning when you didn't see it there. se-mi clears her throat behind you, you turn off the faucet and turn around before she hands you your jacket.

you both stare each other awkwardly. you bit your lower lip as her lips form into a smirk, "have you learned your lesson?"

you nod slowly and then you see her raise her eyebrows at you. "next time you pull the same shit, i won't be so nice." she leans in to kiss you; you reciprocate. "but it's too bad we don't have too much time using the restroom." se-mi says in between kisses as she cups your jaw

"or maybe should i just fuck you out there for everyone to see, hm?"

she smiles against your lips, "even had a fucking guard swoon over you." she murmurs. you pull away from the kiss before clearing your throat, you aren't really sure what to say right now. "cmon." se-mi intertwines her fingers with yours as she leads you towards the restroom exit, opening it before stepping outside with you following.

no-eul— well, a masked guard, but you think it's her, was standing outside patiently, nodding and leading the way back to the large room after seeing the both of you.

your mind wanders off as you walk— oh my god. i just fucked two women and one of them's a fucking guard. a quiet sigh escapes your lips as you rethink your life choices;

what the hell am i doing with my life

ㅤ࿚࿚࿚࿚ㅤ࣭ㅤ𐙚ㅤ࣭ㅤ࿙࿙࿙࿙

"why are you walking so weirdly? hey— walk straight for the love of god!" mi-na exclaims as she catches you from falling down, the two of you were walking towards the line of players to get your breakfast.

"the fuck does that have to do with you not walking straight?" she scoffs, "it's like you got fucked so hard you can't walk." she murmurs as your eyes widen before you nudged her.

your cheeks heat up as you remembered the things that happened last night in the bathroom. you shake your head, "it's nothing. my head just hurts."

"mi-na!"

you didn't deny it though. if only she knew, if only.

@misayani

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game season 2 #se-mi x reader #squid game smut #୭ ୨♡୧ ৎ misa writes ...

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springseasonie · 3 months ago

Note

could you maybe please write something about mark fingering shy virgin reader and she’s nervous and flustered but mark keeps complimenting and praising her the whole time :(((

Stress Relief (M)

Warnings: sexual content, fingering, shy/virgin reader, kinda proof read

Word count: 2,6k

A/N: jumped for joy when I got this req I need this man so bad

Mark tried, he really did. He tried to suppress those thoughts about you, wanting to touch you, feel you in ways you hadn’t before. He knows you’re inexperienced and currently uncomfortable with the idea of sex, but you’re so perfect to him.

Pretty lips, pretty eyes, perfect body, perfect voice. He’s obsessed with you, but even though you’re his girlfriend, you’re still oblivious to things you do to him. You don’t know that when you sit on his lap, it makes his mind stir, whining his name drives him insane, even playing with his fingers does it for him. It’s not like he’s never tried to slip sex into a conversation, you always shut it down.

But this time, he needs it. He can’t wait.

You run to your door, Mark’s signature knock making you shoot from your couch. Swinging the door open, you see him. Oversized T-shirt, basketball shorts, and his slides, your favorite outfit on him. His long hair was beginning to cover his eyes a bit, glasses almost completely covered.

“I missed you,” you said, shyly taking his hand pulling him inside.

Mark didn’t say anything, just giving you that smug smile he always does when he hears something he likes. “Kiss me.”

You smiled, his directness making your heart flutter. You pulled him closer to you, pressing a light kiss on his lips, your hand resting lightly on his forearm. Mark could practically feel the blood flowing to his dick, even your small touches making him delusional. “How are you babe?”

You shrugged, a small pout appearing on your lips. “between work and school, I’m so tired. I need to release some stress.”

Mark clenched his jaw, eyes scanning your body slowly.

“Release some stress.” You make it too hard to resist you. You’ve been pushing his buttons for so long he's going to burst at any second.

“That sucks. I wish I could help you.” His voice was low, softer than usual. Mark’s gaze made you feel like prey, like he wanted to eat you but you secretly loved it.

“That's why I told you to come over. I wanted you to help me.”

Mark licks his lips, pulling you into a deep kiss softly. You were taken back by his actions, so flustered you gripped his bicep tight while he pressed his body against yours. Your chest presses against his tight, a small whine leaving your lips. Mark places his hands on your waist, letting them trail down to your ass, squeezing the flesh in his hands.

“Mark that hurts,” you whine, slapping his arm softly.

“Let me release some stress,” he says, eyes flickering from your lips to your cleavage.

His predatory gaze doesn’t go unnoticed, the grip he has on your body making your heart race. Your body is hot, stomach beginning to tingle when he bites his lip.

“I wanna make you feel good,” he said almost in a whisper.

“how?”

“Want me to show you?”

Mark could cry when you nodded, your shy gaze averting to your feet after he spoke. He takes your hand, leading you to your bedroom. He can’t see you, but he knows you’re looking at him, eyes wide and brows scrunched in worry. Your hands are sweating, the thought of losing your virginity finally setting in as you take your first step into your room. Mark sits on your bed, a tiny smile on his lips as he watches you stand in front of him awkwardly.

“Why are you so far,” he laughs softly. You move up, standing between his spread legs. Mark looks up at you, his big brown eyes even bigger because of his frames. The man grabs the back of your thighs, rubbing and squeezing your legs. His fingers brushed dangerously close to your aching pussy making your breath hitch.

“how are you gonna help me,” you ask, hands resting on his shoulders. Mark loves speaking with actions more than with his words, so when he pulled your shirt up, kissing your stomach slowly. His lips were soft on your skin, his lip balm leaving residue but you didn’t mind. With every kiss, his tongue touched your stomach, the feeling of the hot muscle making you want him more and more.

“I know you’re nervous,” he says, planting more kisses. “We can take it slow okay?”

You nod, making him smile.

“sit next to me okay?” you sit, barely having a second to get comfortable when Mark grabs you by your waist kissing you roughly. His hands gripped the skin of your sides, unable to stop them from letting them fall further down your body between your legs.

Unconsciously, your legs part, wanting him to continue touching you. You feel his fingers ghost over your clit, the very soft, faint touch of his fingertips through the fabric making you jump, gasping softly.

Mark takes notice, continuing to run that spot slowly, your gasp tiring into shaky breathing. He parted from your lips resting his forehead on yours as he watched your brows furrow. You rested your body against his, allowing him to hold up.

“Does that feel good hm?” Mark kisses your jaw, his hand squeezing your waist softly while his other hand plays with the waistband of your pants. He smirked, biting his lip when you nodded. “Would you let me finger you?”

Your eyes shot open, he stopped rubbing you through the thin fabric staring at you for an answer. “I-I thought we were taking it slow.”

“That is a slow baby.”

You gulped, your nervous facial expression tugging at his heart. You were too cute, it made him want you even more. “O-okay. What do you need me to do?”

He chuckled, kissing you softly before answering. “Well first,” he says, pulling away from you, “these need to come off.”

You could feel his eyes burning into your body the moment you stood up. Your fingers lingered at your waist band, playing with it to try and subside how nervous you were but nothing was going to calm you down. “Before we do this can I just be honest,” you say, looking down at him.

“go ahead.”

“I'm sorry if I do something or say something wrong,” you start. “I’ve never done anything like this before so I’m trying to stay calm but you know how I get when I’m nervous. I can stop rambling and talking and-“

Mark chuckled, looking up at you with adoration. “It's okay baby. It’s just me.”

“I know it’s just you. You have all this experience and I have none.” You pout, expecting to be shown pity but he does nothing but smile. Mark doesn’t let you regain your sanity, dipping his fingers into your pants, pulling them down. Your eyes were so wide they almost popped out of your head. “Mark!”

“sit right here,” he said, patting between his legs. His entire energy shifted. He was sweet and understanding before, but now it’s like a whole new story. Slowly, you sit down, putting both your feet on the mattress. your legs are closed tight together, head down in complete embarrassment. Mark sat behind you, basketball short riding up his legs, his glasses now off and on your nightstand as he tries to focus on anything but your ass on his raging boner.

“Don’t be shy, open those pretty legs for me,” he cooed in your ear. He was almost at a loss for words seeing how wet you were. You’re soaking through your panties, the cold air hitting you making you shiver. You swallow, watching his fingers trace around the wet spot. You wanted it so badly, but your body felt like it would collapse if he touched you again.

“Mark,” you whined, covering your face as you turned away from his lewd sensual actions.

“You’re such a dream.” He was breathing in your ear, fingers lightly pressing on your hard clit. Your hips unconsciously pressed against his hand making him bite his lip softly. “Do you like that? When I touch you right there?”

He chuckled when you leaned into his body trying to close your legs once more.

“Tell me what you want. I need you to speak to me.” His voice was calm and soothing, evoking more emotions from you that felt a bit foreign.

“Mark..I can’t,” you say quietly. “Please just do whatever you want.”

“no no no, I need you to say it.” He watches you uncover your face to reveal an extremely flustered expression, brows furrowed with your lip between your teeth.

“I want your… fingers in me,” you say, cringing at the words coming out your mouth.

“Good girl,” he says. Mark slides your panties to the side, the amount of slick sticking to them making him almost moan out loud. Mark would never admit it, but when you told him you were a virgin, he was ecstatic. Mark loves virgins. So easy to turn on, so wet, and when they get comfortable, they get extremely confident. Mark knows how shy and self conscious you are, but it never bothered him one bit.

“Fuck, look at that,” he whispers, taking his index finger scooping your juices from between you legs. “Do you get like this by yourself?”

You couldn’t say anything. Every cell in your body was telling you to get up and run away, but you needed him so badly it hurt. “don’t tease me,” you squeak out.

“Oh baby, I wasn’t teasing. I love that a pretty girl like you gets this wet when you think about me.” You could hear the grin as he continued to speak. “I bet you taste as good as you look, hm? You think so?”

You body freezes in shock watching him raise his fingers to his lips, maintaining his eye contact. Mark sucks his finger, a smirk on his mouth watching your legs shut. You seemed shocked on the outside, but your stomach did about 15 flips already. These were the things you read in books but you never imagined it could happen to you in real life.

“Baby don't look away from me,” he cooed, turning your head to face him. Mark kisses you deeply making you taste yourself on his tongue. He takes his other hand, prying your legs open. Mark rubs your inner thighs, the feeling of him so close to your core making you squirm. His fingers ghost over your swollen clit, the feeling of being touched there by him making you jump.

“Mark, please,” you whimper softly on his lips.

He keeps kissing you, passionate and deep as he rubs your clit slowly. Your brows furrow, gasp escaping your lungs when you feel the surge of pleasure run through your body. Mark pulls away smiling at the way you chased his lips as he parted from you.

“You like it don't you,” he whispered, watching your hips grind on his hand.

You nod, brows knit, feeling his kiss your cheek. Your body leans into his back flat against his chest. You can feel his rapid breathing, the sensation sending you into a deeper spiral. Mark stops rubbing, taking two fingers and slowly pushing them inside you.

“Fuck,” you moan softly, taking his other hand as he pulls his fingers pump in you slowly. “W-wait, can we just-”

“Shhh baby let me take care of you,” he said softly. He keeps pumping his fingers, hissing at the feeling of your tight pussy squeezing around him. The sound of you squelching making him harder and harder, the sheer wetness between your legs being everything he's ever wanted.

Hearing the sounds of your own whimpering and wetness combined made you cringe, starting to bother. You whine starting to shut your legs in embarrassment, but that didn't slow his movement.

“M-mark, please,” you whine, face hot from embarrassment.

“Are you embarrassed?” His soft chuckle made a fire light in your belly.

