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hazelfoureyes · 9 months ago

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The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice (a Valentino production)

⟢ part1♡̶sidestory♡̶part2♡̶part3♡̶part4 ⟣

Valentino has acquired a living, breathing human in hell. But at the begging of Angel, Alastor makes a deal in exchange for her soul.

tags: Alastor x reader, smut, dubcon, mentions of assault (Val intended to "fuck you to death”), Val's existence, overstimulation, forced (?) orgasms, bondage (shadow tentacles), choking (sexy kind, not murdery kind), cervix wrecked, your aunt is a bitch

(author's note: I've been in Japan for like 7 years and my English has suffered, but your fucking smutty writing on this site has inspired me to write for the first time in years.)

Minors DNI

Angel burst into the hotel lobby, winded. “Please, you gotta do somethin’!”

To the surprise of everyone, he ran straight to Alastor, tears forming in his eyes.

“Val’s gonna hurt her real bad. I don’t know who else to ask, please. I can't—-“ he cradled his head in his hands, “I can't watch him break any more people.”

Alastor didn’t seem to react at first, but Charlie appeared at Angel’s side and pulled him into a hug, “Angel, take a deep breath. He’s gonna hurt who? What’s wrong?”

“He got a new soul. Some fucking cultist offered her up as sacrifice. But she's not dead yet Charlie—- he dragged her down here alive.” His voice cracked, “He wantsta— he said he’s gonna fuck her to death on camera and wait for her to respawn in hell. He’s convinced he’ll make a fortune off the tapes. Please, for fuck’s sake someone has to do something.”

A human in hell? Well, that was something interesting after all. With a raised brow Alastor spoke, “And how exactly can I help this poor, unfortunate soul?”

“Make a deal or– rip his arms off, I don’t fuckin’ know! There has to be something you can offer Val worth her soul. I’d give you my soul if I could!”

Well that’d be worthless.

But a human? A living, breathing human? Intriguing.

“Alastor you have do something. This isn't right! Hell isn’t for the living.” Charlie’s hair flew upward as her eyes flashed red for a second, “I’ll repay it somehow.”

Well there's no harm in taking a look.

The demons and sinners who saw Alastor walking into the Vee’s tower oscillated between fleeing for their lives and live tweeting the event. Either a truce or a war would be breaking out and they knew they’d be fucked regardless.

“Alastooor”, Val exhaled, letting the name drag out lazily, “Come to ruin something, I’m sure.” Val hadn’t seen Alastor since his fight with Vox 7 years ago, and he hadn’t expected to see him in his studio— ever.

“Ha! No, not today. Word got around that there's a special little guest hidden in your studio.” Alastor’s eyes darted about the room, uninterested in the various parts and bits of the actors changing.

Val glanced at Angel, who’d suspiciously returned some 30 minutes before Alastor appeared.

“I didn’t say nothing, Val.” Angel’s hands went up in defense. “He came to me askin’ about her.”

“And what exactly do you want with my “little guest”?” Val dropped any pretense of politeness.

Alastor leaned forward on his microphone, and with a pop of static he practically cooed, “To see the poor creature, of course.”

Val ashed his cigarette into a cameraman’s hair and walked off, “Fuck it, sure. She’s back here.”

The back room was dark, perhaps some would call it mood lighting but what mood exactly it conveyed fell somewhere between dungeon and power outage.

You sat on your knees in the center of a round bed. Arms held above your head by a large clip attached to wrist restraints. Your body swayed slightly, a long rope anchored to the ceiling and tied to the clip above you. Your body was slightly suspended, knees barely making contact with the bed beneath you. The white nightgown you wore was bloodied and ripped at the collar, causing it to slip down your left shoulder. Jaw clenched, your eyes were covered with a red satin tie.

Alastor took the scene in. Your lip was cut and swollen, bruises peppered your cheek and exposed shoulder. Yet, you were breathing heavily, like a bull about to rush them. You were clearly defenseless, but somehow still defiant. His smile grew to his ears. It had been decades since he had a human in such a prone state.

“Have you …. broken her in yet?” He asked delicately, eyes never leaving your face.

“Nah, just roughed her up a little. I want to capture her raw reaction on camera when she takes her first demon cock.” Valentino clenched his fist to emphasize the word “first”.

Your head fell forward as you pulled down on your wrist restraints, a growl rising in your throat.

Alastor felt his breath get caught in his own, your nightgown riding slowly up your legs as you struggled.

“Hey!” Val snapped his fingers in your direction. “Don’t embarrass me. Our guest came to see you. He’s considering making an offer for you, I’m sure, so say hello like a good girl.” Val rolled his eyes, “Sluts always fucking embarrassing me.”

You tried to gather enough saliva to speak, finding the taste of blood still on your tongue. “Fuck you and your friend.” barely made it from your chapped lips. When was your last drink of water? Last meal? How long had you been unconscious before this all began?

“Not friends.” Alastor was quick to retort, “The name’s Alastor, my dear. It’s a pleasure.”

You sneered, a pleasure? What a sick joke.

“Alastor.” you repeated it, disdain dripping from your lips.

The absolute contempt with which you said his name did something to him. His eyes darted from your mouth back to your inner thighs, exposed from the rising dress. Your mouth was so rude but your body looked so sweet. A little lamb– no, a doe.

“Say it again.” It wasn’t a request, Alastor himself was surprised to hear himself say it with such demand.

You thrashed. “Oh is that what gets you off? You wanna hear your name in my mouth?” You said mockingly. “You’re just as FUCKED as him.” The nightgown rode up even further. Alastor’s tongue stuck to his teeth as his mouth went dry. Had you been delivered to Val without panties? Offered to him in just this sheer cotton night dress? What was happening to him…

Static bit your skin as a low hum filled the room.

“Say it.” Alastor’s voice dropped an octave, eyes suddenly taking on a slight glow. You couldn’t see the danger before you, but you felt it. Something primal in you knew you were in the presence of a predator.

No, you couldn’t see him, but his presence was pressing in all around you.

“Alastor.” You seethed, “ALASTOR.” Pulling down on the restraints yet again you tried to find the strength to stand, “ALASTOR! ALASTOR!!” Your legs buckled under you having gone numb hours ago, his name devolving into a gutteral scream. All of your anger and despair ripped from your chest as you shouted his name. The nightgown had now ridden to your hips but you couldn’t find an ounce of shame in you to care.

You were so full of rage, so defiant still. You were so…. alive.

He felt the blood rushing to his crotch in an all together forgotten sensation, and knew immediately his decision. “Let’s make a deal.” His eyes didn’t leave you, but Valentino knew he was talking to him.

Val let out a laugh, “I have some time to waste while they finish the set. Why not.”

Seated in his personal quarters, Val motioned for Alastor to sit opposite him. You had been left in the dark of that room, only knowing you were alone when the static died down and the hair on the nape of your neck relaxed.

“Listen, Radio Demon. There’s nothing you have that could tempt me to hand over the little bitch.” His long arms rested over the back of his sofa, a heart shaped puff of smoke leaving his lips. Alastor swatted at the air as it approached.

“What do you even need her for? You don’t deal in souls, but flesh. Surely you can find another toy to break on camera.” Alastor waved his microphone away.

“Hmm”, Val brought a finger to his chin in thought, seriously considering what Alastor could possibly offer him. “Oooh, I know.” His head lolled to the side, “People have seen me fuck a thousand times. But no one’s ever even seen you with a partner. ‘Radio Demon fucks human sacrifice’” He motioned from left to right as if reading the words off an imaginary marquee, “Now THAT would make money. Real money. Fuck GOD levels of money.” A red liquid leaked from his lips as they were stretched across clenched teeth, his hips involuntarily humped at the air, “oh fuck. Yes. You do the porn, and I’ll give her to you. Soul and body.”

Alastor was looking at Val but his mind was still in front of you, his name tumbling from your lips. The uninterrupted skin where your thighs met your hips. The desperation in your scream. How absolutely soft and fragile you were. He adjusted his hips, trying to calm the twitching of his cock at the thought of you helplessly before him.

“What exactly are you proposing?” His fingers came to rest entwined on his knee, one leg over the other.

“First, I have full rights to the video to do as I please.” Val counted out on his fingers, “The porno has to show penetration. No dry humping or some bullshit like that. I need you fucking that whore if I’m gonna sell this shit. Aaand”, A sickening grin grew on Valentino’s face, “She has to cum. And I’ll know if she’s faking it. If you don’t manage all three, the deal is off. I keep the human and all rights to the video for per— no, *in* pep-“ he sputtered, “perpur- forever! Fuck.”

Alastor’s default grin was now so wide his gums could be seen peeking past his lips, his eyes flashing to dials, “It’s a deal.” He extended his hand to Valentino as he stood. A green light was shining from the open palm but Val shook it regardless, confident the deal's conditions wouldn’t be met. He’d seen a lot of fucked up shit on his set, but the Radio Demon, famously uninterested in sex, wasn’t going to make a battered human cum. How stupid could Alastor be, he thought. And he’ll have the video of Alastor failing to please someone to broadcast all over the pride ring and beyond. “May I have a moment alone with her before the filming?”

Val rolled his eyes, “yeah but don’t fuck her off camera.”

The sudden feeling of a hand on your hip startled you so intensely you let out a yelp.

“Hello, my little doe.” Hot breath tickled the shell of your ear, then your neck, then your collar bone… “Unfortunately your shoot will still continue today. But if you do as I say, I promise you’ll leave the studio alive.”

You felt the nightgown being tugged back down your hips, hiding your exposed sex.

“I will be taking that pompous moth’s place. I will be as gentle as I can, but he will want to see you suffer. You must still fight me, must act pained. Can you play along?”

Your eyes darted behind your eyelids. He sounded— gentle? His voice was soft against your skin. Maybe he was truly the lesser evil of the two. You nodded. You’d heard all the gory details of what the other demon had planned for you, this sounded infinitely more tolerable. You dare thought you’d suffered worse before.

“And, one more little caveat, darling. I will bring you to orgasm, so please don’t fight so hard as to delay your release.”

You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until his words punched you in the gut.

“I-“

“Yes?” Alastor’s mouth was nearly on your neck, his smile ghosting your skin.

“I’ve never—- I mean I can only do that by myself. No one else has managed to-“

A large hand patted your head, cutting your train of thought off. How big was he? His hands could palm a basketball. Could he really be gentle? Was he capable of it? Were those hands going to be on you soon? Your mind was running away with the thought of this strange demon fucking you on camera.

“Oh don’t worry about that. Just focus on your performance. We have to put on a good show!”

Angel was practically chewing his fingers off as he watched the crew finish the set.

“Alastor what the fuck, I thought you were gonna help her!”

“I am, my effeminate friend. Have a little faith in me.” He adjusted his bowtie and took his place on set.

“I have none. I have negative faith, Alastor. Fuuuuck”, Angel slumped against the wall behind him and sank to the floor.

The stage was set. A red sigil was painted on the floor of a cabin, candles lit around the room as the only source of light (except the stage lighting hanging above the scene). Of the three walls they’d made, the far left wall had an altar haphazardly filled with flowers, a golden bowl, and small plaid satchel.

Someone — something? — led you by the restraints to the stage. Blindfolded, you were pushed down to the floor, forced to sit on your still numb legs. The leather cuffs on your wrist were unbuckled, allowing you to flex your hands. When you reached for the blindfold a hand smacked at yours.

“No no, keep it. I want you to look exactly how I found you.” The familiar voice of Val instructed.

Someone handed a script to Alastor, but he pulled his hands away from the demon as if the paper itself was an angelic weapon, “Oh, no thank you. That won’t be necessary.”

“I’ll tell you what to say” Val said, clearly to you.

“It’s—- it’s fine. I’ll just do it like before. I don’t need any help.”

You really didn’t. There was no improv needed. You could repeat exactly what you said yesterday evening when you awoke on the floor of an unfamiliar place. You’d been visiting your aunt one moment, and alone in a weird room what felt like moments later. Groggy, but alert enough to know something bad had happened.

You heard “action”, and then silence. You could feel eyes on you.

“Aunt Sara….” You whispered. “I don’t understand what’s happened… Are you still there?” You rubbed your wrists trying to regain some blood flow, readjusting your legs to do the same.

You heard a strange sound, both yesterday and now.

“Aunt Sara isn’t here. She’s made an exchange, she gets extraordinary power….and I get your soul.” The way Alastor said it, the way his breath seemed to almost hitch, surprised you. Something cold touched your ankle, causing you to flinch, “But I want more than that. I need more than that.”

You felt that something-unknown snake up your leg toward your center. Crawling backwards on your butt to create some distance you collided with the altar. The golden bowl rolled to the edge and spilled its contents across the table. You could smell the iron tang of blood before you felt the pitter patter on your shoulder. Alastor inhaled quickly before letting the air back out with as much control as he could manage.

“Who are you?!” You’d asked this already. But this time the disembodied voice of your captor replied, “Alastor, the Radio Demon! Pleasure to meet you.”

The right side of your face smacked against the floor of the makeshift cabin as you were dragged suddenly across the room and into the red sigil. The cold appendage on your leg now tightly coiled up your calf.

“No— you have to fuck her with your fucking dick! You can’t use shadow tentacles!” Val shouted, nearly falling out of his chair.

“Now now, the deal didn’t specify with what, only that penetration must occur. Plus, I won’t show up on your video recording device anyway.” Alastor took several steps back, ensuring he was not in frame, “Rest assured, your audience will know it is me.” His words cracked and stuttered like someone had changed the station midway through his sentence.

A small, “fine, whatever.” was grumbled and the scene continued, the tentacle snaking its way up your thigh as Alastor chuckled softly at how you flinched against him.

You rolled onto your stomach and tried to kick off the shadow but it held firm. Letting out a groan you used your hands to drag yourself back towards the altar. Before you could reach the table your other leg felt the pressure of a new tentacle twist around your knee as you were dragged back toward the Radio demon once again.

Your nightgown was forced up, your ass now exposed and in the air as your legs were pulled open. That was as far as you had really gone yesterday, before a flash of light delivered you into the Pentagram City studio.

Surprisingly, you felt embarrassed, self conscious knowing there were other people in this room. But as if he could read your mind, or perhaps just noticed the tremble in your legs, Alastor softly said, “It’s only us now, darling. There’s nowhere to hide.”

Third and fourth appendages appeared around your waist and neck. Effortlessly your hips were lifted off the floor, your cunt on full display to the man who now owned you. The tentacle on your neck slipped between your shoulder blades and pressed your chest firmly to the floor. You squirmed and struggled against the restraints but only accomplished to draw another chuckle from Alastor.

“Relax. We have forever, after all. We can take our time.”

You felt pressure at your entrance, and your pleas to stop were cut short as a shadow tentacle pushed its way inside you. It was cold, but quickly began to warm as your heat enveloped it. Your body was resisting it, too tight to take it all in one thrust, but you could feel it slick against your lips easily enough to make its way inside.

“Ooh, my dear, your wet little cunt betrays you.” He cocked his head to the side, antlers doubling then tripling in size, “Have my words affected you so much?”

You could feel the tentacle’s shape shift slightly inside you as if it were adjusting to you and not the other way around. True to his word, there was no pain except from the burning stretch of your hole against the girth of his shadow self.

Hissing, you thrashed against the sigil, “get OFF OF ME!” Pushing against the floor you barely got your shoulders an inch off the ground when you felt a nth appendage graze sloppily over your clit. You stilled, suddenly remembering your end of the deal. Your promise to the demon now circling your clit with his shadow. If you couldn’t do this, then the entire filming was for nothing.

“Don’t forget to breath. I can’t have you dying on me just yet, sweetheart.” The static was slowly building in the air around you again, a silent threat.

Your hand shot to your mouth, trying to smother the depraved sounds being fucked out of you. The tentacle in your pussy was now ramming against your cervix, curving and bending as it repeatedly forced its way in and out of you. The room was quiet, except for the slick, sticky sound of the tentacle coated in your fluids pulling nearly completely out of you before smashing back in. The pace was slow and cruel, but the pressure on your clit was fast and hard. Your mind was starting come undone, your thoughts splintering. You couldn’t focus on anything anymore, all over your body was pressure, pleasure, massaging, pushing, and pulling.

“Ah ah, that won’t do.” Alastor practically sang the words as an appendage pulled your hands from your mouth and brought them to the small of your back.

You whimpered, trying to find a balance between the overstimulation and the need to not let them see how much you were getting off on this. You needed to hate it more. Hate him more. Your cheek stuck to the wood of the floor as drool leaked from your open mouth, unable to keep it closed any longer.

“I’ll—” Your strength was nearly gone, but you managed to knock your upper body around the sigil, smearing the still wet blood across your chest. You only managed to whisper into the flooring a quiet, “I’ll fucking kill you for this.”

The tentacles stopped, for a second you felt tears sting your eyes at the loss of friction. A loud screech made you wince, but you had no time to question it as your body was violently flipped. Your hips were slammed down onto the ground, held tightly by a tentacle around your waist. The back of your head ached as it was jostled in the turn. The shadows on your thighs now seemed determined to bruise you as they constricted around your skin.

“What was that, dear?” The tentacle in your pussy seemed to swell inside you, the force of the thrusts picking up in intensity. He was ramming into your body with such fervor you felt the skin of your ass chaffing on the wooden grain beneath you. “Speak up, now”, you heard him exhale forcefully, his controlled appearance hanging on by a thread.

“I-”, your mouth opened to continue your resistance when a new sensation stopped you. A second tentacle was trying to squirm its way into your heat, just above the now uncomfortably thick one twisting around inside of you. The pressure on your stomach from the force made you feel sick, but the devoted ministrations on your clit had your legs twitching against the restraints. “Ah–! no, wai-” It managed to slip itself into you, and with no hesitation it was pressing against your g-spot in a matching rhythm to the tentacle swiping over your swollen clit.