“I hate the sound.”

“Why?” Mark fingered you faster, lip between his teeth watching you fail to keep your knees together. “I love that sound. It's so fucking hot.”

Your whines and whimpers get louder and louder the faster he goes. Your grip on his other hand loosens while your head falls back on his shoulder. You've never felt your body get this weak, not even from touching yourself.

“Pretty girl,” he whispers in your ear. “My pretty girl.”

Your hips begin to move on their own, grinding with his hand. Goosebumps form on your skin with the way his rough palm keeps brushing against your clit.

“You like that? You like my fingers fucking you hm?” He could almost moan when you nod, pushing your hips in his hand even more. Mark moves his other hand away from yours, tugging up your shirt instead. His hand attached to your chest almost too naturally as if he's done this before.

“Prettiest tits, prettiest pussy,” he says low in your ear. “Fucking perfect.”

“Mark, I'm so close,” you whine, head turning to look at him. You had the most beautiful teary eyes look on your face, the pleasure becoming too overwhelming for you.

“Cum for me. Be a good girl and cum.” He maintains eye contact. the way he looks at you makes you want to melt. Your hips moved fast “There you go baby. Good girl. Just keep grinding.”

“I love you so much,” you whine, taking his lips into a heated kiss. At this point Mark completely stilled his hand, letting you move on his fingers until you came, but you hadn't even noticed. You're so wrapped up in your own world that you can't tell that the extra friction has worn off. “I-Im cumming”

Mark feels your squeeze tight around his fingers, your juices soaking his digits. The look of complete bliss on your face would be enough to make him cum if it wasn't for the blue balls he was experiencing at the moment. “That's it, there you go. I love those pretty sounds.”

“Shit…oh my god.”

Mark watched you regain consciousness, your face going from complete relaxation to shy in a couple of seconds. “Hey, you okay,” he asks softly, a smile on his face as he watches you still trying to regain some sense of reality.

You close your legs, the air hitting your skin making you shiver. “I'm fine,” you mumble, “I've never done anything like that.”

He chuckles, soothing your sides with his thumbs. “I know.” He wants to be a good boyfriend, he really does, but the way you look at him through your lashes, your pretty doe eyes looking back at him like you're begging for his cock. He needs you to, he needs you to say you want even more. Mark knows that he won't be able to hold himself back anymore, especially after this. He just wants to reward you for being the best girl he could possibly imagine. Mark wants to make you cum over and over again, show you what it feels like to be stretched out for the first time.

“Mark, stop looking at me like that,”you whine, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Looking at you like what?” he continues to gaze at you like he was to devour you whole, the tension making you sweat.

“Like you wanna eat me.”

“But I do.” Mark loved the shocked look on your face coupled with your legs squeezing together. “You like the sound of that dont you?”

“Maybe.”

“Would you let me?”

But Mark knew he didn't need the answer to his question, not when you smile, kissing him softly. Little didnt you know you were about to get yourself into the longest night of your life.

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barleyo · 9 months ago

Text

Daddy's Girl.

Step Dad! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: Don't like? Don't read! Either way, READ THE TAGS. I'm starting to get pretty weird on this blog, so expect more stuff like this! A girl has to feed her fetishes, so feel free to tag along with me and enjoy what my sick little mind thinks up. Thanks for reading!

Tags: stepcest, step-dad/step-daughter relationship, cream pie, daddy issues, use of "baby girl" and "daddy's girl," daddy kink, oral sex (f receiving), swearing, infidelity, p in v, cream pie, unprotected sex, LARGE AGE GAP (legal), 2nd person POV

Word count: 2.1k

As far as your mother was concerned, your father was worth less than the sum of his parts. He was fleeting idea, a mere concept in both of your lives ever since you could remember. Sure, you remembered a few odd Christmases with a surplus of gifts, all tagged "from Daddy," and a few daddy-daughter dates here and there, but that wasn't enough to make up for his true absence.

It wasn't a surprise when your mom eventually left him, scooping you up with her. Just you and her, and the rare postcard that your sperm-donor decided to ship off once a year or so. It was good enough then when it was just you two finding your way in the world, but it went downhill when your mom found a new boy toy.

Leon.

He wasn't a bad guy, by any means. Wasn't pushy, didn't make you call him "dad" or try to impose his will onto you, but his presence made the absence of your real father that much more obvious. You tried to ignore him for the most part, letting your mom have her little relationship with him to tide her over.

But then they got married. Leon became a more permanent fixture. That was no bueno.

You toughened it out, being cordial with him until you finally hit that mark of independence: sweet, sweet 18! The big one-eight, your ticket to freedom!

Everything was planned out for your big day. Mom and Leon made a cake, presents were given, and all birthday wishes granted, except for one. What you really wanted, was for your dad to show up for just this one day, just this once, to have him and not just his money.

You could never get that lucky, though, and that thought was cemented in your head when you found yourself waiting for him outside of your house. The driveway was empty, not even your mom's car was out there, she still had to head off to work. The world couldn't pause for a birthday girl, it seemed.

Stepping back inside to the house, you slammed the door behind you, practically throwing yourself onto the leather couch in the living room. The tears started faster than you could contain them, and quite honestly, you didn't want to contain them. It was your party, damn it, and you would cry if you wanted to!

"You okay, kid? I heard the door-"

Fuck. Him.

Leon's heavy footsteps made their way down the stairs, leading to his place in front of you. "(Y/N), are you crying?"

You sucked back a breath of air, steadying yourself as much as you could before speaking.

"No, 'm not, just-- go, just leave me alone." You let your face drop into your hands, staining your sleeves with tears.

Leon, being just the right amount of pushy, took a steps next to you a placed his hand on your shoulder. "Can we talk about it? I mean, I probably know what it is, but we could- you could say whatever you need to say." His face cringed a bit at his own words, feeling like he was already fucking this up. "No judgement."

You kept your face covered but obliged, knowing that talking about it, even with Leon, would make you feel a little better.

"My dad isn't here. He's been promising for weeks that he'd show, but he isn't here."

"Oh."

Your step-dad bit his lip trying to figure out how to make you feel better. He knew you weren't exactly fond of him, but he felt a twinge of responsibility.

"Fuck 'em," Leon finally decided on. "He's a liar and you don't need him. So, fuck 'em. Why would you want a deadbeat to bring you down on your special day?"

"Because, he's my dad," you said, like it was the most obvious thing. He was right, of course, but the absence still hurt you.

"No dad would stand up a sweet girl like you on her birthday. You only turn 18 once. A real dad wouldn't miss a birthday this monumental for anything. What's he worth, if he can't keep to his word?"

"I guess nothing." You sat up straighter, trying to make yourself calm down. "D'ya think it's, like, my fault? Why doesn't he want to see me?"

He suddenly got really serious, making his grip on your shoulder firm.

"Not at all. You are a wonderful girl. Your mom thinks so, and so do I. You are brilliantly smart, kind, responsible, sweet, gorgeous-- you're perfect and if that scumbag can't see that, then he's beyond saving."

He loosened his grip, letting his hand fall down to your lap, a bit close to the crotch of your jeans. You didn't look down, trying to convince yourself it was an accident, but he didn't move his hand either.

His other hand came up to your face, holding your cheek and to your own surprise, you leaned into his hand. His big, calloused, confronting hand.

Fuck him.

Something snapped in you when he leaned in for a kiss. God, it was wrong, so wrong, but you were so conflicted. Is this what a father's love really felt like? Hell if you knew, this was close enough in your book.

"Hmph-! Leon..." You pulled away from the kiss, wiping at your mouth roughly to get rid of the salvia strings connecting the both of you. "This is wrong, this isn't okay, my mom-"

"Is not here."

He placed another kiss on your lips, this one chaste and sweet, so unlike the passionate one you shared before.

"Just you and me. I know your dad isn't here, but I am. Let me make up for him, baby." His whispers pricked goosebumps over your body, lighting a fire deep in you. "Let daddy love you. Can I show you?"

His big hand looked nearly comical resting against the small button of your jeans, pawing desperately at them. So, so, so wrong. So fucked up, so not okay, so....

"Yes," you said breathily. "Okay, I-I want you to show me. Just be careful please, 'cause.." you trailed off a bit, feeling the pop of your pants opening.

Leon yanked them down, tossing them away quickly. "Fuck, that's good," he said, pressing his tongue flatly on your mound through your panties.

The fabric slowly grew a wet patch that clung to you, getting sticky. He placed a soft kiss on your clothed clit, then rested his head on your soft thigh.

"Anybody ever touch you here?" he asked, running a finger over your pussy.

You softly shook your head, mumbling out a 'no.'

"Mm, more for daddy, yeah? Gonna make you feel so good," he said, slipping your panties to the slide. His mouth made quick work, tongue already gliding up and down on your clit.

Your face was already twisting up in pleasure, eyebrows knitting together tightly.

"That's cute," he blew cool air over your cunt, keeping his eyes on your face. "You like it? My mouth all over you like this?"

"Mhm, please- don't stop. I wanna feel it again."

You reached your hand out to hold his head, wanting to push it down before bringing your hand back nervously.

"That's right, push my head down if you want. 'M here to make you feel good, so you use me. Just a wet mouth for you today, sweet girl."

You nodded eagerly, running your hands through his blond hair and taking taking firm purchase of a section of it. Your hands greedily pushed his face into your cunt. The feeling of his nose rubbing against your clit while his tongue dug into your tight hole made you feel fuzzy inside.

Leon was so vulgar with his noises; he almost enjoyed it more than you were. Slurp after slurp came from his mouth, accompanied by a moan or two while he tried to get himself off by palming himself through his pants.

The sight of him was just as good as the feeling of him. You had never been taken care of so thoroughly. Leon was opening a whole new world to you, a world where you could be selfish and take, because your daddy would provide, no questions asked.

"Lemme try somethin', yeah, baby?"

He shook your hand off and spat directly on your clit, spreading the fat glob with his fingers. Tight, fast circles were traced over your bud, back and forth. It felt like hypnosis, the way he reeled your body in closer to an orgasm.

"Daddy, please, 'm gonna cum," you said, face flushing of all color. "Your mouth, want your mouth," you shot out quickly, already obsessed with the feeling of his hot mouth tonguing you down.

He obliged, of course. How could he turn his princess down? Leon's lips again wrapped around your clit, sucking on the bud like it gave him life.

You came soon after. You seized and convulsed and the feeling of his eyes taking you in made the waves of pleasure crash down that much harder over your body.

"If he knew what a sweet fucking pussy you had," Leon said, licking a final stripe over it, "he'd never wanna leave."

"Wha--?"

"I said," Leon pulled away from your pussy, lifting his head to your ear, "that even your dad would wanna be tongue deep in your sweet, tight cunt. But it's all mine, isn't it?"

The sound of his belt unbuckling made you wetter, if that was possible, but it also sent a sense of realization through you.

You had your pussy in your step dad's mouth. And you liked it. And now, you would let him fuck you. And you would love it.

"I know you're a virgin, but fuck, baby, you're so tight." His voice was grumbly and strained while he tried to push into you. "Maybe I need to eat you up a little more," he teased.

"No, I need you inside, wanna feel it now." You let yourself go completely. Here you were, whining like a brat while Leon's fat cock stretched you. The pain with sharp, but immediately worth it. He fit inside perfectly, easily hitting your sensitive spots with a few thrusts.

He hissed, feeling you clamp down on his length. "Shh, come on, gotta get used to it baby. Don't want me to cum too quick, do you?"

"Yes, I do," you whined, desperate to know for certain that you were making him feel good too.

Leon's laugh softly rang in your ears. "No, I wanna make it worth your time. Wish I could take you all night long," he muttered, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

He swallowed all of your moans, slipping his tongue into your mouth while he rocked into you. He tried to find a rhythm, but he was too lost in pleasure to be neat about it.

He'd fuck you nice and orderly another day, but for now? He just wanted to feel you gush around him, and feel your cunt get sloppy while he took you.

Your breathless moans caught his attention. He found the angle that made you get oldest and stuck with it, lifting your hips up with his hands so he could piston into your g-spot.

"Oh my god, right there! That feels-- oh my god."

"I know, baby," he said, thumbs digging into your hipbones. "Feels good f'me too. You're so good for daddy."

Your heart, and cunt, pounded the more he spoke. You were close and you knew it, you just needed him to keep talking you through it. "I am?"

"Yes, baby, you're perfect. Daddy's perfect little princess, taking my cock so good." His cock twitched, so he clenched his jaw, refusing to cum before you did. "You know what good girls get to do?"

"Hmph?" Your face was red and hot, mouth hanging open while he continued to fuck into your spongey walls.

"They cum hard on daddy's cock. Can you do that for me? Cum all on me?" He traced his hand over your cheek, letting his thumb land on your bottom lip while he egged you on.

Your body had never reacted faster, immediately creaming on his length. Your hole milked him, each contraction gripping his length and sucking the cum right out of him.

Leon let a shaky breath out before pulling out of you, scooping the mixture of your cum in his fingers. He rubbed it between two fingers for a moment and popped it into his mouth, groaning at the taste.

You came down from your own high and looked over at him, feeling guilt pull at your chest.

"Leon."

"Hm?"

"What about mom? She's gonna freak if she ever finds out. Did we fuck up? What's gonna--"

"Hey," he said, shushing you with his finger over your lips. "She's not gonna find out and she doesn't need to know. I might be married to her, and I get why you're stressed, but what we have is different."

He pulled his finger off of your mouth and pressed a kiss to your forehead cheekily. "You're daddy's girl. That makes you special."

#barleyxnighteye #smutfic #x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil x reader #smut #tw: stepcest #tw stepcest #stepcest cw #dead dove do not eat #Stepdad! Leon Kennedy

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mauswyx · 7 months ago

Text

soft-spoken s/o

TLDR: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, Jennifer Check, and Bo Sinclair's reactions to having a fairly quiet s/o WORD COUNT: 1k CW: none, fluff AO3

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Thomas Hewitt

ironically would not be used to the silence at first; he’s used to chatters and screaming! He’s never met someone who speaks so quietly

will lean towards you when you speak, listening intensely

finds your silence comforting after the initial shock and enjoys your quiet presence as he goes about his business

quickly adapts to communicating with you via body language and facial expressions, etc; it is a method he’s familiar with after all

takes great pride that he’s the only one that can read your mind or decipher your mumbling

He couldn’t help but spare you a glance every so often as you sat at the opposite end of the barn as he worked. You were mending a shirt Luda Mae scavenged from some luggage…or at least trying to. Your bottom lip was swollen from being gnawed on and your brow was furrowed–the needlework must be tedious, he concluded. He turned his attention back to his work, a few minutes passed before he decided to glance up again only to find that you were muttering to yourself, trying to rethread the string through the eye.

Despite finding your frustration amusing, he couldn’t take your suffering anymore. He strode over to you, gently enveloping your hand in his before plucking the needle away. He made quick work of the thread, giving you a knowing look as he set back to work, but not before hearing a quiet “Thank you Tommy.”

Brahms Heelshire

does not enjoy that he can’t coax loud reactions from you; he works so hard to mess with you and you don’t say anything?! How rude!

will switch gears and will purposefully pretend not to know what you’re gesturing to or that he can’t hear you to annoy you; he can play by your game but he won’t play fair

he’s been (watching) studying you through the walls so it’s quite easy for him to pick up on your body language to know what you’re feeling or wanting of him

actually likes your voice and will do everything in his power to get you to use it; even if it means getting a scolding

bedtime is his favorite part of the day because he gets to listen to you read; will pick out exceptionally long books to listen to you just a while longer

Echoes etched the room as you tapped your foot against the dusty rug. He had been in a mood all afternoon: being especially disobedient and ignoring your calls from within the walls. He was being so difficult that you had no choice but to search for him, though it proved to be in vain as you couldn’t find him anywhere. A worried knot began to form in your stomach. There was only one thing you could do. With a deep inhale you rolled your head on your shoulders before letting out a shout.

“Brahms!” Your voice was hoarse–not used to being at such a volume, rolling your eyes in frustration “Please come out!” The scraping of wood met your ears shortly before his long arms wrapped around your waist from behind. You bit the interior of your cheek as you could hear the smugness in his voice, having won his game.

“There’s no need to shout.”

Jennifer Check

“they said no pickles.” embodiment

at first, mistakes your quietness for being flustered by her and she amps up her prowess only to realize you’re like this…all the time…with everyone

will speak for you whether it’s ordering your food or answering a question on your behalf; is actually exceptionally good at knowing what you want without much effort

actually doesn’t mind the silence when you don’t feel like talking—grateful that you two can just share a moment together or that she can have someone to rant to

will not make a big deal if you feel talkative, she’ll casually continue the conversation in hopes it’ll make you feel more comfortable

“-and who does that? It’s bullshit!” she scoffed, gently scraping the tips of her long nails on the back of your hand as she laid next to you. You silently nodded in agreement, staring up at her face: her nose was scrunched and her eyes were glazed over, lost in thought–before suddenly snapping down to stare into your own. “I mean, you don’t think I’m in the wrong do you?”

You couldn’t help letting your lip curl up at her pout, she had definitely been the cause of the altercation but you’d never tell her that; instead, you opted to halfheartedly shake your head. As expected, your poor acting didn’t go unnoticed and her eyes widened before playfully swatting her hand at your stomach.

“No way! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Bo Sinclair

“huh” x5

cannot understand what you’re saying for the life of him and gets annoyed very easily; more so at his own inability to comprehend you when everyone else seems to understand you just fine

interrupts you when you’re speaking, trying to guess what you’re saying instead of just listening

puts on a big show to do as you asked when he does finally pick up on what you’re saying

often wrongly infers what you’re saying but at least he’s trying

“Darlin’…'' he groaned, running a hand down his face “-you’re gunna needa work with me…” You huffed out a breath of air, already annoyed at having had to already repeat yourself twice and repeating yourself a third time honestly wasn’t even worth it; you just wanted the step-ladder to reach something in top-stock, but at this point you’d rather just climb the shelves themselves than have to be stuck in this never ending game of charades. You were half-tempted to do just that, but the look on Bo’s face made you relent; he had been so patient the least you could do was not give up on him.

“I need the ladder…” you said again, this time trying to enunciate your words as best as possible and to your surprise his face lit up. Not a great sign.

“Bladder?” he repeated, not waiting for a response as he sped towards the shop counter, “Don’t worry baby! I’ll get the restroom key!”

#slashers #wanted to try writing something different ;v;#thomas hewitt #brahms heelshire #jennifer check #bo sinclair #my writing #texas chainsaw massacre #house of wax #the boy 2016 #the boy movie #jennifers body #slasher x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #bo sinclair x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #jennifer check x reader

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essenceofelegance · 4 months ago

Text

A Year || LN4

summary: A year can really change someone in a lot of ways.

genre: fluff

warnings: none

notes: THIS IS MY FIRST SMAU SO LMK WHAT YOU THINK! also english is literally my third language and this isn't proof read/ grammar checked so mistakes are bound to appear :(

SMAU/ Written

Summer 2023

Max Fewtrell added a video to their story.

tagged: @/yourusername @/LandoNorris

yourusername posted!

yourusername Ibiza!!

liked by landonorris, lilymhe, maxfewtrell and 94,879 other

tagged: @/LandoNorris @/MaxFewtrell

user1 DJ LANDO!!

user2 y/n feeding us dj land content. she's the real queen here

user3 I thought y/n said she didn't like to go clubbing

➥ user4 maybe she's just there to be with lando

user5 bro did anyone see that video on TikTok? y/n looked so uncomfortable I feel so bad for her

➥ user6 RIGHT?

➥ user7 she's such a good girlfriend, if I were her, I would've just left lando at the club by himself lolol

user8 salivating bc Dj landooo

user9 BARK BARK BARK

➥ user10 y/n looking at this be like...

user11 does anyone know what club theyre at?!! I'm in ibiza I wanna meet them!!

➥ user12 bro leave them alone

➥ user13 @/user12 I don't see a problem 🤷

You never liked clubbing.

After all, you were only here because of Lando.

The music was too loud, people were pushing up against you, you never really liked to drink because you had a really low alcohol tolerance, you could make an entire list of why a club was not your go-to hang out.

"Lan," you yelled, trying to speak over the music, "Yeah?" He said, taking one side of his DJ headphones off so he could speak to you.

"Can we go back?" You asked. There was nothing you wanted more than to go back to the comfort of your hotel room with your boyfriend.

"It's only midnight." Lando said, "Why would you wanna go back? Are you not having fun?" Land asks you, but you could tell he wasn't really focused on you. You could see it in his eyes.

"I don't wanna stay any longer, clubbing isn't really my thing." You said, a hint of pleading in your tone.

"Soon, baby, okay?" Lando said, not even giving you a chance to protest before turning back to his DJ set.

You sighed in defeat, before retreating to a quieter corner of the club.

It was going to be a long night, like any other you've spent in a club, with Lando.

Summer 2024

Max Fewtrell added a photo to their story.

tagged: @/LandoNorris

yourusername added a photo to their story.

tagged: @/LandoNorris

Lando Norris added a photo to their story.

caption: taking pictures of my pretty girl

tagged: @/lando.jpg @/yourusername

yourusername ibizaaaa im backk

liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend, alexandrasaintmleux and 107,897 others

tagged: @/LandoNorris @/yourbestfriend @/MaxFewtrell

alexandrasaintmleux miss you! ♥ by author

lilymhe ditch him for me!!! ♥ by author

➥ yourusername say less 💍

➥ landonorris ???????? @/AlexAlbon

➥ alexalbon atp im used to it

user1 both of them are so pretty its not fair

user2 no DJ Lando content?!

user3 Not even following y/n because she's lando's girlfriend, im following her bc she's Y/N

user4 that jawline

user5 why do they keep going back to Ibiza

➥ user6 litt, like, why can't they go literally ANYWHERE ELSE

user7 OMGOMGMG I WAS tHERE AND I SAW LANDO GO UP TO Y/N FROM BEHIND AND LITERALLY PULLED HER INTO HIM BY THE WAIST AHHHHHHHHHH

➥ user8 WHATTTTT

➥ user9 picture or it didn't happen

user10 dj lando...?

You were about to head to the bar to get another drink, seeing as Lando wouldn't want to leave anytime soon, and your best friend was probably hooking up with some hot Spanish guy, when you felt a pair of familiar arms wrap themselves around your waist, the familiar scent of Lando's cologne surrounding you, along with the smell of alcohol.

Lando nuzzled his head into your neck, mumbling something quietly, so quiet you couldn't hear him over the club music.

"What is it?" You said, raising your voice slightly, so he could hear you over the loud buzzing of the club music.

"Nothing." He mumbled, "Missed you, is all."

A small smile unwittingly showed up on your face, "Im gonna go get a drink. Go party."

But, Lando shook his head, "Can we go back to the hotel? I wanna cuddle." He said into your neck, instinctively pulling you closer.