You’d never before made a sound like the one that was pulled from your throat. It was ugly and animalistic and took you by surprise. Still struggling to catch your breath, you threw your head back. You were losing control. As your body was rocked against the ground, the blindfold got caught in the friction and slipped down your nose.

Bringing your head back up, you finally locked eyes with your new master.

“Alas-” Another chilly tentacle came to your neck and began to lightly squeeze. You could only breathe out the rest of his name as your eyes met with his. He stood some feet from you, just outside of the sigil, barely on the set at all. He seemed nonplussed, antlers looming over you and suit perfectly neat, except one detail. His pupils dilated when you finally set your eyes onto his. The grip on your neck only stopped tightening when you stomped your foot down in fear of passing out. You didn’t break eye contact, a fire burning in you that told him no matter what he did you wouldn’t be broken. That look in your eyes, the contempt mixed with overwhelming pleasure made Alastor shift one foot in front of the other in an effort to better conceal the erection straining against the zipper of his pants.

“Mmmhhh–” You finally broke contact as your eyes rolled back into your head, the pressure beneath your belly was building, a tightness threatening to snap. But this wasn’t like before, this wasn’t like when you were alone in your bed with your own hand. It felt like too much, your heart was pounding so hard you thought you’d really die. There was no way your body could continue this much longer, your heart would surely give out.

“Please–” You needed him to stop, the ghostly hand on your throat, the two tentacles pressing against your cervix and g-spot, the unrelenting pressure on your clit. It was too much, it was too sensitive. “I’m sorry, please. Pleeea-” you gritted your teeth, thighs twitching as the muscles in your core tightened.

“Going to cum, my little doe?” Through gritted teeth of his own Alastor asked you as if you had any choice in the matter. He forced your knees up to your shoulders, allowing the tentacles to reach new depths.

“AaaaHH” You convulsed, “I’m yours, Alastor!” You moaned, willing to say anything to stop the overwhelming feeling as the coil snapped, you were orgasming on this demon’s shadow and for the love of all that was unholy he wouldn’t fucking let up. You did what he said, but he wasn’t stopping. His thrusts didn’t slow, your clit was throbbing and your body shaking uncontrollably. All defiance was dead, your fire snuffed out. Your eyes were glazed and unfocused. Your head hit the floor again as you struggled to keep your thoughts straight, “It’s all yours. My soul is yours! Please- sto-” Another orgasm was being fucked out of you, no recovery from the first. “I can’t, I can’t” Your jaw locked, the way your cunt was spasming and tightening around his shadow appendages nearly pushed them out of your body with the strength of your first forced orgasm. The lights in the room flickered and popped, the candles blew out with a sudden gust, static drowned out your voice from everyone but Alastor as you screamed through the second orgasm. A green light erupted from the smeared sigil beneath you, blinding the crew and onlookers. “My body is yours! My soul! It’s all yours. I give you all of me, Alastor! Alastor!!” Your vision went spotty, and your throat seemed to close around your voice. Your face was red with the strain of your orgasm. You’d never felt unrelenting pleasure like that before and in that moment you’d have given him absolutely anything he wanted from you. Everything. It was his. You were his. He owned you inside and out.

The bullying of your cunt finally calmed after your orgasm began to edge away, your breath no longer stuck in your throat. He didn’t stop, but he slowed down to a lazy pace as what few lights managed to survive flickered back to life. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you looked over your wrecked body to Alastor. His eyes were wild, his bangs damp and clinging to his forehead. His smile was manic, sinister almost. He looked truly demonic. A wave of fear carried a chill down your spine.

The tentacles withdrew, the sudden loss making you feel colder somehow now than before. They had taken on your own heat and matched your temperature so perfectly, now your body felt empty. You felt naked. Your cunt was still clenching, but around nothing at all. It felt…like something was missing now. Your body seemed to be upset at the loss of contact. It made your stomach turn.

You flinched when the radio demon approached you, but instead of tearing you to pieces like his grin had promised, he slipped his suit jacket off and laid it over your body. You hadn’t realized the dress was torn and lying beneath you in a wet pile of blood and sweat. The confusion must have been evident on your face, because Alastor’s appearance shifted. Antlers now small, if not tiny between his ears. His eyes a red and pink, lids half closed. His smile was just a line across his face, no teeth at all. He looked like a gentleman, had you not known what he had just done to your pussy you’d have thought him incapable of such impropriety.

“Good job, my little doe.” He whispered before you were handed a glass of water by a tall stranger.

“Wow, you’re kind of natural at this babe. I haven’t seen a performance like that in ages. Are you okay?” You took the water from him but didn’t open your mouth to reply, instead transfixed on his appearance. You’d only seen Val and Alastor until now. “You can call me Angel. We’ll get you home soon. I swear.”

Your eyes flitted to Alastor’s, did he know? He must have, he must have felt it. Of course he knew. In those final moments, you hadn’t been acting. Not an ounce of your pleasured responses were disingenuous. Not a single word a lie.

Alastor helped you to your feet as Angel placed a robe over your shoulders. Alastor hummed as he put his jacket back on, a satisfied sound coming from his chest that almost sounded like a song.

Val sat in his director’s chair with his legs crossed, mouth open. His cigarette was mostly ash, delicately lingering on the stub.

Alastor placed a hand on the small of your back as you were guided to the door. Looking over his shoulder he grinned to Val, “It seems our deal is done here, Valentino. She’s mine, in perpetuity.”

(Part two)

༻Masterlist༺

5K notes · View notes

g0dlyunsub · 3 months ago

Text

not enough.

spencer couldn’t be there to help you during a case, and he thinks that he’s not deserving of your forgiveness.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: mentions of fire, burns and injuries, hospitalization, reader gets injured, angst, descriptions of blades, hurt/comfort, fluff, medical inaccuracies

word count :: 1.8k

author’s note :: i have not written in a while but here's something that's been sitting in my drafts :3

accompanying song :: breathe by lauv

"kid, you need to go."

"no, i'm not leaving you. i'm not-" spencer coughs as the dust mingles with the air in his lungs. "-i'm not leaving her."

"reid, go!" derek shouts over the roaring flames.

you can hear their desperate exchange, but you can’t say anything.

everytime you swallow, it feels like a razor blade's sliding down your throat; it makes jagged cuts in your parched throat.

all of your tears have evaporated from the surface of your eyes due to the scorching heat, and it hurts to blink.

you don’t even realize that your trousers are literally on fire until spencer’s patting at the flames with his bare hand, all the while trying to get the restraints off of you.

“i can’t- i can’t get them off!” spencer heaves, and you can hear the panic in his voice turning into hot anger.

“reid, just take the other guy and go!”

derek’s shouting, but he’s barely audible next to the unrelenting fire.

"please, let me-"

you feel spencer tug with all his might, pushing and pulling against the ropes, but they’re too tight. the ropes aren’t made of special material, but the heat’s completely melted and fused the knot, making it near-impossible to rip apart.

you can barely keep your eyes open, but you can still see spencer frantically whipping his head back and forth, glancing at you and the last hostage in the room.

derek gives spencer a knowing look, one that you know all too well.

reluctantly, spencer looks down.

he can see the flames reflected in your eyes.

he can see the pain seared into your skin.

a lump starts to form in his throat.

you’re mouthing the word go.

greasy tears well up in his eyes, and spencer splutters a cry.

“sorry.”

he adds another sorry. and he adds another, until all he’s murmuring is an incoherent stream of apologies.

you watch as he slings his arm around the hostage’s waist and drags his feet to the exit, and you watch until all you can see is the wavy outline of his figure, distorted by the heatwaves.

your eyes flicker between open and closed.

“y/n, stay with me. no, no, no,” derek shakes you while he continues to saw through your strings with a dull object, “don’t you give up on me now.”

the smoke’s rolled up to cover the ceiling, and an amber glow coats the entire room.

with the cacophony of the roaring flames, expletives spluttering from derek’s mouth, and the back and forth of the rounded blade, the sounds of your restraints loosening barely make it to your ears.

“come on!”

derek hastily tears the fraying restraints and pulls you away from the blazing rod that you’ve been tied to.

you take a desperate gasp for air at the sudden relief, but only choke on dust and the fierce heat.

it’s too much — too much grime, grease, toxins coating your airways. you stop trying to breathe.

you hear derek groan as he takes your limp body in his arms and lifts you up, and the sudden change in position has you seeing stars.

as derek hauls you out, you see a brief flash of the sky. you could’ve sworn it was a shade of blue clearer than the ocean before you entered, but now it’s a beat down shade of jaundiced yellow.

huh.

it’s burning so darkly.

—

when spencer sees you come out of the burning building, tucked in the arms of derek morgan, he thinks he’s looking at a fallen angel.

dark smoke and dust pepper you head to toe, and your parted lips are making such a desperate effort to stay open.

you’re not breathing.

he breaks into a sprint. the calls from hotch and rossi fly behind him, as do their attempts to grasp him back. he runs to you, and not a single person can stop him.

he drops to his knees next to your unconscious body on the ground with derek, and his heart instantly falls.

his brain starts to perform an instant diagnosis of your condition – he sees the burn marks scattered over your arms and legs, and he can almost feel your pain, like your nerves are connected to his.

the medics surrounding the scene yell out orders to stay back so that they can start chest compressions, but spencer won’t move.

he’s with you when you jerk back out of unconsciousness, when you’re still too weak to process all of the visual and auditory cues around you.

he’s with you when you’re lifted onto the back of the ambulance.

you can hear him raising his voice at the medics.

“we need to administer aerosolized unfractionated heparin with albuterol and check for hypovolemia, she needs oral and mivf immediately upon admission-”

you phase out once again.

—

when you open your eyes, you realize that you’re not in an ordinary hospital room.

you’re inside the intensive care unit.

generally, only family members are admitted as visitors in the icu, but the man laying his head over the side rails of your bed isn’t your family member.

spencer had to break some protocol to get here.

as you shift your bandaged arms over the blanket, spencer starts to stir slightly, until he realizes that it’s you moving beside him.

his eyes widen as he raises his head.

“how do i look?” you weakly mutter and force your lips into a smile.

his lips quiver, and he’s about to reach for your hand before he realizes that you probably can’t even handle his touch.

“so-” his voice cracks, “so beautiful. so incredibly beautiful.”

your heart does a flip at his words.

“you don’t have to lie.”

he looks away for a brief second, before shaking his head. “i’m not. i swear. you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever met — that i’ve ever seen.”

you let out a pained chuckle. “would you look at that, my skin’s blushing.” you turn your arm to the side slightly and loosen your bandages to reveal the pink cuts in your flesh.

spencer’s brows knit together in a pained expression, and you cringe at your own joke.

you inhale slowly. “spill it, spence.”

“spill what?”

“you did that thing where you look away. it’s your giveaway.”

“no, i-”

you turn your head to look at him with a pleading face, and he succumbs instantly.

he pulls his hand. “i- uh…”

he looks at you once and you raise your brows, an encouraging sign to continue written all over your face.

“i don’t deserve you.”

you blink slowly.

“you deserve someone better,” he continues, looking down ashamedly.

you can't possibly be hearing him correctly. “someone better?”

“someone like morgan.”

“morgan?”

“yeah. derek morgan. he’s the one who stayed with you, who carried you out of that crumbling building. i couldn’t protect you. i failed the one thing i promised myself.”

“spencer, i wasn’t the only one- you had to save the other guy stuck in there.”

“the worst part is-” spencer chokes, “even if i traded places with morgan, i don’t know if i would’ve gotten us out in time.”

your eyes start to water. “no, spence, don’t say that.”

“i’m not strong enough. i’m not strong like morgan, and i’m not strong enough to protect you. i let you down. i failed you.”

you shake your head. “no, spencer. no. you’ve never failed me, do you hear me? you never failed me and you never will fail me. because-”

you take a deep breath.

“you broke protocol for me, the entire time. i heard what you said to the medics in the ambulance. and you’re here. right now.”

this time, he shakes his head. “it’s the least i can do. it still doesn’t change the fact that i couldn’t take the bullet for you.”

“spencer-”

you lean forward, a strangled grunt leaving your lips, until you’re a mere inch away from spencer’s face.

“maybe,” you start, flickering your gaze left and right into his sunken eyes.

“maybe i want to take the bullet for you too. maybe i want to protect you too. maybe i want-” you smile, “-to fight to stay with you.”

he pulls back, and glassy traces of tears coats his entire face.

again, you smile. “because if you don’t deserve me, then i don’t deserve you either.”

and it’s your goddamn smile that absolves all of his worries in an instant, that makes spencer forget that you’re bundled up in layers of gauze and bandages, that makes him think you’re an angel with a golden halo that’s lighting up the entire room.

it’s only when you let out an disgruntled sigh that he realizes you’re not an angel in a dress but a patient in a hospital gown, and the guilt latches back onto him like an inseparable magnet.

spencer’s eyes soften with concern and gloss over your entire body. gently lifting the edges of the blanket, he brushes his fingers against yours.

“my arm – it’s itchy,” you explain, and close your eyes to restrain yourself from picking at your scabby skin.

“i’m sorry,” spencer returns, an empathetic expression sweeping his face. “the bandages have to stay on, unfortunately.”

“my face-” you start, and spencer’s now looking at you with an expression crossing between serious and disturbed.

“your face? does it itch? where?”

he leans over, and cups your chin in the palm of his hand. slowly, he moves your face to the left and right, until you meet his misty brown eyes in the middle.

“my mouth.”

“your mouth?”

“yeah,” you scrunch your lips in a pained expression, but smile. “i think a kiss would help.”

spencer raises his brows in surprise, and a coughy chuckle leaves the back of his throat.

he can’t fight the excitement bubbling in his heart when you say that, when you’re so adorably bold in front of him.

how could he ever deserve you?

“you asked for it,” he murmurs quietly, before leaning in and bringing his lips to yours. he caresses the side of your face as his soft lips give you a taste of his desperation, though it’s too short to quench your desire.

he pulls back and cocks his head to the side to stare at you with admiring eyes. “is that better?”

you return a contemplative look, pouting your lips slightly. “it’s still itchy.”

he shakes his head amusedly and places a hand on the cushioned mattress, before leaning in to make your heart flutter with another kiss. it’s deeper than before, but he still draws himself back to not deprive you of your air.

once again, he pulls back and graces your eyes with a shy smile. “how about now?”

you tut disapprovingly. “nope.”

a wide smile curves the corners of spencer’s mouth, and he reaches to hold your hand affectionately in his.

your feverish cheeks light up with a hot glow when your lips intertwine with his in a slow rhythm, when spencer slowly moves his hand behind your head to tousle your strands of hair flowing through his fingers.

he doesn’t ask any more questions.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x you

1K notes · View notes

nachojaehyun · 7 months ago

Text

head so good, she a honor roll

pairing. idol wonu + new staff! fem! reader

summary. if wonwoo had to describe his new stylist in one word, it would be unpredictable. i mean, who would have known you were this good at sucking his soul?

warnings. [PLEASE READ] oral (m), light throat fucking, messy/sloppy head, the best head he had EVER received, wonu wears glasses, teasing, he almost cries, mentions of past sexual encounters, THICK dick wonu, no gag reflex queen reader — 18+ MINORS DNI!

note. jeon wonwoo, you genuinely deserve the best head in the universe. thank you for existing king.

wonwoo felt like he was going to pass out.

the tides of pleasure were overwhelming him, making his eyes roll to the back of his head as he bit his lip to subdue his noises.

initially, he hadn’t thought much of you at all. when PD Na announced that a new staff member was joining the Seventeen crew, wonwoo could only clap and bow as you entered the room.

you were pretty— he’d give you that. your features were pleasant to the eye, and the thick framed glasses you adorned on your first day made him smile.

he was happy to know that he wasn’t the only one who was batshit blind in the room.

you were his stylist. of course you had taken him to get his color analysis done, taken him to multiple stores across Seoul, brought him piles of clothes for performances and off duty days.

you were his stylist. of course you had seen him almost naked, but you had never bat an eye at him, only instructing him to “wear his clothes faster.”

you were his stylist. of course you had first hand experience in the most embarrassing encounter in jeon wonwoo’s career— you had seen his dick rip out from a pair of very tight slacks. you still remained stoic, carefully asking him to take his pants off as you went to search for another pair. he was red in the face, cock half hard as he tightly fisted the curtain of the changing room in shame.

you were his stylist. so why on earth were you sucking his cock like your life depended on it?

wonwoo swears he didn’t know how it happened. you had texted him half an hour ago that you were going to drop off some clothes at his apartment before his fitting tomorrow.

it was supposed to be a simple exchange— you would give him the bag and you would leave.

but of course he had his phone silenced and didn’t see your notification.

of course he was sitting on the living room couch, fisting his length in his hand as he tried to relieve the tension in his muscles from dancing for 4 hours straight.

of course he forgot to lock the door to his apartment while he was blatantly moaning like a whore—

here you were, mouth dragging along his tip as you looked up at him through your long lashes, glassy eyes blinking innocently. the bag of clothes you had brought to him was long discarded, laying limp on the floor near his coffee table.

the grey contacts you had on make wonwoo shiver, whimpering as your tongue swirled around his tip.

“fuck baby, quit playin,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair as he watched you down his cock like a champ. wonwoo’s glasses were sitting at the edge of his nose, lenses fogging up.

his hand reached out to fist your hair in a makeshift ponytail, mouth falling into a near pornographic growl as he felt your hands fondle his balls.

his cock was unbelievably thick. your jaw was nearly falling slack. however, the salty taste of his precum was far too addicting for you to care about your own discomfort.

you hollowed your cheeks, trying to feel every ridge and every vein that his pretty cock had to offer. you pulled him out of your mouth soon after, placing kisses along his side as you suckled on his tip.

your free hand came to jerk off his base, spitting onto his leaky tip to use as lube, adding more pressure as his eyebrows scrunched.