You were shocked, to say the least. A year ago, he wouldn't leave the club no matter how hard you tried to convince him. He was a party animal, but now, he was asking if you wanted to leave.

You checked the time on your phone, it was barely midnight, Lando never left anything before midnight, let alone a club.

"Why, are you feeling sick?" You asked him, turning around to face him.

His arms wrapped themselves back around your waist, "What?" He asked, a hint of amusement in his tone. "No." He said, "just wanna cuddle with you."

"That's new." You commented as you brought your arms up to wrap around his neck.

"I always wanna cuddle." Lando said.

"Yeah, but not at the extent of leaving the club early." You said.

"Can we please go?" He mumbled again, looking at you like a puppy.

You nodded after a few seconds, "Never liked clubbing that much anyway, I only come to be with you."

As Lando and you and Lando were heading towards the exit of the club, you bumped into Max (Fewtrell). "Leaving so soon?" He asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Yeah," Lando nodded, "Going back to the hotel to cuddle with my girl." He said, raising you hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

"You've really changed him," Max joked, "Lando being the first to leave? Never in a billion years."

You laughed, "Believe me, I don't believe it either."

"Can we go?" Lando all but whined.

You laughed again, "Okay, okay, lets go."

You waved goodbye to Max and led Lando out the club, and when Max saw his best friend look at you like you were the one who hung the stars in the sky, he knew you'd changed him for the better. And that his best mate was well and truly, in love.

yourusername sleepy boy chronicles 🤪

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, yourbestfriend and 108,950 others

tagged: @/LandoNorris

landonorris at least I look cute ♥ by author

➥ yourusername can't disagree with that

user1 how does one fall asleep in the middle of packing?

user2 hes jus like us 🥺

➥ user3 relatable king

landonorris I was only that tired because you kept me up all night doing cardio..

user4 lando and y/n are so cute tgt I cannot

user5 Im convinced Lando only made it to 24 because of Y/n

➥ yourusername I mean..

➥ landonorris hey!

user6 Lando has no bad angles

user7 I SAW THAT LANDO

➥ user8 y/n is just a girl and lando is just a boy.. they need their cardio ;) ♥ by author

➥ user8 Y/N PLS MARRY ME

landonorris ❤️

liked by yourusername, maxfewtrell, carlossainz55 and 709,897 others

yourusername is this what you do in your free time? take pictures of pretty girls?

➥ landonorris only of the ones that I love more than anything

➥ yourusername so you're saying there's more than one? 🤨

maxfewtrell Happy for you, mate ♥ by author

comments are limited

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #f1 x reader #max fewtrell #max fewtrell x reader

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navybrat817 · 5 months ago

Text

Hold You Tight: Part 8

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 7 | Series Masterlist | Part 9

Chapter Summary: You talk with some of Bucky's friends and witness what happens to someone who disrespects you.

Chapter Word Count: Over 5.2k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, tension, mention of stalking, inner conflict, insecurities, manipulation, possessiveness, violence (not against reader), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight and thank you for your patience! Hope you lovelies continue to enjoy. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You didn’t respond to the comment and did your best to ignore the stares from the others. Intrigue filled their eyes and you suddenly felt as if they placed you under a microscope. Being the center of Bucky’s attention was smothering, but the weight of their gazes settled so hard in your chest that you worried you wouldn’t breathe properly again.

You looked around in the hopes it would distract you. A nice office, just as you expected. A high ceiling like his penthouse, but with carpet instead of a marble floor. The dark, expensive desk and furniture added to the vibe, powerful and ominous. A bookshelf along one wall lined with books reminded you that Bucky really liked to read. You also wondered who painted the lone piece of art that hung above his desk. A black dahlia, symbolic of sadness or betrayal.

Why that flower?

The wall to your left pushed that thought away. Monitors took up the top half and displayed various parts of the club. You weren’t sure why it took you by surprise, especially since he mentioned seeing you in the VIP section. The man was a control freak. At the same time, the club belonged to him and he certainly wouldn’t be the first business owner to have eyes and ears everywhere around his place.

“Quick introduction before we get into specifics,” Bucky said, nodding around the room. “Thor Odinson, Nick Fowler, Sam Wilson, and Steve Rogers.”

A large blonde with long hair clapped his hands together. “Finally! The future Queen of The 107th! And a beautiful one at that. It’s a pleasure.” Your eyes widened as he stood, his stature as booming as his voice before he bowed. He actually bowed to you. “Are the rest of you not standing? Fowler, Wilson, on your feet with Rogers. This is not just a woman, this is Barnes’s woman. Show her some respect.”

“I swear, you aren’t from this world,” a brunette in a sharp black suit mumbled, but got to his feet along with the others. The unexpected gesture stunned you into silence. “We were starting to wonder if you stood us up.”

“Took a bit of convincing to get her here, Nick,” Bucky explained, making you bite your tongue when he kissed your temple. “She wanted a quiet night.”

The handsome man had a menacing glint in his brilliant blue eyes. “And how exactly did you convince her?”

“You know, you can all sit back down,” you cut in. “There’s no reason to stand just because I’m here,” you added, though you appreciated Thor’s genuine enthusiasm. It was kind of endearing.

“Nonsense. You’re all he speaks of, so you are a Queen in our eyes,” Thor said.

“Future Queen does have a nice ring to it. Maybe I can buy you a tiara,” Bucky smiled. The men chuckled in unison, with the exception of Ray.

Hyenas.

Whatever expression you had on your face made Bucky frown. “Are you okay?”

You wanted to scream how you weren’t okay at all and how terrifying the entire situation was, but Bucky took your hand before you could answer and kissed your fingers. It somehow soothed a bit of the nerves, which wasn’t fair since he was the one who tangled you in this web in the first place. “Just not used to so much attention,” you admitted.

“Let’s sit,” Bucky suggested, leading you to the remaining empty sofa. Instead of giving you space, he kept you at his side once you both sat. Was it a display of ownership in front of everyone or did he just want you right beside him? “Ray, bring her some water.”

Your heart thumped against your ribcage and the gentleness of Bucky’s hand on your cheek startled you. It was different on the club floor. Even with his men teasing you, there were tons of others around. Here in the office, the spotlight was solely on you. All because Bucky wanted you. Otherwise, you’d be invisible.

“I’ll have you home soon,” Bucky whispered, grounding you with the reminder that you didn't have to stay all night. “Just a little bit longer.”

“Told you it was too soon to bring her here,” the dark-eyed gentleman beside Thor spoke, a mildly sympathetic look on his face. “But, no, you never listen to me.”

“And I told you where to shove your opinion, Sam,” Bucky snapped, thanking Ray in a softer tone when he placed a bottle in your hand. At least you knew it wasn’t drugged or tampered with since you had to open it yourself.

“So, Barnes tells us you work with flowers?” Thor questioned.

You nodded, not sure if it should bother you that he spoke about your job or impressed that his friends took the time to remember. “Yeah, I’m a florist. I enjoy it.”

“That is a lovely profession. He also mentioned you occasionally bring flowers to the local hospital at no charge,” Thor continued before the others gave him a look you couldn't decipher. “We do not see a lot of kindness like that around here.”

“Yeah, I sometimes…” you trailed off when you noticed Bucky’s jaw clench. It wasn’t something the two of you talked about during your date, but he clearly knew. You’d have to revisit this conversation later. “Bucky, why don't you tell me about your friends?” You suggested. Anything to take the focus off you.

Bucky blinked and gave you a smile after a moment. “Sure. Years ago, Steve decided to drag me to a veteran support meeting after we served, which is how I met Thor and Sam. They invest in real estate,” he explained. “Sam focuses more on the commercial end and Thor on homes.”

The military background didn't surprise you. Brotherhood. Loyalty. Respect. There was an unmistakable bond there.

“Wilson and I were just discussing our newest acquisitions before you walked in,” Thor said, tilting his glass toward you. “Barnes didn't tell us you lived in such a nice area.”

Your stomach tightened with nerves. “Excuse me?”

Sam looked like he was considering his words when Thor’s gaze flickered to him. “Bucky may have mentioned a property or two in that neighborhood that might be a good investment. He’s right.”

Your gaze jerked to the man holding you. His lips curled, knowing and unashamed. His promise to have you out of your home… “Is my apartment building one of those properties?”

Bucky shrugged. “It might be.”

Your heart gave a hard thud. If he was serious… If his friend bought the building… No, he couldn’t do that to you.

“Nick deals with investments, too, but he focuses more on businesses over real estate. We actually introduced him to Bucky,” Sam said, effortlessly shifting the conservation back to the group. He seemed nice, but how nice could he be if he was Bucky’s friend?

“It really is nice to see the future wife in person.” Nick gave you a quick once over, but there was no judgment, unlike that jerk at the bar. “I can see exactly why he broke into your place just to talk to you.”

Bucky rubbed your back when you coughed. Nick was almost as nonchalant about the situation as Bucky was. “So, everyone really is aware that he’s a stalker,” you said.

“He prefers to think of himself as passionate or intense.”

“Pay no attention to him,” Bucky advised.

Nick simply smirked. “I was giving her a compliment.”

“Jax and Hal have already hit on her and I don't need you bothering her, too.”

“I’m not bothering her. Maybe you're the one bothering her.”

“Please, you don't have to talk about me like I'm not here,” you interrupted. Wanting to be invisible was one thing, but you wouldn't be treated as such.

You shut your mouth when everyone looked your way, but relaxed when all the men laughed again. “I like you,” Nick said. That brought a small smile to your face. It wasn't like you wanted the people in Bucky's life to like you, but it was nice to see that others weren’t phased by his power.

Bucky shot him a look for a split second before the latter put his hands up. “I don’t like her that way. We all know she's your girl,” he promised before looking at you again. “But I do like your spirit. It's good for him.”

Bucky shifted his gaze back to you adoringly as you shrank back into the sofa. “Thanks,” you whispered.

“And since you’re here, I wanted to ask what you think I should get Brady and Addison for their upcoming wedding,” Nick smirked again, but it was much softer this time. “I asked Bucky, but he thought I should ask you since you're so close to them.”

A chill ran over you. How did… “Nick,” you whispered, recalling your earlier conversation with Addison. “You’re Brady’s new boss, aren't you?”

“Smart girl.” he smiled, impressed. “I’m a boss of sorts. He’s a hard worker. Loves his fiancé. I hope they're enjoying their dinner.”

“Check their registry. Everything they want is there,” you said as evenly as you could manage, wishing you had the strength to bolt from the room.

You swallowed back the urge to get sick as Bucky rubbed your side. This wasn't just meeting his friends. This was a not-so-subtle way to tell you that you weren't getting away from him. And how could you? There was a chance that Sam bought your building. Nick had a way to get to people you cared about. And Steve showed up at your job, one of your only safe-havens. What was next?

It would've been easy to feel hollow to it all as Bucky wove himself into your life. Was it just control he sought? Or did he want to be in as much of life as possible so you couldn't forget him if you tried? No matter where you went, where you looked, who you saw, it would now trace back to him. Like he wanted everything to begin and end with him.

You looked toward Ray, but he looked at the floor. Sighing, you shook her head. You were all alone. “So, Bucky knows how to get into my home and pretty much knows everywhere I go. Sam or Thor might be buying the building I live in. Nick is working with someone close to me. And Steve… clearly knows where I work. Am I missing anything? Is this totally normal behavior for all of you?”

You could still see the intrigue in their eyes at your clipped tone. “You seem unhappy by that, but it is a dangerous world out there and you are a guarded treasure who needs to be looked after,” Thor spoke, looking to the others for support. “All of our women are.”

Nick nodded after a moment. “Varying degrees with our approaches, but yes. It’s dangerous out there.”

You huffed. Did they think they were the good guys? Were their significant others like you? Trapped? “It’s dangerous here, too.”

“You’re not in any danger with us.” Bucky turned your head toward him. “But Thor's right. You are my treasure, Kotyonok. I found you and I’m not letting you go.”

A possession. Something to covet. “You could’ve just left me buried in the sand or at the bottom of the ocean,” you whispered, ignoring the hurt in his eyes. “I didn’t ask for you to dig me up.”

“This is all overwhelming. I know it is,” Bucky whispered back, like the others weren’t listening. “If you’re upset that Steve went into your shop or for anything else, you can blame me.”

Of course that was the thing he commented on. “Oh, don’t worry. I do blame you.”

The men laughed again as he ran a finger along your neck. “Another thing I’ll make up to you.”

You huffed again. “And how will you do that? Jerk off while I’m on the phone with you? Because you already did that earlier.”

Bucky smirked at your sass when Sam coughed and said, “Steve, you’re being awfully quiet over there.” You almost forgot he was there since he hadn't said much else since you walked in.

“Who cares about Steve?” Nick grinned as he sipped his drink. “Let’s hear more about that phone call.”

“Just observing, Sam.” Steve cut in and crossed his arms as his gaze swept over the group. “And don’t be rude, Nick.”

“Is it rude if I also want to hear about the phone call?” Thor asked.

Heat flowed to your cheeks and you wished you just kept your mouth shut. “Please, forget I said that,” you begged. Because now that you mentioned it, it would play on a loop again in your mind.

Bucky said low enough for only you to hear, “Next time I get off, I want you right there with me.” The heat in your veins turned to molten lava. “But since you want to change the subject, Steve has been my best friend since we were kids and now he helps out around the club and with other endeavors,” he introduced, a hint of pride and fondness that wasn't fully extended to the other men. “I think you two are going to get along very well.”

“I think so, too.” Steve smiled and you did your best to return it, but it fell flat as you remembered the flowers at Bucky's penthouse. “Thank you for making my best friend happy. That’s all I want for him.”

“Thanks,” you said. That was all you wanted for your best friend, so you understood to an extent. “Did your girl enjoy the tulips or did you make that whole thing up?”

You weren't exactly sure what Bucky told him to do when he went into the shop, or what he told any of the men to do for that matter. Spying, keeping tabs, it was just a reminder of the eyes and ears your pseudo-boyfriend had around the city. Your brain begged you to get out of there, but you couldn't move.

“She really does love tulips and was very happy with them,” he assured you. “So I should thank you again for making her happy, too.”

You shouldn't dig the knife in after he complimented you, but you couldn't help yourself. “And are you like Bucky and stalking her, too?”

A hint of pink showed in the blonde’s cheeks when Bucky and Nick chuckled, but he gave you a lopsided grin and didn't seem at all offended. “I've actually done a little bit more than that,” he said, your heart dropping as he looked at Bucky. What did he mean? “Did you get a chance to introduce her?”

Bucky shook his head as Steve’s face fell. “Didn't stop at coat check,” he answered before he added, “His girl works here part-time, but I thought it would be better for you two to officially meet when we go on a double date.”

“A double date?” You asked.

“Yeah, the four of us. Steve and I already have a few ideas on where to go.” Another thing that wasn’t a suggestion. Wouldn’t be a choice. Did Steve’s poor girl have any idea?

“What does coat check girl’s boyfriend think about the double dates?” Nick said, typing out something on his phone.

Steve's smile slipped. “Soon-to-be ex and she has a name.”

“That's right, I forgot. You're going to ‘handle him’,” he said, your body tensing at the implication.

“I'm sorry. Didn't you break your future brother-in-law's arm?”

“I almost broke both arms,” he shrugged when you gawked at him. “My girl’s a best-selling author, but her brother is a piece of shit.”

Thor downed the rest of his drink. “That reminds me of the time I broke my father-in-law's fingers. My brother advised against it, but…”

The voices blended together as you took a sip of the water. You weren't a violent person, didn’t speak casually of violence the way they did, but the urge to hit or throw something became stronger with each passing second. All things considered, you were extremely patient with everything. How much more could you take?

“I want to go home, please,” you told Bucky. You had to get out of there. “I mean it. I met your friends and-”

The room went silent as someone knocked on the door. No one made a move, except for Ray and Steve who both reached for something in their jackets. “Expecting someone, boss?” Ray asked.

“Actually, I am.” Bucky checked his watch. “Should be Ari and a guest.”

“What guest? Not Ransom,” Steve said, his body still tense.

“And not Andy or Scott. They’re out of town,” Nick added.

Bucky’s wolfish smile was back on his face. “You’ll see.”

The doors opened and in walked the man who insulted you at the bar, looking around like he owned the place. Ari followed with a glare that had you shrinking into the sofa again. The night was just getting better and better, wasn't it?

“John?” Sam didn't look impressed. “Really?”

Bucky stood up to shake the man’s hand and you suddenly missed his warmth. “John. Enjoying your evening?”

“Yeah. That shirtless bartender gave me drinks on the house.”

“I’m glad Hal took care of you.” You could smell the liquor coming from him the further he stepped into the room. “And I think you know just about everyone here.”

While the men had smiled and welcomed you, none of them extended the same courtesy to John. Steve and Sam looked like they wanted to punch him. Nick didn't even glance up from his phone to acknowledge him. Thor simply got himself another drink.

“I do.” John hiccuped. “‘Bout time you invited me up here.”

“Yeah, I guess it is about time.” The look on Bucky’s face gave you chills as he grabbed John’s arm and stopped him from sitting down. “Oh, no. You don’t need to sit. You won't be here long.”

“Is that right?”

“That is right.” The grip on John’s arm tightened enough to make him wince. “You see, I told Hal to give you free drinks until Ari came to get you. And the only reason I had you brought up here was so you could officially meet my girl before I have you kicked out.”

“Kick me out?! What the fuck are…” John had a noticeable twinge in his cheek as he spotted you. You wanted to cover yourself up even though you weren’t exposed. “That's your girl?”

“She’s my everything.” Bucky briefly looked away from John to gaze at you. “And from what I understand, you knocked her out of the way at the bar and made a rude comment. I’d like to know exactly what you said to her.”

Nick glanced up from his phone, more interested in the conversation now. All of the men were. That wasn't good. Not at all.

“Look, I may have bumped into her, but I don’t…” John cleared his throat as Bucky stared at him, underlying rage in his eyes. “I don’t recall mouthing off to her or anything.”

“Bucky, it’s fine,” you said. You told him that earlier. What was he doing?

“Kotyonok, do you remember what he said to you since John’s memory is so terrible?” Bucky asked, his gaze still fixed on the man in front of him who was starting to sweat. “It’s okay. You can tell us.”

The others stared at you expectantly. You shifted, not wanting to blurt out exactly what the guy said. Lying wouldn’t make it any better though. Bucky clearly knew what happened.

“See? Nothing happened,” John tried to dismiss you when you stayed silent. “How about a drink?”

Bucky pursed his lips in disdain. “How about I have Ari beat the words out of you instead?”

You gasped when Ari pushed himself off the wall, fear all over John’s face as he advanced. He looked like he was going to piss himself. “He called me an ugly undressed bitch,” you said loud enough to make Ari stop.

Something in the room shifted, the silence extended and uncomfortable as the men rose to their feet one by one. Thor made a show of cracking his knuckles after he winked at you. You had nothing to fear. They didn't want to hurt you. So why were you still trembling?

Steve slipped his jacket off and strode forward until he was beside his best friend. “You said that to her?”

John bravely or stupidly attempted to deflect. “The music is loud and-”

“You better shut your fucking mouth if you even think of calling her a liar. Not that I need anyone else’s word except for hers, but Hal also heard you. Even told you to apologize, which you chose to ignore. I can pull up the camera if you want to see the footage.” Bucky’s even tone had you trembling in your spot just like John. “You really have the nerve to come into my club and speak to my girl like that?”

John scrambled for words as he pointed at you. “I didn't… I mean, look at what she’s wearing! How was I supposed to know?”

“That should've been your first clue that she was special. Everyone else down there has to abide by a dress code, but not her. That’s how much power she has. And you tried to make her feel bad for that?” Bucky held a hand up when Ari stepped forward again. “No. I won't let that stand.”

“Bucky.” John swallowed when the rest of the men shifted to surround him. The only exception was Ray, who stood closest to you. “I…”

“Apologize to her,” he snarled. “Get on your fucking knees and say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry.” John glanced at the floor. “Don't make me get on my knees.”

“That’s enough! I don't want his apology anyway,” you spoke up. An empty apology from a jackass was meaningless. “I appreciate that you want him to say sorry, but I’d rather he just leave if that's okay. Please.”

Bucky let out a slow breath. “My girl has a kind heart.” He briefly took his eyes off John to offer you a soft smile before turning his attention back to him. “But I don't. You’re banned from my club. And by the end of the day tomorrow, you’ll be banned from just about everywhere in the city.”

John laughed, a broken, nervous sound. “This is a joke, right?”

Bucky cracked his neck. “I’ve never liked you. None of us do. We tolerated you, but I won't tolerate you insulting my girl.” He signaled for Ari to open the doors. “So you have two options. You can leave on your own and be permanently banned from this establishment. Or I can make you leave and you’ll be permanently banned from this establishment. Your choice.”

“You can't ban me for one comment! That's insane!”

“I consider it harassment,” Bucky corrected him. Ironic coming from him since he invaded your life. “I take it I'll have to make you leave?”

“You know what? Fuck you. This club sucks anyway.” John moved toward the door before he stopped to look back at you. “And you think you’re special since you're up here? You’re just an uptight bitch who-”

Bucky’s fist connected with John’s jaw before he could finish his insult and you could only shriek as he hit the wall and crumbled to the floor a heartbeat later. Steve hauled him to his feet by his collar before he could recover and punched him in the stomach hard enough that you flinched. Ray shielded your body as best as he could as everyone took turns punching him.

“Don't look,” he whispered.

“I don't know if I can do this,” you whispered back. You were trying to stay calm, but this…

“Yes, you can. Just breathe. In and out,” Ray urged. His face didn't give much away, but you sensed his relief when you took a few deep breaths. “There you go. And don't look.”

You didn't look. It still didn’t block out the sounds, fists connecting against skin and bones, and John’s pained groans. Nor did it stop you from shaking. It couldn't have lasted more than a minute, but it felt like a lifetime until the room went quiet again. Was it over?

“What did you guys do to him?!” You asked, loosening your hold on Ray’s arm. When did you grab him?

“We taught him a lesson.” Bucky flexed his fingers with a sigh. “I have an abundance of patience for you, it's less so with people who are disrespectful and vulgar with you.”

Ray still shielded you when you tried to look where John lay in a heap, but was careful not to touch you. “...Is he breathing?”

“He is and he's lucky for that,” Bucky replied, nudging him with his foot. “Looking strong, John.”

“About time we shut him up,” Nick said, plopping back down in his seat. “Should've banned him months ago.”

“No one deserves a beating more than John,” Steve said, gazing at you like a big brother who just beat up a schoolyard bully for picking on you. “And don't worry. He won’t speak to you like that again.”

“He won’t be speaking much at all after that,” Sam said, taking a drink from Thor’s outstretched hand. “No big loss there.”