“ ’m close— hah!” he whined, tears coating his lashes as you took him in with no warning.

unable to hold himself back, wonwoo harshly yanked your head back, rolling his hips into your mouth. you moaned at his rough treatment, sending vibrations that tightened the knot in his stomach.

“shit shit shit!” wonwoo grunted, feeling his dick weigh down on your tongue that continued to lick and torture him while he used your mouth as his personal fleshlight.

you could feel him twitch inside you.

to give him the final push over the edge, you lazily dragged your freshly manicured nails gently against his balls, cupping the two as he emptied inside your mouth.

wonwoo’s hips stuttered as his thighs shook, feeling ropes of his cum spurt into your open mouth.

he pulled out slightly, jerking off to give you the rest of him. you simply sat on the floor, wagging your tongue, catching every drop of his seed. as soon as you swallowed his release without any question, wonwoo felt himself getting hard again.

wordlessly, you wiped your mouth of the drool that had dribbled past your lips. pushing your weight from your thighs, you glanced at your wristwatch before smiling.

“see you at 8 tomorrow, wonwoo-ssi. don’t be late.”

with that, jeon wonwoo watched you wave him goodbye and walk out the door.

his mind was blown as he breathed out softly, still coming down from the best orgasm he ever had in his life.

sure, he had been blown before. but most girls were too scared to keep him in for more than a few minutes, complaining that their jaw hurt from his sheer length and thickness.

but you? dear god, you and your perfect self never complained, silently taking his cock in your mouth. you didn’t care about your own pleasure, mind consumed by the man wearing glasses in front of you, shock written all over his features.

“fucking hell, what is she doing to me?” wonwoo groaned, fisting his once again hardened member as he begin to circle his tip with a thumb.

he felt sensitive from his last high, closing his eyes as he imagined the scene all over again— wondering how many positions he could bend you over in.

if only he knew that you were in your car, fingers curling inside your folds as you moaned out his name. his cock had moulded your throat.

click here for part 2

#wonwoo #wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonwoo smut #seventeen #seventeen smut #svt #svt x reader #svt x you #nachojaehyun #seventeen hard hours #seventeen smut drabbles #seventeen drabbles #seventeen thoughts #svt hard thoughts #kpop hard hours #kpop hard thoughts #kpop

3K notes · View notes

ghoulphile · 7 months ago

Text

janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | part 01

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 3.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap, hair pulling, teasing, making out, mutual pining, lipstick kink, stockings, frottage, porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --” ➥ notes | i'm so sorry this is later than it should be. i am unfortunately a corporate slave and this fic just did not want to cooperate 🫠 there are a lot more things planned and this fic is turning into a bit of a beast (20+ pages and counting rip lmao) so i've decided to split it into two parts to make it more manageable for myself mostly un-beta'd atm a special thanks to @corinthianism for all her lovely help ❤️!!

feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

One of the ugliest things in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say. At least when he was a Marine, they told him where to point his gun, where to aim; nameless threats vanishing with a quick squeeze of the trigger.

Here, these ‘enemies’ aren’t enemies — not really.

It’d be easier if they were.

Worse still, they have names he holds as dearly as his own. There’s Barb, whip smart and always so clever. Then Janey, the light of his life and so sweet his teeth ache.

Once upon a time, life was sweeter than apple pie on Sundays.

Then came the separation.

Afterwards, he finds it hard to look at what’s left of his family without losing breath like a horse kick to the chest. Their absence rips open a hole inside him ten miles wide, its edges jagged and wrong.

And when he can’t take the silence anymore, fingers of malt liquor help dull the ache, though it’ll never be enough to mend what’s broken.

See, war’s something he understands.

But these domestic battlefields where he sits across from his ex-wife while lawyers barter this weekend and that holiday?

How he struggles to meet his daughter’s eye every time she asks if he’s coming home?

When Barb keeps the house and the money while he keeps the scrapbooks and the dog?

He doesn’t — can't — refuses to comprehend.

Because in what world can you reconcile looking down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman you love staring back, finger on the trigger? Left out to hang as Vault-Tec orchestrates his downfall.

The true depth of their involvement is unknown, but it’s no coincidence his bank accounts dried up faster than the Mojave in June. The ink still wet when the media snapped up the story of his failed marriage.

Thus, his reputation (rather what’s left of it) unraveled faster than a spool of thread.

Knocked on his ass and kept there by a boot heel crushing his windpipe. Whose? He hasn’t got a fucking clue.

But whoever they are, they’re making sure he stays a washed up nobody who struggles to land a call back, much less pay his monthly alimony on time.

See what we can do? You were America’s favorite gunslinger - now look at you. Mind your place.

Hell, millions used to scream his name.

Nowadays people whisper it behind their hands like a dirty secret, “Oh, did you hear? Cooper Howard…” as they dissect pieces of his life into bite-sized Before’s and After’s. “Hah! Serves him right. Y’know, I never liked him much.”

While he grits his teeth and swallows his bitterness with a smile, he hates how he can’t protect Janey from snide reporters and nosy strangers. Juggling actor-father-divorcé with fumbling hands.

It’s only been six months; a heartbeat, a lifetime, and already he’s scraped thin like butter over too much bread.

Something’s gotta give.

After all, he’s only one man.

But just when it's bleakest, the clouds part.

A young woman moves in next door, the first bright thing that’s come his way in a long, long while.

At first, he kept his distance.

Exchanged vague hello’s and how-are-you’s. Then Janey took a shine; always so friendly and eager to talk about her latest books.

Any reservations he might’ve had died when he saw how enamored you are with her.

Only made sense that over time small pleasantries turned into playdates. Then those playdates turned into sleepovers.

Before long, you’re watching her when a gig runs late.

Rustling up grub and tucking her into bed more often than not these days. And when he slinks in through the door, knees aching and stripped to the bone, there you are with a shy smile and a warm meal.

So what if he takes himself in hand after you leave, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress?

Imagines the wide stretch of your ruby lips as you swallow him down, lipstick smeared an awful mess?

Cums hard to the fantasy of your teary eyes and hiccupy breaths as you choke?

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

After all, he’s a gentleman... he promises to keep his hands to himself.

“All right, Sugar Bomb, it’s bedtime.”

Bundled in navy bedding up to her nose, Janey’s wide brown eyes peer up at you from beneath a riot of frizzy curls. Roosevelt, her ever faithful companion, plasters himself to her side. The tip of his tail swishes once, twice before falling limp.

“Ah, c’mon guys. Don’t look at me like that.” You sigh with a fond shake of the head, hip popping out to rest against the doorframe. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow ‘em.”

A muffled response sounds from the lump of little girl, “Nmfhm.”

Squinting, you dip your head and tap the side of your ear, "Pardon?"

“Mnhfmmmm.”

“Ye—eah… Didn’t catch that, Mumbler.”

Janey tugs down the blanket, her mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. “I said,” she crosses her arms with a huff, “not until Dad gets home.”

Shit.

“M’sorry, baby. He’s still gonna be a while.” Walking across the room, you stop beside the bed and motion your hand back and forth. “Scooch over.”

Gangly limbs fumble as Janey wiggles into the middle of the mattress, her feet tangling in the blankets. Roosevelt takes a toe to the nose during the transition, but flops across her knees all the same.

Together they settle with a bounce of springs.

In the open space, you slide in.

The bed sinks under your weight, a plume of rich cologne tickling your nose; mint-spiced citrus. Cooper. Your stomach swoops, and your heart trips.

“I didn’t see him at breakfast — or lunch!” A pout tugs at her mouth. “Not even dinner. I gotta go home tomorrow. So when am I gonna see him?”

“Oh, bug.” You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Your dad’s been real busy at work. And I know that’s been hard for you, but I promise to make sure he’s here for breakfast tomorrow.”

“D’you mean it?” Her cold nose digs into your skin. “Me and Roosevelt miss him so much.”

Cuddled into your chest, Janey tosses an arm around your back. Her fuzzy head rests in the crook of your arm, springy curls tickling your skin.

You squeeze her tight and trace your fingertips over her forehead.

“I can do you one better,” you say, bopping the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle - a soft sound that sits warm and gooey in your chest. “I pinkie-promise.”

Her finger loops around yours, so small and fragile.

“I’ll even make pancakes. How’s that sound for a promise?”

“Oh, yes, please! I think Dad will like that,” a wide yawn cuts her off mid-sentence. “He’s sad, but he always smiles when you make food.”

Janey’s words — unexpected as they are sudden — cut so deep it steals the breath from your lungs. You flounder, your heart a throbbing bruise in your chest.

“... Then pancakes it is.”

As if nothing happened at all, she asks, “Do I have to go to bed now?”

“Afraid so, little miss.” Your responding chuckle sounds stilted even to your own ears. “Just you wait. When you wake up, Dad’ll be home.”

“Fi—ine, but I want extra pancakes.” Janey pauses, considers you with narrow eyes, then adds, “With syrup!”

“Whatever you want,” you say with an indulgent smile. “Now... time to sleep. It’s really past your bedtime.”

She gives you one last squeeze then lets you tuck her in nice and tight, blankets pulled up to her chin. You drop a kiss on her forehead while Roosevelt re-settles on the pillow beside her after a quick scratch behind the ears.

Everything in order, you turn to go only for a little hand to stop you.

“Yes?” you reply, glancing at her from over your shoulder.

“... can you put on one of Dad's movies?”

The tremble in her voice - like she’s about to get scolded - breaks your heart clean down the middle. Stitching on a soft smile, you nod and walk to the darkened TV set in the room's corner.

After fiddling with the nobs, static flashes to life.

“The Man from Deadhorse okay?”

The holotape sliding into the track swallows the sound of her tiny “Yeah.” Starting up with a whirl of machinery, the second-hand Radiation King flickers to life in black-and-white.

A vast plain and bright sky stretches across the screen.

Then Sugarfoot creeps into frame with the one and only Cooper Howard sitting astride the noble steed. The sheriff’s badge on his chest glints in the sun.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, already half-way to sleep.

“Anything for you, baby. Sleep tight.”

Flicking off the lights, you leave the door cracked. Walk away pretending like hearing her whisper goodnight to the TV doesn’t lance through you like lightning.

The desire to whisk her into your arms and soothe all of her ails is almost impossible to ignore.

Somehow, you distract yourself by wiping up the table, then by fixing a plate of dinner for whenever Cooper rolls in. Though all the while, how brokenhearted Janey sounded sits in the back of your mind like a leaden weight.

When Cooper stumbles into the living room, it’s half past midnight.

You’d gotten up to greet him, curled as you were in an armchair reading, when something about the stern line of his mouth gave you pause.

Where the usual lighthearted greetings lingered, a pensive stillness trembled to life.

Tension crackles through the air; a held breath of agitation. By the faraway gaze and defeated slump of his broad shoulders, it’s plain to see the night didn’t go as intended. And no matter how much you long to soothe, you can’t.

After all, he’s not yours to touch.

Instead, you offer a sympathetic smile and ask, “Rough night, huh?”

Cooper ignores the prompt, squeezing past with a brief touch to your elbow as he makes a beeline for the dry bar. The heat of his body is there and gone in a flash, his cologne teasing your senses. He says, “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Your heart flutters in your throat. “Ah,” you lick your lips, “well, I was going to finish my chapter first.”

Humming, he turns his back to you and fiddles with high balls and decanters. The tink of crystal glassware fills the air as he speculates which alcohol goes best with his mood.

“Thanks again for watching Janey.” He nods in approval and fixes his whiskey neat. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Howard.” You shrug. “She’s a sweetheart.”

He shoots you a dry look from over his shoulder, stirring the dark amber of his drink with a forefinger. When he sucks his skin clean with a soft pop - a flash of a pink tongue taunting, teasing - your stomach swoops.

God, I wonder what else his mouth can do.

Flustered, you clear your throat and stare at a spot on the wall.

“How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Coop?” he says, digging through some drawers until he finds what he’s searching for: a lighter. “It must be a million and one by now.”

Flint sparks as flames jump, eating away at the end of a cigarette. Cooper inhales in short little puffs, pulling on the filter. His cheeks hollow, the shadows enhancing the cut of his jaw before the tip catches alight.

“Well,” he exhales, his gaze catching yours through a plume of smoke as he turns, brow raised. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you chuckle.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smirk. “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks back the last finger of whiskey before refilling with gin.

Springs groan in protest when he drops to the couch, settling in with an outstretched arm and wide spread thighs.

“It’s been a long fucking day,” he rasps.

Gulping, you try to ignore the space at his feet.

The stirrings of desire provoked by the urge to sink to your knees and fill it with your body, to ease tension from those shoulders with your hands, your mouth, your cunt — if he’d let you.

“You heading home?” Nursing the fresh drink, he swallows a mouthful, only to hiss low through his teeth at the chemical burn. His throat bobs, framed by the open collar of his shirt. “Whew! Goddamn, that’s strong.”

“No, I can stay for a while.” A bird on a wire, you perch on the cushion beside him. “Got nothing else planned for tonight, anyhow.”

Cooper snorts. “I doubt that very much. A sweet young thing like you,” he motions towards you with his glass, “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of fellas calling, especially on a Friday night. Don’t waste your time with me.”

“That’s not why I--” you stop yourself short.

Save for the bustling LA avenue right outside the complex, the apartment itself is stone silent for several heartbeats. Words hover on the back of your tongue, catching in the bend of your throat molasses thick.

Meanwhile, Cooper continues to swirl the alcohol in his glass.

Maybe in a different life, you wouldn’t hesitate to express yourself.

But here — with him — you shouldn’t.

Christ sake, he’s a grieving divorcé, you chastise yourself. The last thing he needs is me trying to lay one on him.

When you speak, his name glides off your lips for the first time, clementine sweet, “... Cooper, I’m not wasting my time. I enjoy spending it with Janey - and you.”

“Well,” he husks, hooded eyes dragging down your visage in a slow once-over, “you’re the first one in a long while to feel that way, sweetheart.”

Dripping like honey whiskey from Cooper’s lips, the simple phrase burns its way down-down-down until it blooms like liquid fire in your belly. Warms you all the way to your toes as your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“I mean it.” Your knuckles twist in the pleats of your sundress, bolts of blue fabric bunched around your knees. “Everything I do is because I want to.”

The flash of red nails plucking at the sheer nylon of your stockings snaps up his attention, his gaze snagging - staying as he chases the curve of your exposed leg, hungry.

He wets his lips, and tenses his jaw when he spots how the soft fat of your thigh dimples in because of your garter. “That’s awful sweet of you to say.”

You tremble beneath the intensity of his attention.

Greedy.

Little kisses of awareness spark bright along the path his eyes carve like the caress of shy fingertips.

However, before you’re able to confront him about his interest, the heat leaches from his expression, grows mute and cold like a muzzled dog.

Readjusting the waistband of his slacks with a tug, he says, “I know you got better things to do than keep an old man company.”

Irritation sparks. “Cooper--”

“If this is about paying you for tonight,” his lips quirk into a sheepish smile, “I won’t be able to yet.” He scrubs a hand through the stubble peppered along his jaw. “The gig tonight didn’t… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, that’s not what I --”

He plows on, “Anyway, the one I’ve got tomorrow should be enough. How about I stop by around seven o’clock? I’ll treat you to dinner as an apology.”

Frustration bubbles beneath the surface of your skin, antagonism thrumming through your veins. Your hands shake almost as much as your voice. “Cooper!”

“I… uh, yes?” He blinks.

Your brows furrow. “You don’t get it,” you say. “I mean, you truly don’t know?”

“I’m afraid there’s a lot I don’t get. You’re gonna have to be more particular.”

Maybe not said in so many words (or at all) but actions speak far louder.

Otherwise, why else would you spend most of your time in his apartment, fill every spare moment with Janey, and reserve evenings for his company?

Hell, you even cook and clean!

Almost scream your interest from the rooftops, and it’s obvious to everyone but him, it seems.

Here you are thinking he was preserving your dignity whenever he ignored a passing comment or lingering touch when, in fact, he’d been oblivious to their existence to begin with.

How a man can be so obtuse when you’re throwing yourself at him is beyond you.

If he wasn’t so captivating…

“Are you kidding me,” you ask, mindful of your tone, “how could you not know?” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been — for months!”

“Well, I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he snarks, setting his glass on the table. “Care to enlighten me?”

Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, let’s play.

When he moves to take another drag from his cigarette, you strike, fingers locking around his wrist mid-lift. And although his glassy eyes narrow, he keeps his hand still.

Waiting to see what you'll do.

Tucking your knee under you for balance, you bend forward and watch his face from beneath your lashes. When your lips wrap around the filter, a dark hunger bleeds into his expression, his pulse a steady thud against the pad of your thumb.

Inhaling, the cherry lights up, a flashbang in the dim overhead light.

Cooper’s breath hitches, and then you’re pulling away with a lungful of smoke; the taste of ash heavy on your tongue.

He tracks your movements with greed, gaze flicking for the briefest of moments past your chin before refocusing on the ring of red lipstick staining white paper.

“If you wanted one,” he chokes, gripping the back of the couch with white knuckles, “all you had to do was ask.”

With a coquettish grin, you exhale to the side and stare at him with hooded eyes. “Is that so?” Plucking the cigarette out of his limp hold, you stub it out in the ashtray. “What if I wanted to ask for something else, Mr. Howard?”

The next moment finds you deposited in his lap, his hands shooting out to grab at your waist only to freeze before they make contact.

“Woah! I--”

“Tell me something.”

Your lips caress the shell of his ear, sharing breath - sharing space as you plaster yourself to his front, arms looped over his shoulders. He jolts, body trembling with restraint.