“Ari, would you mind taking out the trash?” Bucky asked, tilting his head as he looked down at John. “And can you get the cleaners up here to do something about the blood on my carpet?”

“On it.” Ari effortlessly picked John up and put him over his shoulder as you tried to process what you witnessed. You were past processing any of it, your brain nearly broken from the stress.

In fact, the only one phased by the violence was you as everyone went about their business again. It made your head spin. That was all from a guy insulting you. What would they do if someone actually tried to do anything to you?

Ray stepped aside when Bucky made his way back to you, the anger gone from his eyes. “You’re shaking,” he whispered, pressing his lips against your forehead. “I'm sorry if that scared you.”

“Of course, it scared me! You all beat the hell out of him,” you scolded. On instinct, you grabbed his hand to check it. You had no idea why you wanted to make sure his hand was okay after everything. “None of you had to do that.”

“We don't like bullies,” Steve said as Bucky let you inspect his hand, your fingers gently brushing over his knuckles. “It was bad enough what he said, but he knocked you out the way, too, and didn't apologize. He deserved it.”

“Yeah, he did,” Bucky agreed, taking the opportunity to grip your hand before you could let him go.

“That was a bit much,” you said. It was overkill in your eyes. “I'm not worth beating someone up over.”

He met your gaze with a smile. “You’re worth more than I can ever give you. And he won't be bothering anyone in this club ever again.”

“You're really going to ban him?”

“Absolutely. I have a reputation to uphold. He's only going to mess that up if I let him stick around.”

“Ari isn't going to…” You weren’t sure what he would do to John since they were out of sight.

“You don’t need to worry about a thing.” Bucky moved his hand to your cheek. “I only wish I could hit him again for how he spoke about you.”

You rolled your lips between your teeth. Defending you that way was a lot, but a morbid part of you liked that he stood up for you. “Thank you, but no more hitting people in my name. I can't stand it if someone else was hurt because of me.”

“His actions got him hurt because he hurt you first. I know he did. And I said I’d step in if someone hurt or upset you.” His gaze dropped to your mouth when you bit your lip again. The insult did bother you, but it didn’t matter now. “You really do have a kind heart and you’re making it very difficult not to kiss you right now,” he added, brushing his thumb over your lips.

Goosebumps rolled over your skin at the touch, but you stepped back before he could push his thumb into your mouth. He was still dangerous. Still taking over your life. That was enough to wake you from any spell he tried to put you under. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“Just returning the favor.” He held up his hand again with a small smile. “You sure you don’t want to give it another look? A little kiss might make it feel better.”

You rolled your eyes. The man was utterly ridiculous. “I’m not kissing your hand, Bucky. We both know it’s fine.”

“One little kiss? Please?” He winced for show as he flexed his fingers again, but you wouldn't budge. “C’mon. You were worried about my hand enough to check it for damage.”

You shook your head. “I wasn't worried. I just wanted to make sure you didn't injure yourself because that would just be one more thing you’d hold over my head,” you deflected, glancing around to find everyone staring at you again with smiles on their faces at the exchange. “Thanks for defending me.”

“Nothing to thank us for,” Thor held his glass up to you.

Steve looked at the monitor that displayed the coat room. “We take care of our own.”

An alarm on Bucky’s phone went off before you could say anything else. “And look at that? It’s time to go.” The men groaned before he shut the alarm off. “I promised I’d have her home and I’m keeping that promise.”

Steve looked the most disappointed of all. “I barely got to talk to her,” he grumbled.

“Next time, okay? And the double date soon.” Bucky smiled at his friend.

“It was wonderful to meet you,” Thor said as Nick and Sam nodded in your direction. “And I hope to see you at my party next week. Everyone will be there.”

“Maybe,” you said, putting as much emphasis on the word as possible. How would you get out of that? And the double date?

“Okay, you’re all welcome to hang out, but we’re leaving,” Bucky said.

“Maybe I should find my own way home,” you said. Bucky didn’t just have his claws in you, his friends did, too. You needed a breather. Some wine. “I really don't mind getting a cab.”

“Not happening,” he whispered. It was worth a shot. “I need to make sure you get in bed safely.”

“In bed?” You repeated, almost laughing until you saw his serious expression. “You seriously don't expect me to invite you in, do you?”

“Yeah, I do,” he said, steering you toward the door as Ray followed. “Besides, who else is going to tuck you in?”

Was tucking you in going to be enough to satisfy him tonight or would he take it further?

You’d find out soon enough.

Now we know what happened to John! What do we think of his friends? Will Bucky be good when he takes you home? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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milkteabinniechan · 9 days ago

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♡Tunnel Vision - Minho

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: bad boy! Minho x student! reader

summary: You can't stand the boy that sits behind you in class. He's rude, arrogant and a huge Playboy. and now you're paired with him for your newest poetry assignment.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, Playboy Minho, heavy kissing, groping.

It's not that you hated your new poetry course. Just one specific person in your new poetry class. Minho would show up late or sometimes not at all. And when he did bother to show up, he would sit at the desk behind yours. He would lean into your ear and ask you what he missed.

His breath would be warm against your neck and the first time he whispered, you actually felt butterflies. You were nice and smiled. You would turn your head and tell him in hushed tones what he had missed. He'd notice the slight flush in your cheeks and it would make him smirk because he knew. He knew that your head was pounding because of him.

But then one day after the class had ended a girl had pushed her way through a crowd of students to get to him. She yelled and cried because he never called her again. She told him he was an asshole and his response was “what's your name again?”

So now when Minho strolls into class late and takes his seat behind you, you keep your head forward. You suffocate the butterflies in your stomach and square your shoulders. You refuse to be another notch on that man's belt. You refuse to let him make you feel so warm and wet and so-

“I think I'll partner you with Minho this week.”

Your eyes flash to the front of the class where the teacher is looking directly at you. “No, no I can't. I…” you plead but the teacher just shakes his head and hands you the newest template for the poetry course this week.

Minho's dorm room was exactly as you expected. Messy, unkempt, a real boy's place. As the two of you stepped inside he off the cuff mentioned he had a roommate but the two of you should be undisturbed for the night.

“Who's your roommate?” You ask as you pull a few textbooks out of your bag. Your voice was flat and ultimately uninterested but you needed to make some kind of small talk to cut through this tension of being in Minho's living room. Minho rummaged through his fridge and pulled out a few beers before making his way back to you on the couch. “You don't know him.” He said quickly. He slid the second beer across his coffee table to you. You rolled your eyes and pushed it to the edge of the table and pulled out the template from class. “Let's get started, okay? The sooner we get this going, the sooner we can be done and never speak to each other again.”

Minho smirked, his slender fingers tapping against the neck of his beer bottle. “Aw, what's the matter? You don't like me?” He leaned in closer. “Nope.” You snapped back. This response made Minho laugh. A loud, full laugh that promised that he didn't believe you. He was cocky and he was sure that every girl wanted him. His eyes lingered on you as you continued to read over the template. “So, what bullshit do we have to write about now?” Minho asked while taking another swig of his beer. You sighed heavily in response. “Love. The subject is just love. It says to write about any kind of love, however it speaks to you.”

Minho let out a huff. “Between a beautiful woman's legs, that's the only love I need.” He remarks. “You're disgusting.” You retort. You slide a template over to where he sits, “just write something, pervert.” Minho's face scrunches up for a moment, “aren't we supposed to be working on this together, partner?”

“You're a big boy, you can handle it.” You scold, your hand gripping tightly to your pencil. “Just write.” Minho sighs loudly as his body slumps deeper into the couch. An hour goes by without either of you saying a word to one another. Just the sounds of pencils scraping and pages turning fills the air around you. “This is stupid.” Minho complains, finally breaking the silence. The sound of a pencil hitting the coffee table breaks you out of your writing trance and you shoot a glaring look at him. “If you hate this so much, why did you sign up for this class?” You quip back.

Minho's eyes flash an intensity that matches yours. An angry, exacerbated look that contracts with his normal cool and calm demeanor. Has he never had someone challenge him before? Has he never had a girl stand up to him instead of immediately falling to her knees? You hold your stance and the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. Then Minho grabs your half-written poem in an instant before you can even process what he is doing. He stands up from the couch and holds it ceremoniously. “Let's see what Miss Goody-Goody wrote about love, eh?” You fumble up from the couch and take a confident dive at Minho to try to get the paper back but miss as he pulls the paper away at the last minute. “Give that back!” You demand. But Minho holds the paper just out of reach, laughing proudly as he does. You look back at the coffee table to find his paper sitting there unprotected and take your chance, snatching it quickly into your hands. Minho's eyes widen as he realizes where this little chess game has led the two of you and his cheeks begin to burn a bright, hot red. His voice drops to a low, intimidating octane, “give it here. I'm serious.” His hand splayed out in front of you.

You let out a triumphant laugh and stick up your nose at him. “No way!” Minho smirk turns to a serious expression and he takes a few steps towards you, causing you to take a few steps back. Soon you are frantically trying to figure out your next move. You quickly fake left before turning to the right and easing your way around Minho and down the hall to an open door welcoming you inside. You hastily run into the room and shut the door behind you, hearing the pounding sound of Minho's palms flat against the other side of the door. “This isn't funny anymore! Come out of there!” He shouts from the hallway.

You clear your throat ready to read the poem out loud. Minho groans loudly before giving the door one last defeated thud. Your eyes scan the page and you find yourself frozen by something you did not expect.

A carnation bright

Unfold for me

This is everything and nothing

I put a ribbon and signed the envelope

Postage stamp

In the garden you wait

Surrounded by a soil that drains

Who waters you?

Where is the watering can that fills your petals, sweet Carnation?

I pluck you so carefully

Lie you down on the softest pillow

You've ever felt

You clutch the page in your hands, a slight tremble causing the paper to crinkle under your fingertips. Your eyes pour over every line again and again. The words are erased and written again, scribbled over and corrected. But the words he chose, the words he decided were the right ones to express himself, they stayed etched in pencil led with a secretive beauty. You slowly make your way to the bedroom door and turn the door knob. You find Minho sitting in the hallway across from the door. He glares up at you, his face painted red in embarrassment. “Don't say anything. I know it's bad.” He whispers, his voice shaking slightly.

You step out into the hallway and kneel in front of where Minho sits. “It's not bad, Minho. It's actually…good.” You confess. You watch Minho's head lift up as he searches your face for any hint of a lie. Then he lifts up your paper, “you didn't write anything.” He smirks.

Then it was your face that burned red. You had written a few pathetic lines of poetry before erasing everything in frustration. “I hate what I wrote. I hate everything I write.” you murmur. This causes Minho's smile to grow and spread across his face. But this smile was different, not a mocking, cocky smile but a smile that seemed to understand exactly what you meant. “That just means you're good at what you do. Come here, I'll show you.” He said and then stood up taking your hand in his and pulling you back into the bedroom. The bedroom that was, in fact, his bedroom. In the far corner of the room stood a tall, broad bookshelf so full that it almost looked like it would bend and break if just one more book was added. Minho searched the shelf for just a moment before pulling out three books. He then turned on his heels to face you. “These authors didn't even get published until their late 40s. Can you believe that? Now everyone reads them!” His eyes lit up with the kind of fascination designated for a child on Christmas morning. He placed the books in your hands and begged you to read them. You looked down at the books in your hands and furrowed your brow. This was not the boy you were expecting. Why did he have to act like such an asshole all the time? Why did he have to act so uninterested and bored all of the time?

You look up from the books and stare at Minho for a moment. “Why are you so afraid of people seeing this side of you?”