“Would you give me what I wanted if I said please?”

The distance between you snaps taut with anticipation. “C-Coop,” he stutters. “Call me Coop.”

You hum. “Well, Coop, would you?”

“That depends almost entirely on what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”

Red nails skate along the back of his neck, play in the downy soft hair of his nape just to feel him shiver. And then you’re leaning back with your hands braced on his knees, your legs falling open in invitation.

The hem of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the soft cotton of your underwear, and the darkened patch of slick soaking through.

“I think you know exactly what I want,” you purr. “Because you want it too. Don’t you?”

He bites down on a strangled moan when your hips arch forward, rocking the soft plush of your ass against the heavy weight of his thickening cock. The zipper digs into your skin as he tents the front of his slacks.

Mouth dropping open, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips - a slick circle of temptation that makes you clench. “I, uh, I don’t…”

Reaching between your splayed thighs, you hook a finger beneath your panties and pull the fabric aside. He jerks forward, exhaling hard at the flash of your soaked cunt and twitching clit.

“C’mon, be honest.”

With a sigh, you gather your arousal on the tips of your fingers.

Cooper’s gaze is a heavy weight pinning you in place as you pretend it’s him dragging his knuckles over the top of your mond. Him dragging calloused fingers up along sticky folds to play with your sensitive clit, ripping soft little mewls from your lips.

“Can’t you see what you do to me, Coop?” you say, pulling your hand away to show the webs of slick stretching between your fingers. “I’m so wet. Please, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

His hips rock against your ass in an aborted thrust. “Shit - shit!” Eyes slamming shut, he grits his teeth and digs his fingers into your sides hard enough to bruise. “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”

“Why not?” Your hand brushes over his groin. “I can feel how hard you are.”

“It isn’t right, that’s why.” He stutters, stumbles over his words, “Besides, Janey…”

“I can be quiet,” you say, lips trembling. “I promise.”

“Goddamnit, you can’t say things like that and expect me not to --” Cutting himself off, strong fingers seize your chin and tilt until you’re met with Cooper’s severe expression, his scorching gaze. “You need to tell me now: are you sure this is what you want?”

There’s no hesitation, “Yes.”

In what world would you refuse?

The words barely pass your lips before Cooper’s bowing his dark head, mouth ravenous as it captures yours in a slick glide of bruising lips and hungry tongues.

He steals your breath, licks into your mouth and traces along the sensitive inside of your lip.

Pulse jump starting, your toes curl over the edge of the cushion and your thighs squeeze the barrel of his chest, kneecaps digging into his ribs.

“Oh,” a moan punches itself out of your throat - a breathy little thing swallowed up by his lips. “That’s--”

Anticipation swells, simmers between you like a band before it snaps. A strong forearm locks around your waist, tugging you into the cradle of his chest until you’re plastered from stem to stern.

Too hungry for tenderness as his free hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers catching in the briar of your hair and tugging at the roots.

You claw at his shoulders while sparks of pain ricochet down your neck, sufficing into a prickly flush that heats your blood. “Hnn, Cooper,” you gasp.

He murmurs your name through languid flicks of his tongue and sharp little nips of skin that leave your mouth tender and swollen. When he pulls away to survey his handiwork, his eyes are dark. Fathomless.

"I never thought I'd get the chance to kiss you like this," he says, wicking his thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip. "You taste as good as I imagined."

Dragging your nails across his scalp, you plead, “No more teasing - I can't take it.”

"Well," he grunts, fingers twisting up in your dress, “If that’s how you feel, then you better put those hips to good use and work for it, sweetheart."

part 2 dropping soon

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard smut #cooper howard #the ghoul #the ghoul smut

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novaursa · 2 months ago

Text

The Cold Embrace (2/2)

Requests are closed!

- Summary: As time passes, snow begins to melt.

- Paring: velayrion!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: @missisjoker So, here is the second and last part straight from the oven that was being baked all night. I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you guys like this conclusion of this two part story.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 8 000+

- Previous part: 1/2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess @jellybeanstacey0519 @strengthandstay @anne-mary-1d @lovelyteenagebeard

The crisp chill of autumn clung to the air, painting the landscape of Winterfell in muted shades of orange and gold. The sun had dipped lower in the sky, and the days had grown shorter, yet despite the changing season, little had thawed between you and Cregan Stark. The cold inside the walls of Winterfell seemed to mirror the tension that still lingered between the two of you, each day marked by stilted conversations and, more often than not, sharp exchanges.

Today was no different.

"You speak of duty as if it’s something noble," you spat, your voice tight as you stood across from Cregan in the courtyard, your cloak billowing in the wind. "But this—this life you’ve trapped me in—it’s a cage. You call it honor, but what is honorable about ripping me away from my family?"

Cregan, his expression as hard as the stone walls surrounding you, stood tall, arms crossed over his chest. The northern winds blew through the yard, stirring his dark hair as he met your gaze with his own unflinching one. "A cage? Is that what you see this as? I have given you more freedom than many would expect from a lord. You come and go as you please, and I have not demanded anything of you that you have not been ready to give."

"You think freedom means letting me roam these cold, barren lands?" you shot back, your voice rising. "I am a dragon, Cregan, not some northern wolf content with howling at the moon. I am bound to the skies, to fire and wind, and every moment I am here, I wither. You cannot understand that."

His jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with frustration. "I have done everything to make this a home for you," he said, his tone dangerously low. "But it’s clear that nothing will ever satisfy you. You’re too busy yearning for something you’ve lost to see what is right in front of you."

You scoffed, turning away from him, your steps hurried as you walked toward the godswood, needing space, needing air. "There is nothing here for me but snow and silence," you muttered, though you knew he heard you.

Cregan watched you go, his heart heavy as the weight of your words settled in. He stood there for a long moment, the wind tugging at his cloak, his expression unreadable. Inside, however, there was a storm brewing—a storm of disappointment, frustration, and something else, something deeper that he had been trying to deny for months.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he turned and made his way back into the keep, his mind racing with thoughts he could no longer ignore.

In the warmth of the solar, the fire crackled in the hearth, its light casting flickering shadows across the room. Grand Maester Kennet sat across from Cregan, his wise old eyes studying the lord with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"You’ve been quieter than usual, my lord," Kennet said, folding his hands in his lap. "Something weighs heavily on you."

Cregan leaned back in his chair, staring into the flames. He had kept his feelings bottled up for so long, unwilling to admit to anyone, let alone himself, how much this situation had affected him. But now, with the distance between him and you growing each day, the burden felt too great to carry alone.

"She doesn’t want to be here," Cregan said quietly, his voice rough with an emotion he rarely let show. "No matter what I do, no matter how much I try to make this place a home for her, she only sees Winterfell as a prison. She longs for Dragonstone. For her family."

Kennet nodded thoughtfully, his expression sympathetic. "It is not uncommon for one to yearn for the place of their birth, especially when it’s been taken from them. The Princess... she is like her mother, strong-willed and fierce. The North is a different world for someone raised among dragons and fire."

Cregan exhaled slowly, leaning forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed a hand over his face. "I know that. I’ve known it since the day she arrived. But... there’s more. It’s not just that she can’t find a place here." He paused, his voice dropping, as if the words themselves were difficult to admit. "I care for her, Kennet. More than I thought I ever would. When Jacaerys first came to me, he spoke of her with such passion and admiration. He told me stories of her strength, her spirit, how she was a woman who could stand beside any man, even one like me. And I believed him. I admired her before I even met her."

The Maester listened in silence, his brow furrowed in thought as Cregan continued.

"And when she arrived," Cregan went on, his gaze distant, "I saw it. Everything Jacaerys said was true. She’s fierce, and proud, and... gods, she’s beautiful in her own way. But she looks at me like I’m the reason for all her misery, like I’ve taken something from her that she can never get back. She’ll never see me as anything but the man who keeps her from the life she wants."

Kennet sighed softly, shaking his head. "Love is a complicated thing, my lord. You cannot force it, nor can you expect it to bloom in a place of resentment. The Princess... she is grieving the life she left behind. She may yet come to see what you offer, but it will take time."

Cregan’s eyes flickered with doubt as he looked at the older man. "Time may be something we don’t have. The war brews in the South, and her family is at the heart of it. She feels trapped here while her brothers and mother fight for the throne. I’ve heard her speak of it—how the North is no place for dragons, how she feels as though she’s losing herself in the cold."

The Maester tilted his head, considering Cregan’s words carefully. "It is true that the North is no easy place for a soul like hers. But perhaps... perhaps if you can show her that she can still be who she is, even here, she might come to find her place."

Cregan stood from his seat, pacing the room, the weight of his frustration palpable. "How can I show her that when she refuses to let me in? Every time we speak, it turns into an argument. She doesn’t trust me. She doesn’t want to be here, and she certainly doesn’t want to be with me."

Kennet rose slowly, his hands resting on the table as he regarded Cregan with a calm, steady gaze. "Then you must be patient, my lord. If you truly care for the Princess, you will have to endure her fire, much like one endures the harshest winters. But winters pass, and even in the North, the snow melts. Perhaps in time, her heart will soften."

Cregan sighed deeply, staring into the fire once more. He wished it were as simple as waiting for the snow to melt, but as the days passed, he feared the rift between him and you was growing too wide to ever close.

He wanted you to see him, truly see him, not as the man who kept you here but as someone who could stand beside you, strong enough to weather the storm of your spirit. But until then, all he could do was wait.

And hope.

The halls of Winterfell buzzed with an unusual energy, a hive of activity that Cregan hadn’t expected so soon after the summer's end. The brisk wind of autumn howled through the open courtyards, and yet the chill in the air was not the only sign that winter was approaching. Men and women rushed through the keep, arms filled with supplies, voices rising in quick, urgent conversation.

Cregan furrowed his brow as he observed the flurry of work. His bannermen and servants seemed to be following orders, yet none had come directly from him. His curiosity piqued, he caught sight of one of his men, Ser Roland, directing a group of stable hands with a sense of urgency. Cregan made his way over, his long strides carrying him across the courtyard.

"Ser Roland," he called out, his deep voice cutting through the noise. "What’s all this about? I don’t recall ordering preparations for winter just yet."

Ser Roland turned quickly, bowing his head in respect before answering. "Lord Stark, it’s not your orders we’re following. The Princess has taken it upon herself to make sure Winterfell is ready for the long winter ahead. She’s been directing the stores, making changes to the rations, and ensuring that all livestock are accounted for."

Cregan’s brow lifted in surprise. "The Princess? I wasn’t aware she had taken an interest in such matters."

Ser Roland nodded, his expression a mixture of admiration and confusion. "Aye, my lord. She’s had us reorganize the grain stores and instructed that additional salt be used to preserve meats in case the winter lasts longer than expected. She also had some of the women gather herbs and berries for medicinal stocks—said it’s something her mother did on Dragonstone. Even ordered new tunnels to be dug beneath the walls, should the snow block access to certain parts of the keep. It’s... impressive."

Cregan was silent for a moment, taken aback by the level of thought and strategy that had gone into the preparations. The Princess, who had made it clear she despised this place, was ensuring it would withstand winter’s cruelty. And yet, she hadn’t spoken a word of it to him. His initial surprise gave way to a grudging respect.

"And where is she now?" Cregan asked, his tone more curious than demanding.

Roland hesitated before answering. "The Princess took to the skies a short while ago, my lord. She went flying on Silverwing."

"Flying," Cregan repeated, his brow furrowing. It wasn’t unusual for you to seek solace in the skies, but the flicker of worry began to creep in. "And who accompanied her?"

Roland shifted, his expression turning sheepish. "Your son, my lord. Young Rickon went with her."

Cregan stiffened, his heart quickening at the thought of Rickon riding atop Silverwing. His instinct was to feel alarmed—to think of all the things that could go wrong with a boy so young riding a dragon, even one as gentle as Silverwing. For a moment, the image of his son, small and fragile, atop such a powerful beast made him want to storm out and demand answers.

But then he stopped himself. Rickon was not some fragile boy. He was his son, a Stark, raised to face the wild north and the dangers that came with it. And more than that, Silverwing was under your command, a dragon bound to your will. His mind raced with the desire to scold you for being reckless, but something held him back. Rickon had begged for a chance to fly, ever since he had seen the dragons for the first time.

"Thank you, Roland," Cregan said curtly, turning away from the bustling activity of the courtyard and heading toward the godswood where he knew you often landed with Silverwing.

The cold air bit at Cregan's face as he walked through the open fields behind Winterfell. The godswood stood tall and silent in the distance, but it was the open expanse of land beyond it that caught his attention. There, just returning from the skies, was Silverwing. Her massive form settled gracefully on the ground, her wings folding in with practiced ease as you and Rickon dismounted.

He could see Rickon from afar, his small figure bounding toward the keep, his face lit up with sheer joy. As Cregan approached, he heard his son before he saw him up close.

"Father!" Rickon shouted, running full speed toward Cregan, his excitement bubbling over. "I flew, Father! I flew on Silverwing! She let me ride with her, and we soared above the trees! You should’ve seen it!"

The boy’s face was flushed with exhilaration, his cheeks red from the cold wind, and his eyes sparkled with uncontainable glee. He practically bounced in front of Cregan, his enthusiasm infectious.

Cregan knelt down, placing a hand on Rickon’s shoulder. "Did you now?" he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. "And you weren’t afraid?"

Rickon shook his head vigorously. "No! The Princess told me not to worry. She said Silverwing wouldn’t let anything happen to me." His voice dropped to a near-whisper, eyes wide with awe. "And she didn’t. I felt like I was part of the sky. Can I go again, Father? Please?"

Cregan looked down at his son, his heart swelling with pride at the boy’s bravery. The initial urge to reprimand you, to accuse you of putting his son at risk, faded as he saw the pure joy on Rickon’s face. How could he take that away from him?

He stood up, his eyes drifting toward you. You were brushing snow from your cloak, your gaze turned elsewhere, as if trying to pretend you hadn’t noticed him approaching. But you had noticed. You always did.

For a moment, Cregan was silent, the tension between the two of you palpable. He could have said something. Could have warned you against taking such risks with his son. But instead, he let out a quiet sigh, looking back down at Rickon.

"You can go again," he said softly, ruffling the boy’s hair. "But only when the Princess says it's safe."

Rickon beamed and immediately ran off toward the keep, his excitement carrying him as fast as his legs could take him. Cregan watched him go, then turned his gaze back to you. You still hadn’t spoken, but your eyes met his, guarded as always.

"I should scold you," he said, his tone measured. "You had no right to take Rickon flying without asking me first."

You straightened, your chin lifting slightly. "He wanted to go. And Silverwing wouldn’t have harmed him."

Cregan nodded, but his expression remained serious. "I know. But he’s still my son. And as much as he may adore dragons, I need to know he’s safe."

The tension hung between you for a moment longer, but Cregan couldn’t help the way his heart softened slightly. Despite everything—despite the constant bickering, the distance between you—he could see that while you might not want this marriage, you cared for Rickon. The way you had taken him flying, giving him the one thing that had brought him so much joy, didn’t go unnoticed.

"Perhaps," Cregan added quietly, his tone softer now, "you don’t want me. But you will be a good mother to Rickon. I can see that."

For a moment, you didn’t respond, your expression unreadable. Then you gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "I’ll keep him safe," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Cregan watched you for a long moment before turning and heading back toward Winterfell. The coldness between you two remained, but now there was a small crack in the icy wall that had stood between you since the moment you arrived.

The cold air was sharper here, beyond the walls of Winterfell, biting deep into Cregan’s skin as he led his men through the thick snow-covered wilderness. The northern winds howled, carrying with them the scent of pine and frost, mingled with something far more sinister—the smell of smoke from a Wildling camp. They had been tracking the Wildlings for days now, ever since word came that a raiding party had crossed the Wall, attacking isolated settlements and stealing what little food and supplies they could find before winter’s full grip took hold.

Cregan’s blood thrummed with the familiar tension that came before battle. His breath formed clouds in the cold air, his grip firm on the hilt of his sword as he and his men closed in. They could see the crude campfires in the distance, flickering like beacons in the darkening forest.

"Stay low," Cregan whispered to his men, his voice barely audible above the wind. The Stark bannermen, seasoned and loyal, followed his command without hesitation. They fanned out in a loose line, their cloaks blending into the snowy landscape.

The Wildlings had set up in a small clearing, their crude weapons and fur-lined tents marking them as a desperate group. There were perhaps a dozen of them—armed with spears, axes, and the occasional rusty sword—but they were not to be underestimated. Wildlings were fierce, survivalists hardened by the lands beyond the Wall. This fight would be bloody.

Cregan motioned to his men, and in unison, they surged forward, the snow muffling their approach until they were nearly upon the camp.

The first clash came fast and violent.

Cregan’s sword met the steel of a Wildling’s axe, the sharp clang of metal ringing out into the frigid night. The raiders shouted in surprise, their camp erupting into chaos as the Stark men descended upon them. The Wildlings fought back viciously, their crude weapons swinging wildly, aiming for any vulnerable flesh they could find.

Cregan swung his blade with precision, cleaving through a Wildling’s chest, blood spraying across the snow like ink on parchment. He turned just in time to parry another blow, gritting his teeth as the impact jarred his arm. Around him, the sounds of battle raged—shouts, screams, the wet thud of bodies falling into the snow.

But then, something sharp and hot bit into his side.

Cregan gasped, stumbling back as a Wildling spear pierced his flesh just below his ribs. The pain was immediate and blinding, spreading like fire through his body. His grip faltered on his sword for a moment, but he didn’t let go. With a roar, he swung his blade in a brutal arc, slicing through the man who had struck him. The Wildling crumpled to the ground, but Cregan was already weakening, his vision blurring at the edges.