Minho jolts from your blunt question. His eyes lock with yours and for a moment his mouth hangs open in silence. Then he steps closer to you. “Because this side is too real, too raw. If they are the real me then they can hurt the real me. And I can't risk that.”

Something snaps in you at his response. You didn't know if it was his honesty or the fact that you had been feeling the exact same way but something outside of yourself brought your lips to his. His lips were surprisingly tender. His hands made their way up to your jawline and nestled there as the two of you worked in tandem. Your nose brushed against one another as his mouth opened in invitation. Your tongue scraped softly against his teeth, giving way to his teeth biting and holding onto your bottom lip. A soft and vulnerable noise escaped you at that moment. And a flash of all the women who have ever been in this room entered your mind, causing you to break the kiss. You stumble back and press your hand over your mouth. “I can't. I'm sorry.” You turn towards the bedroom door and make your way down the hallway to leave. You frantically and admittedly quite clumsily grab your book bag and jacket before making a b-line to the front door.

Minho never tried to stop you, never called your name out and begged you to stay. You walked back to your dorm room and threw yourself onto the bed. You bury your face in your pillow until all light leaves and only darkness remains. He wasn't just a fuckboy, player, or asshole. He was actually someone who you could fall in love with. And that thought was scarier than anything else.

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star @minh0scat @kibs-and-bits @minhosgirlposts @firelordtsuki @softkisshyunjin @doyunkang @cocofia143 @nchhuhi @iovecb97 @skzfairyyydreamz @mikeysonlygirl @kwitchabtchn @staystaystaystaaaaa @stay3096 @starmyteez @xanhnax @estella-novella @delulustardust @luvserie @stray-squad

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redflagshipwriter · 8 months ago

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ANOTHER UNDEAD FENTON

Inspiration came from this post by @stars-obsession-pit !

Word count: 1479

Masterpost of Archive Down Fics here.

(I wrote three dp x dc fics based off of prompts I've seen in the last day for reading while the site is getting maintenance. )

There was a high, shrill scream in the Fenton lab.

Maddie bolted for the stairs, abandoning her coffee without a thought. She flung herself down to see Jack bent over a body in front of the portal.

“Is this person a threat?” Maddie prepared to defend her husband, but the body didn't move.

Jack looked up at her. “No, I was just surprised! I think he's hurt, Mads.”

Her bleeding heart husband. She crossed the room and rolled their intruder over to see it was a kid, maybe Danny's age. In his sleep, he had a sweet, soft face. His face and throat were covered in faint scars.

Well. That was one of hers, now. No getting around it. That was a teenage boy on her floor who has obviously been the victim of violence.

“Well, shit,” Maddie said companionably. She blew out air between her teeth. “Dear, would you put clean sheets on in Jazz's room?”

They were running out of space, between the clones and the past evil alternate future children.

Jack saluted her, shouted an affirmation , and bounded away.

Maddie took a moment to wonder if her children would be an infinitely expanding collection and if so, if it would be better to move into Vlad's castle than to build the home addition they had planned for.

She gathered the teenager up in her arms despite him being her size, and laid him out on an exam table. She started checking his vitals.

A hand shot out and grabbed her by the wrist.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Maddie said. She redirected her hand to smooth hair behind his ear. He blearily followed the movement, just as obviously intelligent as he was obviously compromised. She didn't know if it was a concussion or drugs or what, but this boy was not well. “It's Friday June 29th, and you're in Amity Park, Illinois. I'm Madeleine Fenton and you're at my house because you fell through a portal. Is there someone I should call for you?”

He stared at her. She could see the moment he decided not to speak to her.

That situation didn't change much all day. The kid walked himself up to bed and peered around at Jazz's old posters. He seemed to want to be alone, but Maddie caught him watching Dani and Dan playing catch in the yard. She made eye contact with him over her book and then looked back at her shrieking kids. Dan was doing flips on the trampoline and launching his sister in the air, catching and tossing her back up in the nick of time between flips.

Their new boy closed his curtains.

“I was thinking about Dante,” Jack said, bringing out a pitcher of iced tea. “Or, how about Jasper! Eh? Eh? You know, like Jazz-per?” Jack belly laughed.

“He probably has his own name,” Maddie said calmly. She'd estimated him at 16 or so, anyway. But whatever. If he wasn't going to give them a name, they did eventually need something to call him. And they needed to sort out accommodation fast, before Jazz got back from her college tour trip.

“Let's go with Jasper until he gives us his real name.” There were enough Ds in her home, honestly.

She lured Jasper out of his room for lunch. He sat at the kitchen table and watched them all warily. He only ate what they ate.

Danny arrived mid-meal. “Mom! Dad!” There was a whumpf as he probably threw himself onto the sofa. “We wanna go to Elmerton, that ok?”

“You should take your brother with you,” Maddie called back. “He needs clothes.”

“What?” Danny clearly pried himself up and came into the kitchen. Maddie silently offered to make him a plate. “No, I ate at Tuck's. Dan, what'd you do to your clothes?”

“Nothing, you pathetic worm,” said Dan, who really was a sensitive boy. “I am not the topic of discussion, you blithering fool.” He jerked a finger at Jasper. “New one.”

Danny stared.

Jasper looked uncomfortable. He gave a sort of hello nod.

“He's, uh, he's not-”

“Not a clone or alternate future version of you, nope,” Maddie agreed. “Though he did come out of the portal. We wondered if he might be a ghost, but it didn't seem necessary to ask.”

Jasper full body flinched at the word “ghost”, but he looked confused.

Danny squinted at his new bother who, it must be said, did look a bit like a Fenton already. “Not a ghost,” he said after a long pause. “But a little undead. Not sure what kind. But yeah, you're walking dead, buddy.” He clapped Jasper on the shoulder.

“You'll fit right in!” Jack cheered. “Dan is half dead! So is Danno! And so is Dani here! And-”

“Thank you, Jack,” Maddie cut him off. “It might be a sensitive subject, don't you think?”

“Nah,” said Danny, stealing food out of the pan despite saying he wasn't hungry. “We aren't that sensitive. Like-” he looked at Jasper and explained: “I got electrocuted to death in the lab two years ago. Dan is from an alternate future where everyone he loved died, so then he killed everyone else on earth. And Dani is a science experiment baby.”

“It's true,” Dani said solemnly. “I'm a work of science.”

“You make me sound so uncool,” Dan complained, stabbing at his spaghetti.

Jasper laughed for the first time. He himself seemed surprised by the sound. It was hoarse but there was promise there.

When the boys were off at the mall in Elmerton with Sam and Tucker, Maddie called up Vlad.

“You want to come here?”

“I’ve got more kids than I have rooms in my house,” she said wryly. “So if the offer is still open…”

“Yes, of course it is,” he assured her. “But- most of the little ones are still in the Ghost Zone, correct?”

“They're not big enough to leave yet,” Maddie agreed. “Which is why I need to be near a portal.” The ghostlings were staying with the LunchLady and Box Ghost, but they needed to be able to be in touch. “But no, I've got another one.”

Glass shattered in the background. “Another- what happened to Daniel this time?”

Maddie laughed at how flustered her old college friend got. “Nothing to do with Danny, actually, this one fell out of the portal. He's some level of partly dead, but we don't think he's a ghost at all.”

Left unsaid was that they needed to do a lot of research to figure out what other possibilities there were. If they could get into contact with Danny's GP, he might be able to get them on the right track.

“Well.” Vlad took a moment to rally. “When will the family be arriving?”

Two months later, all the kids were pretty settled in.

Jasper had never shared a name, but he was happy to let them call him Jay. He was a phenomenal big brother to Dani. He wrestled with Dan. He bullied Danny into doing his homework. It had been something of an administrative nightmare to get Jaspen enrolled in school, but Vlad had pulled off whatever magic trick he'd done for Dani (applied a lot of money to the problem, Maddie supposed) and Jay had settled in very well.

“Your debut in society,” Maddie hummed, making a point of straightening Jay’s tie. He was growing already, she was sure of it! He was going to wind up as tall as Jack.

“I've been to parties before, Mom,” Jay drawled, and then flushed a dark red that meant he didn't want to be asked questions. Maddie tweaked his nose instead of answering.

“But this is the first one where Vlad's introducing you to his business friends!” She said, already dressed up for a fun night. Vlad had flown them all in on his private jet for the day.

“Queen is a family man as well,” Vlad had said the night before, aiming for calculating and coming off soft. “It will put him off his guard or perhaps make him sick with envy that I have brought a higher quality child than he could ever manage to produce.”

They arrived together, Maddie on Jack's arm, keeping her flock of kids within eyesight as Vlad led the pack. She had a perfect view of Oliver Queen seeing them arrive, the smile dropping off his face, and him choking on his drink. He did look very silly, Maddie had to admit.

“Inept,” Vlad hissed, very pleased. “The fool can't even drink. His company will be mine-” he looked at Danny for some reason. Vlad faltered at whatever be saw. “....Through legitimate business practices, such as buying a majority of stocks,” Vlad weakly finished.

Maddie slapped him on the back. “Go get him, tiger.”

#dp x dc #dc x dp #another undead fenton

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hwajin · 12 days ago

Text

☆°. — burn me | hhj

genre: smut

pairing: nerd!hyunjin x afab!reader

wc: 3k

cw: wax/ heat play, dacryphilia, hyunjin is insanely needy

author's note: this hyunjin is @astraystayyh 's and hers ONLY. (she holds a gun to my head forcing me to say this)

You had wanted Hyunjin to speak to you. To reach out to you, to tell you things about himself. You knew he was shy, and you liked that about him. You liked when his ears shot red because you gave him a simple compliment, to his new computer set-up, or how very eloquently he helped you out with your Statistics homework. You liked how his body jolted when you touched him, when your fingers tickled him featherlight while he was studying, head deep in a book. You liked it even more when you teased him beneath the table when you dined out, a leg of yours creeping up his trembling one, and when he looked at you as though you were crazy. As though you were doing something so very forbidden, as though he never wanted you to stop.

But you had told him that you wanted to know more. That, yes, you could often read his face, his eyes, his body as it was, that he was an open book regarding his feelings, his preferences – sexual or not – his moods; but that it wasn’t enough. You wanted him to tell you if he was having a bad day, if he was struggling with the pressure he put on himself. You wanted him to tell you if he was feeling good, when you let your fingertips dance delicately across his stomach, tracing the lines of his faint muscles, wondering where they came from with the lack of exercise and the hours spent in front of his computer. You wanted to know if there was something he wanted to do, he craved to try, dreamed of at night. What he thought about when he lay alone in his bed, on nights you couldn’t spend together, what went through his mind when he closed his eyes and touched himself. You wanted him to spell it out. To tell you. To get past his futile embarrassment and open himself up to you.

You were looking at the package in your hands as you were sitting at the edge of Hyunjin’s bed. Perplexed. Curious. The water hitting the tiles in the other room reminded you that your boyfriend would take a while to come out, always preferring long showers, always waiting for the stream to turn cold before he considered reaching for the towel; so you were left figuring out the contents of the package yourself.

Wax. Massaging wax. Wax which looked too… sensual to be put on his windowsill and lit on romantic evenings. Wax which he had ordered for different purposes, you were sure.

And you knew you were right when Hyunjin, not fifteen minutes later, stood in front of you, stuttering, flushed, the redness on his cheeks spreading all around, his glasses still fogged up from the condensation in the bathroom. It didn’t help his embarrassment that he had chosen to only throw around a towel over his waist; you liked that. You liked that he deemed clothes as nihil after his showers; you both knew that whenever he was done studying, long past midnight, clothes would discard themselves from your bodies in mere minutes, anyways. You liked that though he was shy, he granted himself to you in a certain way, gifted you a part of his vulnerability. That he wasn’t afraid to be loved by you.