The fight continued around him, his men cutting down the remaining Wildlings, but every movement Cregan made sent waves of pain crashing through him. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay upright, even as the blood began to seep through his furs, staining the snow beneath his feet a dark crimson.

At last, the battle was over. The Wildlings lay dead, their bodies scattered across the snow like broken dolls. Cregan’s men stood victorious, though bruised and bloodied themselves.

One of his men, Ser Vayon, rushed over to him, his face pale with worry as he saw the blood. "My lord! You’re wounded."

Cregan waved him off, trying to mask the severity of his injury. "I’ll live," he growled, though his voice was weaker than he intended. "But I can’t make it back as fast as the rest of you. Take the others and ride ahead. Get help."

Ser Vayon hesitated, his eyes darting between Cregan and the rest of the men. "We can carry you—"

"No," Cregan interrupted, his tone firm despite the pain. "I’ll slow you down. If you ride ahead, you’ll reach Winterfell faster. I’ll follow behind." His vision blurred for a moment, and he had to steady himself against a nearby tree. "Go. That’s an order."

Reluctantly, Ser Vayon nodded, glancing back at the other men. "As you command, my lord."

With that, they mounted their horses, casting one last worried glance at him before spurring their mounts and riding off through the snow. Cregan watched them go, the sound of hooves fading into the distance, leaving him alone in the quiet, snow-covered forest.

He took a few shaky steps, but each movement sent a fresh wave of agony through his body. His hand clutched his side where the blood still flowed, staining the white snow beneath his boots. The world around him tilted, and he fell to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He tried to rise, but his strength was failing, his body too weak to carry him any further.

Just as his vision began to swim, he heard a sound—a distant, high-pitched screech that cut through the silence like a knife.

Cregan blinked, his vision blurring as something massive appeared in the sky above him. He squinted through the haze of pain, trying to focus, and then he saw it—Silverwing, her silver-scaled body descending from the clouds like a gleaming specter. The dragon landed with a soft thud, her wings folding as she approached him, her eyes gleaming in the dim light.

Cregan cursed under his breath, trying to wave her off with a weak motion of his hand. "Go on, beast," he muttered, his voice slurred with exhaustion. "I’m not your rider."

But Silverwing ignored him, her massive head lowering as she nudged him gently with her nose. The touch was surprisingly gentle for such a fearsome creature, as if the dragon knew he was on the brink of collapse. She nudged him again, more insistently this time, her warm breath washing over him as if urging him to stand.

Cregan tried to push her away, but his strength was gone. "Damn dragon," he rasped, his body trembling from blood loss. "Leave me."

Silverwing let out a low rumble, her large eyes narrowing as if in disapproval. She nudged him one last time, and when he still didn’t move, she took matters into her own talons. With surprising care, Silverwing wrapped her claws around his body, lifting him effortlessly from the snow.

Cregan groaned, the world spinning around him as Silverwing took flight, the sensation of being carried through the sky both terrifying and surreal. His body was limp in her talons, the wind whipping through his hair as they soared above the treetops, Winterfell a distant shadow on the horizon.

His eyelids grew heavy, the pain in his side fading as numbness took over. The world below him grew smaller, the sky a dark blur above.

As Silverwing’s wings beat rhythmically, the wind howling in his ears, Cregan's consciousness began to slip away, the edges of his vision turning black.

The last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him was Winterfell’s walls in the distance, growing closer with every beat of Silverwing’s wings. Then, nothing.

Cregan Stark knew no more.

The courtyard of Winterfell was a storm of chaos as you pushed through the throngs of servants and guards, your heart racing, breath short. The cold northern wind stung your face, but you barely felt it. All you could focus on was the sight ahead—Silverwing, her massive silver form crouched low on the snow, her head lowered protectively over a motionless figure sprawled at her feet. You shoved past a startled servant, your voice rising above the din of panic.

"Move aside!" you barked, pushing through the crowd until you finally reached the clearing where Cregan lay, blood staining the snow beneath him, his face pale and ashen.

Silverwing rumbled softly as you approached, her enormous eyes watching you, but she made no move to stop you. Her wings shifted, creating a barrier between the man she had carried home and the gathering onlookers.

Your heart leapt into your throat. The sight of Cregan—your husband, though it had never felt real until this moment—bleeding and unconscious before his own keep sent a surge of fear through you that you hadn’t expected.

"Where is Rickon?" you demanded, whirling around to one of the women standing near the edge of the scene. Rickon’s nanny stepped forward, worry etched on her face.

"He was playing with the other children when we heard the commotion," she said nervously, glancing toward Silverwing. "Should I—?"

"Find him," you interrupted quickly, your voice firmer than it had been in weeks. "Keep him away from here. I don’t want him seeing his father like this."

The woman nodded, clearly relieved to have something to do, and hurried off into the crowd. You turned back toward Cregan just as Maester Kennet knelt beside him, his hands moving with the steady calm of a man who had seen too many battle injuries in his lifetime. His fingers probed at the wound beneath Cregan’s furs, his face grim.

"Will he live?" you asked, unable to keep the edge of desperation from creeping into your voice.

Kennet didn’t look up, his attention still fixed on the blood-soaked gash. "The wound is deep, but he’s strong. If we can stop the bleeding and keep the fever from setting in, he has a chance. But we need to get him inside—now."

Already, several of Cregan’s men were lifting him carefully onto a makeshift stretcher, their faces pale with worry. You followed as they carried him toward the castle, your feet moving without thought. The icy wind cut through your cloak, but you ignored it. The only thing you could focus on was the sight of Cregan’s lifeless form being carried through the halls of Winterfell, his breathing shallow and labored.

As they reached his chambers, the men gently placed him on the large bed, stepping back to allow Maester Kennet to work. You hovered just beyond the bedside, your hands clenched into tight fists at your sides, helplessness gnawing at you. Despite everything—despite the constant arguments, the coldness between you—you couldn’t bear the thought of losing him like this. The stark realization struck you hard, knocking the wind from your lungs.

You didn’t want him to die.

For what felt like hours, Kennet worked over Cregan’s body, stitching the wound with deft hands and applying herbs to stave off infection. You stood nearby, your eyes never leaving Cregan’s pale face. He was so still, too still. The sight of him like this made the cold inside Winterfell seem even more unbearable.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Kennet finished his work. The room was filled with the scent of medicinal salves and the sharp tang of blood. The old Maester wiped his hands on a cloth and turned to you, exhaustion etched in every line of his face.

"I’ve done all I can for now," he said quietly. "He will need time to heal, but whether he wakes or not depends on his own strength."

You nodded mutely, your throat tight with unspoken fear. "Thank you, Maester," you managed to whisper. Kennet gave a small nod, then gathered his supplies and left the room, leaving you alone with Cregan.

For a long time, you stood there, staring at the man who had become your husband, the man you had fought with, resented, and yet now feared to lose. His breathing was shallow, but steady, the rise and fall of his chest a small reassurance in the overwhelming uncertainty that hung over the room.

Without thinking, you moved closer to the bed, sinking into the chair beside him. Your hand reached out almost instinctively, and before you could stop yourself, your fingers closed around his. His hand was rough and calloused, larger than yours, but in this moment, it felt fragile.

"You stubborn, foolish man," you whispered, your voice breaking as you held onto him. "You always have to be the hero, don’t you?"

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them away, unwilling to give in to the fear gnawing at your insides. Instead, you lowered your head, closing your eyes as you prayed softly in Valyrian, the words flowing from your lips in a desperate plea to the gods of your ancestors.

"Grant him strength," you whispered, tightening your grip on his hand. "Give him the will to fight, to wake up."

The room was silent save for the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the warmth of the flames doing little to thaw the cold dread that had settled in your chest. You stayed by his bedside, refusing to leave, your heart pounding with every passing second.

Despite everything, you weren’t ready to let him go. Not yet.

And so, you stayed, waiting, praying, and hoping that Cregan Stark—your husband—would find his way back to you.

Cregan awoke slowly, his mind swimming through the thick fog of pain and disorientation. The world around him was hazy, the room spinning as he tried to make sense of where he was. His body felt heavy, weighed down by a deep, aching fatigue that seemed to seep into his very bones. He blinked, his vision clearing little by little, and as the soft flicker of firelight came into focus, he realized he was back in his chambers, the familiar scent of burning wood and herbs filling the air.

It was then that he noticed her.

You sat beside his bed, your arms crossed, your expression a mixture of concern and irritation. The furrow in your brow deepened as you noticed him stirring, your lips pressed into a thin line that barely masked the relief you must have felt. Despite the heaviness in his limbs and the sharp pain that shot through his side with every breath, Cregan couldn’t help but find it almost... amusing. There you were, the Dragon Princess, always so fierce and untamable, looking as though you were about to scold him, even now.

"You're awake," you said sharply, though there was a tremor of emotion beneath your voice that gave you away.

Cregan tried to sit up, wincing as the pain lanced through his side, but before he could make much progress, you were leaning forward, pushing him back down with a firm hand on his chest.

"Don’t even think about it," you warned, your tone brooking no argument. "Maester Kennet said you shouldn’t move. Not unless you want to tear your stitches and end up back in this bed for even longer."

He lay back with a grunt, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the discomfort. "Well, I wouldn’t want to upset the Maester," he muttered, his voice gravelly from disuse.

You gave him a look that would have wilted lesser men. "You almost died out there, Cregan."

The smirk faded from his face as he looked at you more closely. There was something in your eyes—something raw and unguarded. The irritation, the frustration—it was all there, but beneath it, there was a depth of feeling that surprised him. You were angry, yes, but not just at him. You were angry because you had been scared. Scared of losing him.

The realization hit him like a punch to the chest, and for the first time in years, he felt something stir inside him. It was warmth, not from the fire in the hearth, but from the way you were looking at him—fierce and tender all at once. It had been a long time since anyone had cared for him in that way, and now, seeing it in you—the woman who had resisted him, who had fought him every step of the way—brought a strange sense of peace to his heart.

"You care," he said softly, more to himself than to you.

You scoffed, crossing your arms tighter as you sat back in the chair. "Of course I care. You’re my husband, for better or worse." Your tone was sharp, but the emotion in your eyes betrayed you.

Cregan couldn’t help but chuckle, even though it sent a sharp pain through his side. "I didn’t think you’d admit that so easily."

You glared at him, though the fire in your eyes wasn’t the same angry blaze he was used to. It was different now—softer, though no less fierce. "Don’t flatter yourself," you shot back. "I’m only here because Rickon can’t see you like this. He’d worry too much."

Cregan’s lips twitched into a faint smile. "So, you’re saying you’re here for Rickon, not for me?"

You opened your mouth to retort, but then you stopped, your eyes flicking away for a brief moment before returning to his. "I’m here for both of you," you admitted quietly, your voice losing some of its edge. "You were reckless, Cregan. Going after those Wildlings in your condition was foolish. What were you thinking?"

He sighed, his hand moving slightly to rest against his bandaged side. "I was thinking I needed to protect the North. To protect my people."

"At the cost of your life?" you shot back, incredulous. "Your people need you alive, not bleeding out in the snow."

There was a pause, and then Cregan gave a small nod, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that surprised you. "You’re right," he said, his voice low and steady. "I was reckless. But it’s what I’ve always done. I’ve always put others first. The North, Winterfell, my family... I didn’t think anyone would care if something happened to me."

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the weight of unspoken things. You stared at him for a long moment, your expression softening, and for the first time, Cregan saw something shift in you. The walls you had built between you—the ice that had kept you at a distance—continues to crack, again a little more than before.

"I would care," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I may not have wanted this marriage, but I don’t want you dead."

The warmth in his chest grew, spreading through him like a fire kindling to life after a long, cold winter. He had known you were strong, had admired your spirit from the moment Jacaerys spoke of you. But now, seeing you like this—caring, vulnerable in your own way—it was more than he could have ever expected.

"I never thought you’d stay by my side like this," he said, his voice soft, his dark eyes searching your face. "But you did."

You looked away for a moment, your fingers tightening in your lap. "I stayed because I couldn’t leave you like that. No one deserves to be alone when they’re hurt, not even you."

He chuckled softly, wincing at the pain it caused. "You have a strange way of showing concern, Princess."

Your lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though it was laced with exasperation. "You’re insufferable, you know that?"

"I’ve been told," he muttered, still smiling despite himself.

The tension between you seemed to ease then, the space between you no longer as cold and vast as it once had been. Cregan felt it—the change, subtle but undeniable. And though he knew things wouldn’t be easy, though you would likely bicker again and clash as fiercely as you had before, there was something different now.

For the first time in a long while, Cregan Stark felt something stir inside him—a warmth, a sense of hope. He didn’t know what the future would bring, but for now, he was content with the knowledge that you were here, by his side, and that perhaps, just perhaps, you cared for him more than either of you had realized.

And that was enough.

The godswood was bathed in the soft light of the late afternoon sun, the ancient red leaves of the weirwood tree rustling in the cool breeze. Cregan walked beside you, his stride steady now, fully recovered from his near-fatal wounds. It had been months since that day when Silverwing had saved him from death's grip, and in that time, the distance between you and Cregan had shifted. You still bickered, your sharp words clashing like swords, but there was something different now. Beneath the teasing, the arguments, there was a warmth that neither of you could deny.

"I still think you're insufferably stubborn," you muttered, your arms crossed as you walked along the path beside him. "Charging into battle like a fool—next time, I won’t be sitting by your bedside."

Cregan chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made your irritation flare even hotter. "Ah, but you did sit by my bedside," he said, a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. "And I seem to recall you staying there for quite some time. Worrying about me, even."

You shot him a sharp glare, though it lacked the real venom it once held. "You should be thanking the gods you survived, not teasing me for caring whether you lived or died."

"I do thank the gods," he replied, his voice quieter now, more serious. "But I also thank you. You stayed with me, Y/N. I haven’t forgotten that."

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard, and for a moment, you felt the familiar defenses you had built around yourself begin to crumble. You glanced away, your gaze falling on the gnarled roots of the weirwood tree, trying to ignore the way his words made your heart flutter.

"You’re still a fool," you mumbled, though the edge had left your voice.

Cregan stopped walking, and you felt him gently take your hand, pulling you to a halt. You turned to face him, and in the quiet of the godswood, with only the wind rustling through the leaves, you found yourself caught in his gaze—those deep, grey eyes filled with something you hadn’t allowed yourself to see before. There was no frustration, no anger—only warmth, only want.

"And you’re still the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met," he said softly, stepping closer. His hand reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face, the touch so gentle it sent a shiver down your spine despite the cold air. "But I wouldn’t want you any other way."

You opened your mouth to retort, to say something biting, but the words never came. Instead, you found yourself closing the distance between you, your breath catching as his hand cupped the side of your face. His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, and the last remnants of the ice between you began to melt.

Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, your lips met his.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as though both of you were testing the waters. But the moment your mouths touched, the fire that had been simmering beneath your bickering flared to life. His hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, and your arms wrapped around his neck, deepening the kiss.

Neither of you spoke; there were no more words left to be said. The cold air around you seemed to disappear, muted by the heat that surged between you. His lips were warm and insistent, his body pressed against yours with a need you hadn’t known you could feel.

Without breaking the kiss, Cregan’s hands moved to the ties of your cloak, loosening them with deft fingers. You tugged at his own furs, pushing them from his shoulders, and soon the cold was biting at your exposed skin, but you didn’t care. And neither did he. The warmth of your body, of your fire, was all that mattered to him now.

Your cloak fell to the ground, forgotten among the roots of the weirwood, and Cregan’s hands were on you, pulling at the fastenings of your gown. You gasped as the cold air hit your bare skin, but his hands were there to chase it away, his touch rough and gentle all at once. You tugged at his tunic, eager to feel his skin beneath your hands, and when he pulled it over his head, you marveled at the strength of him, the way his muscles rippled beneath the scars and callouses of a warrior.

Before long, the two of you were bare to the elements, the cold air forgotten as he lowered you gently to the ground. The soft moss beneath you was cool, but the fire in your veins made it bearable. Cregan’s body hovered over yours, his eyes searching your face for any sign of hesitation.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice husky with desire, but still full of the respect that had always been there beneath your bickering. "I won’t force this, Y/N."

You stared up at him, your heart racing, and for the first time, you felt no resistance. No walls, no barriers. You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. "I’m sure."

With that, he kissed you again, slow and deep, as his body pressed gently against yours. His hands were everywhere—on your waist, your hips, trailing down your thighs, sending sparks of heat through your entire being. When he finally entered you, it was with a slow, deliberate tenderness, his eyes never leaving yours.

The brief flash of pain as he broke your maidenhead made you wince, but he was there, soothing it with soft kisses, his hand tangled in your hair. And then, as the discomfort began to fade, the pleasure took its place, warm and insistent.

You moved against him, your body finding a rhythm as you urged him on with the softest of moans, your hands gripping his shoulders, your legs wrapping around him. His breath came in ragged gasps, his control slipping as he gave in to the fire between you, the primal, unspoken connection that had been building for months.

The cold wind whispered through the trees, but it could not reach you. The warmth of your bodies, entwined beneath the ancient weirwood, was enough to drive it away. Cregan’s movements grew more intense, his lips never straying far from yours, his hands gripping you as though he feared you might vanish.

Your moans mixed with his groans, the air between you thick with the sounds of your love-making, the passion that had been hidden behind walls of ice and words for so long. Every touch, every thrust, brought you closer to a place neither of you had been before, and when the moment came—when your bodies finally reached the peak—you clung to him, your breath ragged, your body trembling with the force of it.

He followed you over the edge moments later, his own release marked by a soft growl that sent shivers down your spine. For a moment, the world seemed to still, the wind quieting, the godswood holding its breath as the two of you lay entwined, the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

Cregan didn’t move, didn’t pull away. Instead, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered your name. You closed your eyes, letting the weight of the moment settle over you, your heart still racing from the intensity of it all.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt truly warm.

The day was crisp and clear, the sky a bright blue canvas that stretched out endlessly above Winterfell. Silverwing, her silver scales shimmering in the afternoon sun, stood in the godswood, shifting her weight restlessly, her wings fluttering with barely-contained excitement. You stood beside her, hands on your hips, grinning as you watched Cregan approach, his expression a mix of wariness and resignation.

"You look like you're marching to your execution," you teased, unable to hide the amusement in your voice. Silverwing gave a low, eager rumble, her eyes fixed on Cregan as though she sensed his hesitation and found it endlessly amusing.

Cregan, on the other hand, didn’t seem to share Silverwing’s enthusiasm—or yours, for that matter. He slowed his approach, eyes narrowing at the massive dragon before him. "I thought I was done with near-death experiences for a while," he muttered, giving you a sideways glance. "But here I am, about to climb on the back of something that could roast me alive."

You chuckled, stepping closer to him and placing a hand on his chest. "Oh, don’t be such a Stark about it. Silverwing wouldn’t dream of harming you—not as long as I’m here." You flashed him a grin, though you could tell from the way his jaw tightened that he wasn’t quite convinced.

"I suppose that’s supposed to reassure me?" he asked, glancing up at Silverwing’s massive head as she tilted it curiously toward him.

"Well, it should," you said, rolling your eyes playfully. "Besides, she likes you. Remember how she likes to nudge you? If a dragon doesn’t like you, trust me, you’ll know."

Cregan swallowed hard, his eyes flicking back to Silverwing’s gleaming teeth. "Comforting."

You laughed, grabbing his hand and tugging him closer to Silverwing, whose tail flicked impatiently behind her. "Come on, brave Lord of Winterfell. It’s not every day you get to ride a dragon. You might even enjoy it."

"I highly doubt that," Cregan grumbled, though he allowed you to lead him closer.

When you reached Silverwing’s side, you placed a hand on her flank, feeling the familiar warmth of her scales beneath your palm. The dragon lowered herself slightly, making it easier for you to mount. You turned to Cregan, your smile widening at the sight of him standing there, arms crossed, clearly trying to mask his discomfort.

"Up you go," you said brightly, giving him a playful shove toward Silverwing’s side. "Ladies first."

He shot you a look that could have frozen the Wall, but with a resigned sigh, he began to clamber up the dragon’s side, his movements careful and deliberate. You followed him, slipping easily into the saddle behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist to keep both of you secure.

"You’re going to want to hold on tight," you whispered into his ear, your voice laced with mischief. "Silverwing can be...enthusiastic."

"Great," Cregan muttered, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the saddle. "Just what I needed to hear."

Silverwing, sensing the shift in your posture, gave an eager roar, her wings unfurling in preparation for takeoff. The wind stirred around you, and you felt Cregan tense beneath your arms, his muscles coiled with nervous energy.

"Here we go!" you called out, laughing as Silverwing leaped into the sky with a powerful beat of her wings.

The ground fell away beneath you in an instant, the cold wind rushing past as Silverwing soared higher and higher. Cregan let out a startled curse, gripping the saddle with both hands as if his life depended on it, while you laughed, the exhilaration of flight filling you with a wild sense of freedom.

"Relax, Cregan!" you shouted over the wind, leaning into him. "You’re not going to fall!"

"I’d rather not test that theory!" he shot back, his voice strained as Silverwing dipped suddenly, her wings cutting through the air with effortless grace.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, leaning your chin on his shoulder as the dragon steadied herself, gliding smoothly over the landscape. "See? It’s not so bad, is it?"

Cregan didn’t respond immediately, though you could feel the tension in his body slowly start to ease as the flight became less of a frantic rush and more of a smooth ride. The wind was cold but invigorating, and beneath you, Silverwing hummed contentedly, clearly enjoying the chance to stretch her wings with both of you on her back.

"Alright," Cregan finally admitted, his voice quieter now, though still laced with reluctance. "Maybe it’s not as terrifying as I thought."

You grinned, tightening your arms around him as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. "See? I told you. You’re a natural dragonrider."

"Let’s not go that far," he muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward in a smile.

For a while, you soared together in silence, the vast expanse of the North stretching out beneath you—white fields, dark forests, and the distant peaks of mountains all bathed in the pale winter light. Cregan relaxed more with each passing moment, his breath steadying, though he still gripped the saddle firmly. You could feel his heart pounding beneath your touch, but it wasn’t the frantic rhythm of fear anymore. It was something else—something closer to excitement.

After a while, you guided Silverwing back toward Winterfell, and as the dragon swooped low over the godswood once more, you couldn’t help but tease him again. "I think you might have even enjoyed that a little."

Cregan shook his head, though there was a faint laugh in his voice. "Enjoyed? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Princess. I’m still deciding if I’ll ever do this again."

You smirked as Silverwing touched down with a graceful thud, her wings folding as she lowered herself to the ground. You dismounted easily, then turned to help Cregan down, though he shot you a look as if to say he didn’t need the help.

"I’ll give you credit for bravery," you said, watching as he finally stood on solid ground again. "You didn’t scream once."

"That’s because I was too busy clinging for dear life," Cregan muttered, though his lips quirked in a smile. "But I’m alive, aren’t I? That’s something."

You laughed, stepping closer and placing a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. "You did well. Maybe you’re more suited for the sky than you thought."

He looked down at you, his expression softening as he rested his hand over yours. "Maybe. But for now, I think I’ll leave the flying to you."

You grinned, leaning up to kiss him softly. "Suit yourself. But you’re always welcome to join me."

Cregan chuckled, pulling you closer. "We’ll see about that. But if Silverwing’s happy, I suppose I’ll consider it."

Silverwing let out a soft, approving rumble behind you, and you couldn’t help but smile. "I think she likes having you around."

"Gods help me," Cregan muttered, though there was warmth in his eyes that told you he didn’t really mind.

And as the two of you stood there, with Silverwing watching over you, the cold air seemed to fade away, replaced by the warmth of your shared laughter and the fire you had ignited between you.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan stark #hotd cregan #cregan x

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nomsfaultau · 7 months ago

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Dark sbi where Tommy accidentally kidnaps Philza, not knowing he’s a crime lord. And he swears it was an accident! He just, you know, panicked. Tommy and Tubbo were just minding their own business slapping graffiti on a building (practicing their art skills, you see) when a cop started screeching at them, apparently not an appreciator of the fine arts. And since Mrs. Innit would KILL him if he got arrested, Tommy panics and takes a hostage, shouting at the cop not to take a step further or he’ll kill the random civilian he’s ducked behind so he can’t get shot.

Meanwhile Philza isn’t entirely paying attention, and realizes there’s suddenly a small child sheltering behind him from a cop. He gives the cop the nastiest look imaginable, which causes them to back off enough that Tommy thinks his plan is working. Once the negotiations start Philza is baffled by who would have the gall to kidnap him, and so poorly at that. Frankly it’s an umbrage to face the work of an amateur.

Well, till the abductor asks his name. “…do you not know who I am.?”

Tommy squints at the guy. His suit looks kinda fancy? Is it better or worse for him if he managed to randomly capture some Wall Street schmuck? “Hell no,” he hisses. “And I don’t care. I’m a dangerous guy alright? You don’t know what I’ll do to you.”

Philza’s laugh causes the cop to advance, wagering the situation isn’t intense. But because Tubbo’s ‘Yes And’ game is a force to be reckoned with, he casually pulls out a nerf gun (painted to look real for a prank on Ranboo) and trains it on the cop. Philza is positively delighted as he realizes just how amateur his abductors are. Oh this will be a riot to watch.

With more bluffing than Tommy knew he had in him, promising the hostage 20 bucks if he pretended to go along with it, the pure manic chaos bleeding from Tubbo’s eyes and ample gun waving, and creative use of spray paint in the eyes of the chasing cops, Tommy and Tubbo somehow manage to book it. For some reason the hostage keeps up with them instead of escaping. Huh. Can you develop Stockholm syndrome that fast? Tommy would ask, but he’s panting from sprinting. And as they live in an unjust world, hostage guy isn’t even breaking a sweat despite the three piece suit.

“You’re not going to get far on foot,” Philza murmurs. As corrupt and useless as the cops are for most things in this city, he doesn’t imagine there’d actually be that much fuss over a random man being kidnapped, but he wonders what they’ll do if spooked a little more. It’s been amusing thus far. The boys bicker, then elect to force him to drive as neither have licenses. They don’t ask him to drive to their homes, instead some secondary location. Smart, albeit Philza will definitely know both addresses within the hour.

While Tommy is busy ‘threatening’ Philza about the consequences of not getting them there, Tubbo just leans over from a bag of chips he’s munching on and offers them to Phil. Tommy rounds on him, less for showing exploitable kindness to the hostage and more for eating the Doritos that were meant to be his. Philza almost chides them for revealing each other’s names, but decides it might just be easier to hand them notes at the end of this. So far they aren’t getting a passing grade in abduction. But he has to admit it’s far more entertaining than the ‘business’ meeting he was planning to attend.

(Techno, meanwhile, hasn’t heard from Philza and is going BALLISTIC trying to figure out who kidnapped him. From the police report Phil just kinda went along with it, and looked terrified after a private exchange with the abductor, which has to mean the threat is ungodly to convince the Angel of Death to submit. Techno’s about to have a panic attack imagining the unthinkable horrors happening to his best friend, and is only holding it off by doing atrocities about it. This is the THIRD secret criminal organization he’s ripped apart in the last two hours and PHILZA ISNT HERE EITHER!?)

Philza has decided he likes his kidnappers. They’re not experienced in the slightest, but they make up for it with bravado, determination, and a certain lack of rationality that is necessary in the line of business Philza is in. Yes. They’ll do nicely if given a little guidance.

It’s half an hour before either of them notice Philza is driving aimlessly and they don’t recognize the city around them at all. “Hm? Next time I don’t recommend you give the hostage control of the vehicle. I could have immediately driven to the police station.”

Tommy frowns, almost more nervous at the implication the obvious blackmail would go unused. “…why didn’t you?”

“There’s no love lost between the cops and I. And even more importantly, you amuse me. I like your…potential.” He grins at the soft click of Tommy covertly trying the handle and finding the car doors locked. “Getting out at this speed is almost always fatal, Tommy.”

Tubbo lifts the muzzle of the fake gun towards him. “Let us go right. now.”

Philza leans over, ruffling Tubbo’s hair. The teen gulps at the glimpse of the holster Philza’s jacket was hiding, sharing a wide eyed look with Tommy. “I’m not exactly scared of foam bullets, mate.” He chuckles lowly at the tension freezing both of them. “Relax. You’ll be home by dinner. After you went through all the effort of kidnapping me to avoid trouble with your parents, I don’t intend to ruin it. I like you two; you have spunk I don’t see often. After all, it takes a lot of guts to kidnap the leader of the Syndicate.”

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effetsecndaires · 4 months ago

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— 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 + 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭, 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧

➺ PAIRING | shinichiro sano x fem!reader

➺ CONTENT WARNING | smut, protected & unprotected sex, original timeline, shin is depressed and needs some love . I can't write good endings to save my life. wc: 1k

➺ NOTE | soft intimate sex with shin :((. I love him so much. not proofread

“Keep ‘em open for me, baby...” His voice is soft against your ear, his thrusts slow and lazy.

Your back is pressed against his chest as you lay on your side, your (his) shirt pushed over your hips. He’s balls deep inside of you, one arm propped under your head to support your neck and keep you close while his free hand hooks around your thigh, helping you keep your leg up.

He's going slow, his warm breath grazing your skin as he nuzzles his nose in your neck, soft, sleepy sigh and whimpers leaving both of your lips. Your brows are furrowed together, eyelids drooping the closer you get to your release.

“Fuck, Shin..” you sigh, the sound somewhere between a moan and a whisper. You’re both tired and too sleepy to communicate much, his name coming out of your mouth in a broken whisper. Every roll of his hips makes you dizzier, your mind emptying completely and vision blurring a little more every time the head of his cock brushes against that one spot. He’s so big, his cock stretching you out so perfectly as it lazily pushes its way back and forth, all you can do is moan and clench around him greedily.

“Really haven’t been takin’ care of you, have I?” he sighs, shifting his face a bit so he can kiss your temple tenderly. “‘Been so long, baby. I’m sorry.” he whispers, and you swear you hear his voice break a little.

You don't blame him one bit, though.

You understood that he needed time and space to heal after having to care for his little brother for so long and then losing him so suddenly — and you've been more than willing to give him that.

You crane your neck to kiss him, sloppy and a little messy, a hand reaching to cup his cheek while you subconsciously raise your leg higher in the process.

“it's okay… you're, hah...taking care of me so well, baby. You always do.” your words come out a little slurred, the feeling of him inside you after so long making it difficult for you to form coherent sentences. “I love you so much.”

His hand on your thigh travels upwards to caress your body, his palm slipping under your shirt to fondle your breast and pinch your nipples, toying with the sensitive buds. Yours reaches down to rub your clit, feeling more awake now.

“No, s’not enough.” he says, sounding upset. “I’ve been neglecting you. I shouldn't have.”

You shut him up with a kiss, panting softly as you part. “It's okay.” You insist. Shin says nothing, instead presses his forehead against yours as he snaps his hips forward repeatedly, giving deep, sloppy thrusts to chase his high, determined to come and make you fall apart too, driven by your whimpers and the faint sound of your skin slapping together.

“Missed you so much.” he mumbles, his hand all over your body, touching you like it's the first time as your lips exchange soft “I love you's” and “i’m sorry’s”.

“M’gonna come, baby.” you sigh against his lips, fingers rubbing firm circles on your clit causing the knot in your stomach to tighten and tighten. “gonna come, Shin—”

“Me too…” he stutters, voice tinged with exhaustion. “Fuck— Can I come inside? Please. Please, baby— can I remove the condom?” he begs, desperate to feel as close as possible to you. And you want that, too.

“Y-Yeah,” you utter in a soft breath, nodding your head. “Come inside of me, baby. Wanna feel your cum.”

Shin swears as you give him the green light and he pulls out just long enough to tug off the condom, carelessly throwing it on the floor before lining himself up with you again, sliding back in easily with a breathless ‘fuck’. You moan at the new feeling, a soft, high pitched sound of pleasure ripping from your throat as he fucks you raw, feeling every vein and ridge of his cock as it drags against your walls. He keeps the same pace that makes you see stars and you exchange moans, from one mouth to another.

“M’comin, m’comin baby—”

“Come for me. Come on my cock, god, baby please come. c-can feel you squeezing me, oh fuck." he babbles, face buried in the crook of your neck. A few more sloppy thrust and your eyes roll back into your head, lips curled into a wordless 'O' as you come. Your muscles clench and your walls convulse around his cock, pulling him over the edge with you. Shin stills completely and his cock starts twitching, thick ropes of cum filling you to the brim as he holds you close, panting and whimpering against your lips.

Your hand reaches back to grasp his hair, tugging gently as you finish off your high, pussy clenching and fluttering around him. He pulls out, a thick load of cum leaking out onto the bedsheets, ruining them.

The aftermath is silent, just the sounds of heavy breathing from the both of you and the delicate sound of Shin's lips on your skin as he kisses your shoulder delicately. He’s cradling your body from behind, trying to distract himself from the negative thoughts that come rushing back to nag him now that the post orgasmic bliss has died down. You feel warm tears on your skin, soft sniffling accompanying them.

“Don’t leave me.” The words are soft spoken, muffled against your skin almost too quietly for you to catch them. “Please, don't leave me.”

Your heart clenches in your chest, a tight, aching knot that seems to squeeze the very breath from your lungs.

You want nothing more than to take his pain away, to make everything better. You turn slowly in his arms, bringing your hands up to cup his face, your thumbs brushing away the tears that streak down his cheeks. Shin's eyes are closed, his brows furrowed as if bracing himself for an inevitable blow.

"I’m not going anywhere," you whisper confidently, pressing your forehead against his. "I promise."

#tokyo revengers x reader #reader insert #x reader #x fem reader #shinichiro smut #shinichiro sano x reader #tokyo revengers shinichiro #shinichiro x reader #shinichiro sano #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo rev x you #tokyo revengers smut

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eightstarr · 4 months ago

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what's mine — ellie williams.

summary: the day you left for this assignment, ellie remembers thinking it would be okay— or maybe it was you who said it, your hands over her tense shoulders, her fingers tugging at your shirt, “you’ll be okay.” she goes home and knows it to be true, like words from a god. she’ll be okay and you’ll be back. what’s left to do but count the hours?

warnings: descriptions of violence (not very detailed), suggestive content near the end!

notes: uhhh i love being dramatic and i think it shows here. all i think about is the action of coming home to someone who loves you and how it is as meaningful now as it was a thousand years ago and as it will be in a hundred years but whatever haha sorry about that guys. if you read this i love you btw

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・。.・゜✧・. ────

Being without Ellie is disorienting. The first week feels like walking alone in a dark room, feeling the walls for a light switch, running into sharp corners that stab your sides. You miss her like it's a sickness, less a longing and more a threat to whatever you’re made of.

There's a small community way outside of Jackson offering a trade. Maria makes it sound simple, like everything else. “They know us, it’ll be quick. You pick up the supplies, drop off our part of the deal, and come back.”

It takes 26 days. The exchange is simple but the journey less so, you and three others have to carry home the much needed medical supplies through herds of infected and a heavy storm that slows you down and cuts off your communication for three terrifying nights.