“Listen, I wanted to tell you…”, he started. But he didn’t make it far. Words failed him, the heat on his face distracted him. He couldn’t even look you in the eyes; and you hadn’t even said anything. You had only watched him, knowingly, before he had sat down on the bed, next to you, face in his hands to hide his embarrassment. Mumbling apologies you giggled at, because “Why? You did nothing wrong?” You couldn’t help but tense at the sound which escaped him at that, a faked sob, a deep whimper, something between that and an embarrassed laugh before he bent his body further into his arms. Hiding himself. Exposing himself. Because the skin on his back moved with him as he did, and you wanted to touch it. Because the skin on his stomach folded into million creases, tummy soft and protruding, and you wanted to kiss it.

“No, but I feel like I should have told you, before… before I just order something you might- like- end up not being into. And…”, he looked at you then, barely. Glanced at you from beneath the confines of his arms, glasses sitting on his nose crooked. The look in his eyes when he struggled to find the bravery to speak, to admit. “I’m not even sure I’m into… wax play; heat play. Whatever. I wanted to… try it. On myself- by myself. Before we tried it together.”

You chuckled, and he closed his eyes in pained expression again. You could say you had never seen him so crimson, but that would be a lie; you saw him so crimson every day, whenever you tickled a confession out of him by kissing the lobe of his ear, or when you sighed out how good he felt when he found himself hovering over you, inside you. Quite frankly, you saw him dripping in red more than you saw his actual skin, and it made you chuckle at him again.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, love. And you don’t have to- like, know exactly what you’re into to tell me it’s something you wanna try. We can experiment together.”, you said while sliding closer to him along the mattress. You felt the heat of his body radiating over to your own, and you nudged his shoulder slightly with your head. Made him glance at you again, from the side. You smiled at the smile he granted you, giggled then, to soothe him some more. Your shy lover. Your lover who bore secrets so erotic and deep you feared to never get behind them all in this lifetime.

“And besides, it’s more fun together.”, you ended with a playful wink, and Hyunjin’s whine turned into a laugh, and it sent a shiver along your neck, behind your ears.

It’s how you found yourself over his body. Watching his limbs spread across the bed, his fingers digging into the pillow beneath his head, the knuckles white. It made his arm tense up, made his veins shine blue in the relative darkness of the room. Ignited only by candles. Smelling only of vanilla. And his body. And sex.

When the first drip of hot wax had spilled on his naked body, close to his navel and so red against his pale skin your eyes had fluttered, Hyunjin had hissed. He had jumped in his place, a big palm reaching for you and long fingers digging into your flesh. You had asked if he was okay; he had looked almost concerned, and you’d been sure he’d tell you to stop. To just try something different. That it didn’t feel like he’d imagined it to. But then he’d raise his head a little, and his eyes had searched for yours; and you knew he had loved it. You knew that a little more of this, and he’d be a puddle in his own mattress, a wet, whining, desperate puddle in your hands.

Now, his lips were as red as the dried wax all across his body. Scattered here and there, two drops on his collarbone, perky and bony whenever he moved. Three drops on his chest, dangerously close to his nipples; he had whined particularly loud at those. The drops formed a path to his sex, scattering the skin there the most. On the lines by his abdomen, the dips in his hips, pooling there. Cracking at his thighs because he moved so much, squirmed under you uncontrollably. Hyunjin had spread his legs somewhere in the process; he was so needy, so lost in chasing after his pleasure that he lost himself, found himself in your eyes and grew bashful. You had taken the opportunity, had seen the supple flesh of his inner legs, so close to his darkened erection, that you let a few drops fall there. And Hyunjin had screamed. He had bitten the back of his hand, remembering the other students in the dorm. Had forgotten all about them in a manner of seconds when you did it again, let wax meet the sensitivity of his skin, and he had cried your name. Had writhed and groaned into the pillow beneath him. Had struggled finding his glasses when he’d lay on his back again.

You watched his bent arm, the way he was digging his fist into the space between the pillow and his hair. Struggling. Whining. Constantly whining; he wasn’t ever quiet now. His eyes were shut, making his face crease and contort, his teeth fletched, so the feeling of heat on his biceps was a surprise, and he yelped at it. It trickled closer to his armpit, and when it tickled, he shivered. A moan so throaty ripped through the room that you felt your clit throb, your stomach twist. And then Hyunjin sobbed, in frustration, or in pleasure, or due to sensations even deeper, emotions even greater. He sobbed, dryly, because he seemed overwhelmed of what else to do, and it made you kiss him. You bent down to peck his chest, to nibble at his collarbones. You kissed his neck, licked it, breathed in the scent of the vanilla candle there, of his sweat. You tickled his jaw with your breath, as hot as the wax, or hotter, felt him pant, felt him whine. You kissed his chin wetly, with an open mouth, leaving traces of you everywhere, traces of spit next to the traces of wax, a body traced in love. Because his body was made for it. To be loved, adored. To be destroyed and put back together.

It was when you kissed his lips, red and puffy and spit-laced and bruised, that you noticed the wet on his pink cheeks. The tears behind his glasses, past his eyes. You halted in your tracks.

“Babe, you okay?”

Eyes shooting open, and Hyunjin caught you off guard when he looked at you; eyes flooded with desire, with you. Bloodshot, reddened. Everything was red, you saw it everywhere on his body. And he nodded. Frantically. Desperately. You didn’t need to ask if he wanted you to stop, you could read it on his face that “Please, please, whatever you do, don’t stop. Never stop.”

So you pulled back again, a smirk tugging at your lips. And Hyunjin flushed when he saw it. You took hold of the candle again, hovered it over him. He watched it. The anticipation made the man suck in a breath, and his abdomen hallowed out. You let wax drip into the dip it created, liked the way it nestled there. As if it belonged there. As if he was made to be painted, to be pleased like this.

„Does it hurt, baby?“

A whine from his mouth, and the glasses on his nose sat so deep. He was sweating, wet all around, and the piece of metal just didn’t want to stay where it belonged. You liked it. Would never, not after half a year of being with him, get tired of the way he fixed them. Though he didn’t now. Now, his glasses where the last thing on his mind. Hyunjin shook his head, then he nodded. Then he shook it again. He couldn’t look at you. He was too shy to.

“N-no… yes. I- hmm… I don’t know- fuck-“

Fingers digging into the mattress, finding your flesh then, marking you with the tips of his fingers, with the sharp of his nails. Mindlessly, he was clinging onto you without knowing he was. Because he needed you. Because his body was calling for your own.

“Why are you crying, then?”

Another tear of his fell gen his temple just as you let another droplet of wax meet his skin; it was so close to his sex, tangling with his pubes as it trickled further down that you were sure it pained, but his reaction was heavenlier than anything you could have imagined; a cry of your name and he sobbed it, every syllable, every letter. More tears were rolling past his eyes. He was calling out to you, for salvation, for more, for less, for everything. And the muscles beneath his skin were trembling; you believed you could see it. He was vibrating, he was hot. He was red all around; his erection the most aggressive tone of them all, the white precum so pearly, so white in contrast. You wanted to lick it off.

“I- I don’t know. Because- fuck, ohh my god-“, heavy breathing, heaving chest. Hyunjin knew you better than leaving the question unanswered, though. Was too eager to leave a question simply hang in the air. “Because it feels so fucking good.” He didn’t look at you when he said it. He reddened deeper when he said it. The sweat on his forehead thickened when he said it.

“Yeah? Does it?”

He nodded, nodded and nodded so hard his glasses dared to fall off. He didn’t care. He continued nodding, until you chuckled. Then he looked at you. His eyes were so clear, so shot with pleasure. They were saying everything his mouth couldn’t, was shy to. You shivered in his gaze; how could a man so beautiful be so unaware of it?

“And because- because I’m so embarrassed.”

He whispered the words. He looked at you so intently; because he knew you’d ease him off. He was aware that his shame was futile, that it was never justified. And you knew that a part of him liked it. That sometimes, a man as smart as him enjoyed to turn dumbfounded in your hold. That the lack of thoughts, the struggle to find words when he was around you, reminded Hyunjin of the effect you had on him. It reminded him how much you liked it; when he started stuttering, when he forgot what he was talking about, when his only affections, his only obsession was you.

You chuckled, face smitten, lashes batting at him. He whimpered, bit the back of his hand when he felt the wax near his erection. It was so hard. And he was so close; if you didn’t touch him soon, he thought, he would come undone without any contact at all.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed about feeling good, baby. You can let go when you’re with me. Don’t be shy about feeling good when you’re with me.”

Hyunjin thought this was his demise. His hell and heaven simultaneously, that it was in your hands he would die, in your hands he would be reborn again.

He pleaded you. Silently first, then with a trembling word; he needed you. He had never needed you more than now. He put his embarrassment to the side, took to heart what you always wished of him; to tell you what he wanted. To tell you what he needed.

“You, babe. I need you, I can’t, I- fuck, please, baby, please. I need to feel you, please.”

You had never heard him beg this way. Had never seen such lust in his eyes. You had never been so wet, not for him, not for anyone. He had the ability to break you, and he wasn’t even aware of it. Laying in the nude before you, traces of wax and spit and love on his body, and he didn’t even know you were as obsessed with him as he was with you.

Your panties and shirt were discarded quicker than either of you could look. You were hovering over him, and Hyunjin swore your pussy was hotter than the wax, than the fire burning it down. Before you sank down on him, he stopped you, numb fingers caressing your waist. He whined, writhed. He couldn’t look at you, he mumbled something. It wasn’t until you put a thumb on his chin and made Hyunjin look at you that he reddened, again, always reddening. He was breathing heavy when your eyes met. So heavy that you felt the warm condensation of it on your fingers. It was shaky, he was shaking.

“I’ll come. Like, right away. I’m already coming, I think.”

The confession knocked the breath out of your lungs. For someone so shy, so bashful about the slightest touch, the most innocent contact his words were always marked with an eroticism so great, so honest. No one had ever talked to you the way he talked to you; despite his shyness, despite his hesitations.

You assured him, kissed him, pecked his lips. They were hot, wet. They were dripping with his love for you.

And then you positioned yourself above him, and when you took hold of his base to guide him against you, when you felt him slide past your wetness and into you his hands dug into your flesh, so deep into your waist it hurt, but you didn’t mind it. It was his face you were focusing on; heavenly. As though he had found heaven. He was coming, hard, jolting his trembling hips against you; he was merely grinding against your pussy, against your clit, not much penetrating even, and yet he looked as though he had never felt a pleasure bigger than this. Eyes rolling back, violently. Lip bleeding between his teeth. Spit spewing when he cursed deeply, throaty. Sweat running down his temples, your waist because his palms coated you in it. In him. His scent, his wetness.

And you watched the red traces on his body. The pale colour on his cheeks, the feverish one on his lips. The deep, sensual one on his chest and stomach and abdomen, the bit on his biceps, the dried and flaked red wax. Only memories of it remaining when you’d wash it off later in the shower, when the morning sun would almost come out again. When you’d kiss him there later, after he’d come down, in the spots the wax had been, to soothe skin, to comfort him. And the wax would stand by his nightstand, proof and witness of the past hours, of Hyunjin’s desire, of your love.

@es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @ppiri-bahng @cherrrywon @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @junebug032 @noellllslut @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife @astraystayyh

#hyunjin smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids hyunjin smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagines #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #hyunjin fanfic

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