Ellie wanders the house and feels like a stranger, sickly, a sleepless corpse searching for living blood. The light coming through the windows feels too bright and her skin abnormally cold. She knows, or thinks, that if she’s not careful she could get lost in it— merge every wall together until there’s nothing left to see but a stark flatness, an unfamiliar box. The space is not huge. It's not a tall castle or a manor in the countryside or anything fitting to the theatricality of loneliness, but it’s your home. So much of you is in it. Ellie finds herself focusing on a different thing each passing day, clinging to them with a nauseating desperation, a hundred random pieces of you scattered like breadcrumbs to keep her sane. A book with a folded corner somewhere along the first half of the story, your favorite mug next to the sink, an old pair of jeans ripped at the knee on your side of the drawer. Too many things for you not to come back.

“Do you think I'm losing my mind?” she asks, a soft wrinkle between her furrowed brows, her eyes focused on a random spot ahead. “I mean, it’s been two weeks,” she’s trying to sound like it's not as bad as it looks, like she finds any of it funny or interesting instead of plainly horrifying. The sole of her shoes hits the floor in an anxious rhythm, mocking her— tap, tap, tap, tap. “Isn’t that fucked up?”

Dina curses at the lighter until it flickers back to life with a weak orange flame, holding it near the end of the half finished blunt. She inhales and passes it over, breathing out, “You’re not crazy.”

A pause. Ellie lets the comment comfort her for a single second before it flies right through her head, sounding more quiet than usual when she admits, “...I have this feeling like someone took something from me.”

Dina raises her eyebrows, her chuckle cut off by a short cough, smoke itching her throat. “You mean, like… what’s her name?” she squints her eyes and tries to remember.

The name worms around Ellie’s head like it has been for days, bold letters, clear as day. She makes no attempt to let it pass through her lips, self aware and unrelenting at the same time, maybe finding some indefensible satisfaction in the fact that it can be forgotten. Cruel, you'd tease, and Ellie would smirk a lot like she tries not to now.

Dina gives up a second later, “Whatever— the girl that volunteered to go with them before you could. You're blaming her?”

“I guess.”

“Hm. That’s a little…”

“Don’t say crazy—”

“Crazy.”

“Fuck you,” she rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“So you’re not jealous?”

Ellie scoffs, tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek. Dina argues unlike anyone else. She’s confident, her goal clear and her strategy already lined up before you get a word in, loaded like a gun. But her strongest contender, perhaps the only one, might be Ellie’s simple stubbornness. “I’m concerned. She got picked over me even though I've studied that route a hundred fucking times. I could've done a better job,” she says, steady and tireless like bulletproof glass.

“At getting the supplies or at taking care of your girlfriend?”

“You’re starting to sound like Maria.”

Dina pauses for a short moment before she shrugs. “Maria makes good points.”

Ellie takes one last hit of the blunt and flicks it across the room to die out somewhere on the permanently damp floor. She tries to believe it. No one took you, she thinks, you left dutifully like anyone else in Jackson would've, like Ellie would've. It’s a dangerous trip but a job like any other, the same risk of deadly infection that comes with any of them. She should be used to it by now. Does it not also exist every other day of the year?

Still, she can't remember the last time she didn't see your face for this long. You’ve been dating for a little over three years, living together for half of that— it's a terrifyingly meaningful chunk of your young lives, months and months of seeing you everyday, of falling asleep with her face on the crook of your neck and waking up with your fingers pressing into her waist. You've built a world where things like this don’t happen, where all Ellie can think about as she leaves home is the way you hum in the mornings, soft and sleepy and so fucking cute, when you wake up to her back against your chest and her hair on your face. She thinks about her own laugh, how shy it sounds, how your lips press to her head before she turns around to claim a proper kiss.

But now you’re not here, and she’s too terrified to even utter the words out loud, and there's a hole in her chest where you should be that makes her feel insane everywhere she goes. It's an open wound leaving a hazardous trail of shame and memories, humming in her ears like a boiling kettle, who took what's mine?

Ellie has never considered herself to be the jealous type, but she never was the type to sleep with her back turned to someone this comfortably, either. It’s different with you. It's theatricality, it’s the coldness of that bed at night, it’s your legs tangled with hers like growing roots now disjointed. It’s a thing, breathing and alive, screaming at nothing— I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.

Is that girl you went with hanging from your every word in that way she always does? Is that a shameful thought to have? Ellie wipes it clean in a second and finds it immediately there again, at the front of her mind like a message on a cloudy mirror. She can't think about anything else. Is the storm keeping the two of you awake? Does a part of you find the girl brave for volunteering? Is she turning to look at you and asking, just loud enough, are you asleep? That fall earlier was rough, how are you feeling? Is she looking at your wounds like they matter more than doing a good job? Is your blood, warm and red and yours, on her hands now?

The last of the smoke spills past her lips in a sigh. Ellie pulls her knees closer to her chest and tugs at the loose thread on your ripped jeans.

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

There’s a comfortable weight that keeps you under, the loving press of her arm resting over your chest, her thumb brushing your chin. The sun feels warm where it’s draped across Ellie’s back, white tank top wrinkled slightly up her waist.

She watches you until you let out a little sigh, squint one eye open and then slowly the next, a smile stretching your lips as soon as your sight focuses on her. She looks beautiful. She looks just like she did before you left, your girl.

It’s weird— you’ve showered, scrubbed your hands clean and raw, changed clothes. And still you feel like you’ve brought in something dirty, like it’ll be stuck on you for a while, the grime, the guns, the storm. Your muddy shoes must still be sitting by the front door. Something in your head screams that you should get rid of them, burn them like an evidence of guilt. Do you look anything like you did before you left? You feel like a worn version of yourself, sticky and darkened. It’s a ridiculous worry to have, but the thought comes hand in hand with embarrassment and you can feel it crawling up your neck. You cover your face with your hands and groan tiredly, shy.

Ellie laughs, warm like musk, salve on a wound.

"Are you watching me sleep?" you mutter, voice ridden with exhaustion and joy all at once. The thing, love, obsession, both— breathes along with you. "Freak."

"Yeah, I was,” she shifts to sit on your lap, one knee on either side of you, spilling her confession easily. Ellie leans over to push your hands away from your face and press her lips to yours, passionate but short lived, still softly brushing against each other when she says, "I missed this face."

You chuckle, eyes tracing over her freckled cheeks, hands squeezing her thighs, feeling strangely like you’re being washed clean. “I missed you.”

Ellie closes her eyes and rests her forehead against yours, her fingers caressing your cheeks, looking at you again when her thumb brushes against the ridge of a scar. It’s a warped line that almost follows the shape of your cheekbone, from your hairline to somewhere near the corner of your lips. She'd seen it last night, nauseous with worry and relief to have you back, her vision clouded. The morning reveals it in a different, heartbreaking light. It’s okay, you’d said during the night, your hands on either side of her face much like hers are on you now, didn't even need stitches. Ellie tries to let that sink in, make the guilt feel any better. But it can't. Maybe you’d been saved the prick of a needle, but she knows it still hurt, she knows it bled and stung. It feels like a betrayal. If I can't save you the pain, she thinks, I owe you the witnessing, the chance to clean its wry edges, pat it dry. "How'd you get this one?" she asks, as softly as she can.

You’d been prepared for the question but not the devastation in her eyes. It falls over you like a ton of bricks, her love making your chest ache and sinking you back into the memory.

There was an empty house, or what looked like one. Pieces of broken glass scattered over the rotting wood of an old, wobbly table. A man's hand placed forcefully on your head. The side of your face rammed into the table with a thud when he pushed you down, the faint pain of something slicing into your cheek made worse by your struggle to get free. A kick and he stumbled back. A slice of your knife and he fell dead. You don't think the fact will do much to comfort Ellie. So, in hopes of sparing her, you hum and shake your head. "Come here," you say, or beg, a hand on the back of her neck like fond guidance. "Let me kiss your pretty face."

She feels soft like satin on your lips, tastes like honey and black tea. Ellie kisses like she argues, experienced and unruly all at once, with a point to make— I need you and I want you to know it. Her tongue slips past your parted lips and brings a muffled sound from your throat that almost makes her pull slightly away, if it weren't for the feeling of your fingers tightening on her neck to have her closer. A faint thought crosses Ellie’s mind, a feeling like pity for the person she was before you, whoever that was, an old self who couldn't know what it's like to be devoured so caringly.

She brushes her nose against yours and you let out a sigh that sounds painfully like a prayer, her short hair a dark veil over your eyes when she turns her head to press kisses on your cheek. "You can't leave me like that again," she breathes out.

You swallow her words, a confused wrinkle between your eyebrows. “Ellie—”

A kiss cuts you off. You slide your hands up her thighs to her waist, a surprised hum vibrating against her lips when she wraps her fingers around your wrists and squeezes, as if to keep them there. She leans back and stares into you, and for the first time since you’ve known Ellie, you can't tell if she's commanding you or begging. “I won’t let you.”

It’s a gesture. It goes beyond the reality of your lives, the fact that any day either one of you could be made to leave again, that any day either one of you could die. It means I missed you. It means I need it to be me who looks after you. It means I love you.

Your stomach flutters, hungry with an urgent craving. And like you have every day since you’ve known Ellie, you find yourself unable to deny her love or the indulging promise of a different world— but maybe those mean the same thing. "I'm not leaving you," you say, breathless, and it might as well be true.

Ellie makes a sound in response that feels painfully close to a moan, a soft mmhm that clouds your head of anything that may or may not exist outside of this room. The tip of her nose brushes against your neck and then continues its way down, her fingers sneaking inside your shirt, pulling up the fabric and pressing kisses over the skin that’s revealed. "I love you," she says, almost near the band of your underwear, her blushed lips parted. You feel her breath against the burning fire in your lower stomach, reaching out to cradle her cheek against your hand. She feels hot, flushed pink under her freckles, and you’re not sure if she hears you say I love you, Ellie as much as she watches you mouth the words. She presses her face further into your hand, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, begging as if she’d ever have to, “Baby, I need— please.”

You don't hear yourself say yes, but the look in her eyes says you must have.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams fic #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams smut

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gureumz · 1 year ago

Text

liar, sweetheart

rating: explicit

member: sunghoon

premise: your best friend, benj, is a twin but he's the complete opposite of his brother. his brother, sunghoon, is all kinds of sleazy, or so you've heard. knowing about your big fat crush on your best friend, this sorry excuse of a twin brother agrees to put in a good word, in exchange for a good fuck, of course.

notes: fem!reader, dom!sunghoon, sort of rivals-to-lovers, unprotected sex, slight breeding, dacryphilia, dirty talk, degradation, praise, clothed sex, accidental voyeurism, sunghoon is two people here lmao, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: fifth entry for my 1k follower special! we're in the endgame now, people. one last after this and my 1k event is ending. how did that happen :') anyways, i really got back into my writing groove for this one so i hope you all enjoy!

"what do you think of sunghoon?"

your ears perk up as you turn your head to give your best friend a look.

oh, benj. sweet, sweet benjamin park.

awkward but in a cute, boyish sort of way, tall almost to the point of gangly, but handsome in the way supermodels were.

benj is a figure skater, a very good one at that. he's at the level where if he did well enough, he'd be international news tomorrow. you've seen him skate and to you, it was nothing short of mesmerizing.

oh, you. clueless, utterly clueless you.

honestly, it was all so predictable.

a situation right out of booktok's latest favorite friends-to-lovers novel by some up-and-coming author. the comfortable silence, the memorized starbucks orders, the pining, oh, the pining. booktok lives for the pining.

sitting here in benj's room as he casually games, fingers lazily moving over his ps5 controller, you realize just how utterly shortsighted you were.

of course you'd fall in love with your best friend. it's law. it's fate. a canon event, as the kids say.

but, you're getting out of topic here. right now, benj is asking you about his twin brother.

"what do you mean?" you ask, swiveling around in the office chair by benj's desk. benj is perched on his bed, leaned up against his headboard as he plays.

"like...what do you think of him...?" benj repeats, as if in an attempt to rephrase his question but ultimately failing.

your forehead creases even more.

"you have to be more specific than that," you chuckle.

benj pauses the game, setting the controller down. he shifts on his side so he can get a better look at you.

"do you like him?" benj deadpans, raising an eyebrow.

you nearly choke on your own saliva.

sunghoon. benj's twin brother.

the younger twin, as benj always reminded. your thoughts drift to the other park brother, complete in all his dark clothes and equally dark hair.

while benj afforded himself the preference of dying his hair an icy blonde, sunghoon kept his own hair jet black. benj wore sweaters and cardigans and loose-fitting shirts, but sunghoon wore button-ups, with the first three buttons popped open, paired with jeans ripped to the heavens.

benj is the shining star in this family, a star figure skater, an overachiever. sunghoon battles his way around ice hockey, dabbles in dance, keeps his triumphs to himself.

benj is the sun, while sunghoon is the moon. yin and yang.

you get the picture.

oh, and sunghoon is a complete asshole. benj is not.

"he's okay," you finally answer. benj looks at you like he's waiting for more.

"that's it?" benj asks after a second.

you roll your eyes. "i don't know what you want me to say. i barely talk to him since i spend most of my time with you."

benj cocks his head to the side, as if curious.

"weird," he says. "he asks about you all the time."

this piques your interest.

"he does?"

benj shrugs, returning his attention to the tv. he picks the forgotten controller back up, resuming his game.

"yeah. asks if and when you'll be coming over," benj explains. he shoots you a quick side glance.

"you're not hooking up behind my back, are you?"

you physically recoil at benj's words, the idea initially repulsive to you.

"absolutely not," you practically spit out. "he's not my type."

benj bursts out laughing, his eyes forming cute crescents as he does so.

"you basically just called me ugly with that," benj points out, eyes unmoving from the tv screen.

you stutter for a second. "that's not what i meant. it's just—well we're not close, at least not like how we are and—"

you sigh, cutting yourself off. you've embarrassed yourself enough, you think.

benj shakes his head, one side of his mouth turning up in a half-smile.

"okay, no need to explain, ______. i was just asking," benj says. "but the way you're so defensive about it is raising a few questions, not gonna lie."

you rub exasperatedly at your temples.

"i am not sleeping with your brother."

---

"hey."

you nearly jump a foot back in surprise. looking up, you're met with the stern gaze of sunghoon, black hair falling over his eyes. he's wearing one of those compression shirts, ridiculously tight against his toned upper body.

you turn away before it gets weird.

"oh, sorry, is benj home?" you ask, peeking momentarily past sunghoon.

"he's at training," sunghoon informs. "didn't he tell you?"

you glance at your watch. "he said he'd be done by now."

sunghoon raises an eyebrow. "well, he's not."

your mouth falls open, your mind momentarily going blank. you shift your expression to one of stony resolve.

"you know what, i'll just come back. sorry to bother you," you say, already turning away.

"i didn't tell you to leave, did i?"

you turn back, giving sunghoon a look. you stare hard, noticing just how much he resembles benj. but some things differ, naturally.

an extra beauty mark. the slightly sharper upturn of his nose. the seemingly eternal frown on his face.

"you can come in," sunghoon says with a sigh, stepping aside. you duck your head as you cross the threshold.

"and don't be so uptight next time," he adds. you can practically hear the smirk as he says this.

you glare daggers at sunghoon and he's still smiling as he closes the door behind him. he crosses his arms and studies you.

he leans back against the door and you straighten yourself up as much as you could.

"what's your problem, sunghoon?" you ask, planting your hands on your hips.

"what's yours?" sunghoon replies. you feel a twinge of annoyance spark in your chest.

"nothing," you emphasize. "and that's exactly it. i don't have a problem but if you don't stop acting like that, i might just have one soon enough."

"acting like what?" sunghoon questions, tilting his head to the side.

you swallow. you rack your brain for something to say, and don't be mistaken, you have a lot, but it's like your train of thought has halted altogether.

"like...that," you say, gesticulating vaguely with your hands.

sunghoon laughs, a hand coming up to run through his hair. you watch him, observe as his muscles shift beneath that stupidly tight, stupidly attractive shirt.

...what?

"are you this jumpy with my brother?" sunghoon asks, shoving his hands in the pockets of his grey sweatpants.

"i don't follow," you say, taking a step back. being close to sunghoon seems suffocating now, as if the air is stuffy with something you can't quite put your finger on.

"of course, you don't," sunghoon mutters under his breath.

it takes everything in you not to punch him square in the jaw.

"you like benj, don't you?" it's more of a statement rather than a question and it's so unexpected to you, you nearly stumble back in surprise.

"what?" is all you can say.

sunghoon snorts as if your confusion is oh-so-amusing.

"no need to deny it, _______," sunghoon reassures. "everyone with one working eye can see it."

you decide to stay silent. maybe if you don't react, sunghoon would drop the subject.

sunghoon seems satisfied with himself as he grins, nodding to himself, probably mentally patting himself on the back for his 'detective work'. he brushes past you and you get a whiff of his perfume and what you can assume is his body wash.

fresh. powdery. clean.

you wait a second before you hear his bedroom door close.

you let out a breath you weren't aware you were holding.

your phone vibrates with a notification and you're relieved to see it's a message from benj.

'are you at my place yet? i'll be home in a few. sunghoon will let you in. sorry, love u!'

you smile to yourself as you lock your phone.

---

you couldn't stop thinking about it.

were you really that obvious? or is it just some twin telepathy that's why sunghoon could tell? could benj tell?

you sit up, careful not to jostle anything in your immediate vicinity. you peer up at benj's sleeping figure from where you're situated on his spare mattress, positioned on the floor right next to his bed.

he seems to be deep in slumber, shoulders rising and falling steadily. you swallow, realizing how parched your throat has gotten. you get up on your feet, treading carefully around benj's room to get to the door.

you exit, walking down the hallway of the parks' penthouse apartment, trying to make as minimal sound as you can. you round the corner to where you know the kitchen is and you immediately stop in your tracks.

"shit—" you curse, startled by the figure standing by the kitchen island.

your eyes adjust to the dim lighting and you realize you've come face to face with sunghoon.

"hi, _______," sunghoon greets. "fancy seeing you here."

you huff, approaching the refrigerator. "ha ha. you scared the shit out of me."

you hear sunghoon laugh quietly from behind you.

you take the ice-cold pitcher out of the fridge, setting it on the counter before walking over to the cupboards where the parks keep their glasses.

you can feel sunghoon watching you, aware of the burning attention. you can feel your neck prickle with it.

you pull the cupboard door open and it's only now that you realize you can barely see. afraid to just reach in and possibly knock over and break something, you pause, willing your vision to adjust even more to the low lighting.

"hey, can you turn on the—"

your words are cut off when you feel warmth press up against your back. you flinch, watching with wide eyes as sunghoon's arm braces itself against the countertop in front of you. he reaches over you, his breath tickling the top of your head.

you shiver involuntarily.

you turn to face him, pressing yourself fully against the granite behind you. sunghoon pulls a glass down from the cupboard, handing it to you. his arm is still planted firmly to your side, half caging you in.

"here," sunghoon says.

you can just make out his face in the low light, his scent invading your senses once more. you take the glass from him and he steps away, freeing you.

you wordlessly return to the center of the kitchen, pouring yourself the water you desperately need. and boy, do you need it.

you gulp down mouthfuls of it, unsure why your legs are suddenly weak, your knees threatening to give out.

"hey," sunghoon calls out. you pause, turning to where he's still standing by the cupboards.

he has the same easy stance he had earlier in the day. leaned back, arms crossed. even in the dark, you can feel him staring.

"what?" it comes out a little more harshly than you'd like and you wince.

"do you hate me or something?" sunghoon asks brusquely.

once again, you find yourself rendered speechless by sunghoon.

"no," you answer simply, setting your glass down.

"then why don't you hang out with me like you do with benj?" sunghoon asks, approaching you.

"because benj is my best friend, you're not," you respond. sunghoon stops right in front of you and you have to crane your neck to meet where you think his eyes are.

"your best friend that you're in love with," sunghoon says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"that's not true," you deny.

sunghoon snickers. "sure, keep lying to yourself, sweetheart."

you inhale at the term of endearment.

"you know, i never understood why you got closer to him but you stopped spending time with me altogether," sunghoon muses. "the three of us grew up together, remember?"

you do.

the afternoons spent in the local playground. you and benj sat on the swings while sunghoon pushed. you and sunghoon on the seesaw while benj attempted to balance in the middle (much to their mother's horror). the twins hiding while you played seeker.

a smile tugs at your lips at the memory. and then it falters just as quick.

"you were the one who stopped hanging out with us," you say, a little accusatory in the way you did. "you had newer ice hockey friends and when middle school rolled around, you decided those girls were worth your time more than us."

'more than me,' is what you wanted to say. but you swallow it down.

sunghoon stays silent at this. after what you estimate is a minute, he sighs.

"sorry," is all he says.

you shake your head. "it's okay, we all drift apart from our childhood friends at one point."

sunghoon steps even closer. you can feel him now. a strange crackle of electricity tickles your fingertips.

"that's not the case with you and benj," sunghoon observes.

it's your turn to say nothing.

"i can help you," sunghoon suggests. your head snaps up as you try to process sunghoon's words.

you can see him now, illuminated by the faint hallway lights behind you. sunghoon's looking at you, expression unreadable.

"help me?" you parrot back. sunghoon nods.

"i can help you get with benj, if that's what you want. plant the seeds, so to speak," sunghoon explains. "he is my twin brother, after all."

you consider this for a moment. there's no denying the giddy feeling you get in benj's presence. the comfort it gives you when you spend the whole day together. the butterflies in your stomach when he beams at you, all bright and shining.

this should be an offer you can't refuse.

"i just have one thing to ask of you," sunghoon cuts through your thoughts.

"what?" you ask.

sunghoon pauses, turning away as if gathering his own words.

"do you ever feel that there's this weird...thing between us?" sunghoon asks.

your whole body seems to stiffen. your hands turn cold, clammy.

"like tension," sunghoon elaborates. "something you can't really explain."

"no," you answer a little too quickly.

sunghoon chuckles. "there you go again, lying."

you avoid sunghoon's gaze, staring hard at a spot behind him where his shadow dances against the cabinets.

"if you agree to...try this thing with me just this once, i'll help you get together with benj," sunghoon concludes, bending lower so he's in your line of sight.

unable to avoid him any longer, you look into sunghoon's eyes. he's much clearer now, your eyes well-adjusted to the dark. he's looking at you, expression soft, unlike the other times you've come face-to-face with him.

"so, you're offering to be my wingman, but only if i let you fuck me?" you string your words out carefully. "is that it?"

sunghoon sighs, shrugging. "basically, yeah. sounds fucking weird but you can always say no."

"it is weird," you confirm. you cross your arms as you narrow your eyes at sunghoon.

"can't we just skip the part where we fuck and go straight to the part where you help me?"

sunghoon grins down at you, dipping even lower so you're eye level with him.

"it's as if you don't know me at all, _______," sunghoon says lowly. "that hardly seems fair, sweetheart."

you grit your teeth.

"besides, do you want to skip the part where we fuck?" sunghoon presses on the last word, holding your gaze as he said it. you feel a warmth spread all over your body.

you take a deep breath, steadying yourself. your mind is at war with itself, warning you that this is a bad idea. if you get together with benj after, what then? take the secret that you fucked his brother to your grave?

"just this once, and when we're done, you'll help me, correct?" you say, raising a brow at sunghoon.

sunghoon nods. "exactly."

you pause. you want it. what 'it' is, you're not so sure.

you reach your hand out.

"deal."

sunghoon grasps your hand in his, squeezing firmly. his fingers envelop yours easily, your palm almost cartoonishly smaller than his.

and he's warm. so warm.

your eyes meet his and it's like something snaps.

you feel sunghoon grasp at your waist and your own arms come flying up to wrap around sunghoon's neck. he kisses you fervently, harshly, desperately. you respond with the same enthusiasm, pulling him closer to you.

sunghoon pushes you against the fridge, the contents rattling within. you gasp as the cold metal presses through your thin pajamas, but sunghoon drinks in any noise from you with his mouth.

"fuck," sunghoon mutters softly.

"god, ______," sunghoon continues, hands splayed against your back, his lips exploring the expanse of your neck.

"sunghoon," you whisper, clutching onto his wide frame. you mewl softly when you feel him suckle on a spot just above your collarbone.

you pull sunghoon away from your neck, guiding his face back to level with yours. you kiss him some more, a strange feeling bubbling within you.

it's making you want more of sunghoon, as if your whole being craved him.

you hear a soft click of a door opening somewhere down the hall and your eyes fly open, your hands forcing sunghoon off you. he jumps back as well, a panicked look on his face.

footsteps echo in the hallway and a voice immediately follows after.

"_______?"

benj. it's benj. his voice is thick with sleep and you look over at sunghoon, eyes wide with alarm.

"i-i'm in the kitchen," you call out. "just needed a drink."

you rush out of the kitchen and into the hall, running right into benj's firm chest. he catches you before you stumble and he holds you at arm's length, looking at you through half-closed eyes.

"there you are," benj says with a laugh.

you let out a nervous giggle of your own, gently pushing benj back towards his room.

"i'm right here," you assure him. benj rambles on about hearing noises from his room and you quickly dismiss it as you just messing around in their kitchen.

just as you herd benj back into his room, you look back down the hall and see sunghoon sauntering casually towards his own door. he catches your eye and winks, stepping quietly into his room.

---

"i know what you were doing last night."

you stop dead in your tracks, hand frozen in midair just as you're unwrapping your hair from your towel.

you had just stepped out of the bathroom adjacent to benj's room, dressed in his shirt and your shorts from yesterday. it's the morning after your little tryst with sunghoon and you were nearly a hundred percent sure you had successfully lied your way out of an explanation to benj.

it turns out, you haven't.

"you were hooking up with sunghoon, weren't you?" benj says, looking at you expectantly.

you put on your best attempt at an appalled expression, eyes wide an lips turning down into a frown.

"no, i wasn't," you muster up with as much disgust as you can.

benj just laughs. "i've lived here for nearly half my life, ____. i know the sounds of this house better than you."

"well, you thought wrong," you argue, busying yourself with brushing through your hair. you keep your eyes trained on the full body mirror in front of you, setting your sight on your own face.

benj comes up behind you, looking at you as if he could see right through you.

you think maybe he can.

"you're such a bad liar," benj accuses.

"i would never hook up with your brother," you protest, raking through your hair aggressively. you're getting antsy and you pray that benj would just drop the subject.

"why not?" benj questions.

you look at his reflection, scowling. "i don't like him like that, benj."

"hooking up with him would feel like hooking up with you," you add. 'a red herring, yes,' you think. 'distract him, make him feel weird for even asking.'

benj gives you a look. "what's so bad about that?"

you stare open-mouthed at benj. a million thoughts are flying through your head and something pinches at your chest.

"you're my best friend, benj," you try to reason. "that's weird."

"and hooking up with my brother isn't?"

you groan, letting your head fall into your hands.

"i didn't hook up with sunghoon!"

benj nods, pouting as if not fully convinced. "okay, whatever you say."

he steps out through the door, leaving you in his eerily quiet room.

you sigh, turning back to your reflection.

"not yet," you whisper to yourself.

---

"aren't you leaving yet?"

you look up from your phone and you're met with sunghoon peeking through benj's door. his hair is damp and you can smell his aftershave from where you're sprawled out on benj's bed.

"nope," you reply curtly, turning back to your phone.

"you've been here two days," sunghoon points out, stepping into the room. you ignore the jolt of excitement in your gut.

"i'll leave once benj comes back from training," you say.

"oh sure, then the two of you will get caught up again in whatever nerd things you do, and then it's the evening and you'll stay another night, walking around in your skimpy pajamas," sunghoon rambles sarcastically.

you narrow your eyes him as you sit up. "what's wrong with my pajamas?"

"they make me impossibly hard, _______. that's what's wrong," sunghoon admits, expression unchanging.

your eyebrows shoot up in mild surprise. "that down bad, huh?"

"nah," sunghoon replies nonchalantly.

"whatever you say, sweetheart," you say, throwing the pet name back at sunghoon.

sunghoon lets his eyes travel over your body, expression darkening, and you feel every hair on your skin stand up under his unrelenting gaze. you shift around, unsure of what to do with sunghoon's undivided attention.

you watch as sunghoon approaches, his jaw set as he pauses right before benj's bed. he meets your eyes and before you know it, sunghoon is crawling over you, stopping once he has you caged in between his arms.

"you're seriously not thinking of fucking me on your twin brother's bed, are you?" you whisper. you're nearly nose to nose with sunghoon now.

"i am," sunghoon answers simply before kissing you, effectively driving you back against the plush mattress.

the same bubbling feeling reappears and you grab at any part of sunghoon that you can, hooking your legs around his waist. he grunts against your mouth and you feel him harden against your core.

"this is my shirt by the way," sunghoon grins against your lips. "benj stole it from me a while back."

you moan at the thought of it. you feel sunghoon reach under your—his—shirt, chuckling when he feels the absence of a bra. he cups one of your breasts in his hand, kneading as he continues his assault on your lips.

"lose this," sunghoon commands, his other hand tugging your shorts down harshly. you oblige, reaching down to discard the piece of clothing along with your underwear.

"but keep this on," sunghoon adds as he kisses along your jaw, referring to the large shirt swallowing your frame.

you kick off your shorts and underwear the same time sunghoon pulls back to undo his own joggers. he throws them off to the side unceremoniously before hovering back over you, his eyes scanning every feature of your face.

"if you're so in love with benj, why are you about to sleep with me on his bed?" sunghoon asks, his fingers trailing down delicately from your chest down to your stomach. you flinch, fighting the urge to curl into yourself at the ticklish feeling.

sunghoon continues down towards the space between your legs, wasting no time swiping through your folds. you gasp, back arching as sunghoon rubs up and down, finger circling teasingly around your entrance.

"you talk too much," you counter, voice shaking. "are you gonna fuck my brains out or what?"

sunghoon sneers, shoving two fingers in without warning. you yelp, turning to bury your face in benj's pillow. it smells like him, but you barely register that, seeing as his twin's fingers are knuckles deep in you.

"go on, run your mouth like you always do, slut," sunghoon taunts. you involuntarily clench down at his use of such a degrading word and sunghoon notices, of course, his mouth curling into a smirk.

"should have known you were into that," sunghoon wonders out loud. he moves his fingers in and out of you, pumping his thick digits into your wanting hole.

you clamp a hand down on your mouth, suppressing every noise that threatens to escape you.

"let me hear you, pretty, come on," sunghoon coos, prying your hand off your face. "it's just the two of us here."

you bite your lip but let yourself be heard as sunghoon continues to fuck you with his fingers. he curls them up inside you and you thrash about, the pressure building within your abdomen.

"gonna cum already? you're so fucking easy," sunghoon comments, leveling his face with your cunt. he blows softly against your clit and you cry out in pleasure.

you feel the wet heat of his tongue press against your bundle of nerves and coupled with sunghoon's fingers, you can't help but curse loudly at the sensations.

"shit, sunghoon!" you whine. "yes, just like that, please."

sunghoon wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and running his tongue over it alternately. you feel like you're about to lose your mind. you're seconds away from orgasm and you barely have any time to warn sunghoon.

"i'm gonna cum, sunghoon i'm gonna—"

you're cut short by your own loud moans as you feel yourself come undone, your whole body seizing up. you grip at the sheets beneath you with one hand while the other reaches down to thread through sunghoon's hair. you hear him grunt against your pussy as you tug at the strands.

eventually, you relax, easing up on sunghoon's hair. he comes up to face you, his mouth glistening with your release. he licks his lips, smirking at the way you watch him with awe.

"you still with me?" sunghoon asks with a raise of his brow. you nod weakly, hands coming up to cup at his face.

sunghoon leans down to kiss you tenderly and you moan as you taste yourself on his lips. he moves his lips against yours slowly, savoring each pass of your tongue over each other's, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth as he pulls away.

you peek down and see that sunghoon's cock stands red and angry against the black of his shirt.

"fuck me raw," you say before you can stop yourself.

sunghoon's eyebrows shoot up.

"are you sure?" he asks.

you nod, angling your hips up. restraint be damned, you want sunghoon and you want him now.

sunghoon chews down on his bottom lip as he lines himself up against your dripping hole. he coats his tip with your juices and you throw your head back as he teases you with his leaking cock.

"please," you whisper.

sunghoon presses a kiss on your cheek. "i got you, angel."

you feel him push in, stretching you out more than you anticipated. your mouth falls open in a silent moan as sunghoon slowly but surely bottoms out. your heart races and your mind loses all coherent thought. all you can register is that sunghoon feels like he's splitting you open with his dick.

"fuuuuck," sunghoon drawls into your ear.

"so fucking tight and so fucking good," he continues, bracing himself on either side of you. he moves his hips experimentally, pulling out then thrusting in and the two of you moan at the same time.

"give it to me," you pant, pulling sunghoon closer. "don't you dare hold back."

sunghoon grunts as he snaps his hips forward. you whine and moan like a whore as sunghoon fucks into you with reckless abandon. he keeps his eyes on your face, observing every expression that passes over your features.

"look at me," sunghoon orders as you let your eyes flutter close. "i said, look at me."

you obey, peering up at sunghoon through your lashes. he grabs your jaw as he hammers even harder into you. you cry out brokenly as you feel him deep within you. he's like a man starved, eyes wild as he takes you like this. rough and uncaring and oh so desperate.

"waited so long for this," sunghoon grunts. "to have you moaning and begging under me."

you feel tears prickle in your eyes, half from sunghoon's sharp nails digging into your cheek and half from the way his cock repeatedly punches against your cervix. it hurts but it's a pain you'd like to savor.

"god," sunghoon says, his face scrunching up in pleasure. he momentarily closes his eyes as he moves his hips even faster. he turns back to you, and by this time, your tears have escaped, streaking your face.

"fuck yeah, cry for me," sunghoon curses. "my pretty slut, weeping over my dick."

"oh, fuck—"

it came so suddenly, so unexpectedly that you can physically feel your body jolt. your second orgasm of the day rips through you, brought about by the filthy words escaping sunghoon's mouth. you hear him practically growl above you as he stills, your cunt clenching down so hard he's unable to move. you feel him twitch inside you and a second later, the warmth of his cum follows, shooting deep inside.

you're full-on crying now, mind hazy from pleasure as sunghoon catches himself before completely crushing you with his weight.

you wrap your shaky arms around sunghoon's shoulders, stroking his hair as the two of you calm yourselves down. sunghoon pulls out a minute later and you wince, immediately clamping your legs together to keep all of him inside you.

sunghoon plops down next to you, breathing heavy as his eyes stare at the ceiling. you hug your knees to your chest, hoping that nothing stains benj's sheets.

"fuck, that's a good girl, keeping all my cum in," sunghoon says through breathless chuckles. you groan, swatting at his chest.

"get tissues or something," you demand weakly, rolling over to your side. sunghoon pulls you close and cradles you against his chest.

"later," he murmurs, kissing you on the forehead. "just wanna hold you."

you hum in agreement, letting your eyes droop close. the two of you lay there, unmoving for a few minutes.

you initially think it's your imagination but you can hear faint footsteps coming down the hallway from outside benj's room. just as your eyes fly open, a loud knock thunders against the door.

"are you done?" comes benj's muffled voice from the other side.

"as much as i wanted to stay and watch, that might not be something you guys are into, so i gave you your privacy," he continues.

you and sunghoon look at each other, clearly panicking.

"but please, for the love of god, don't do it on my goddamn bed next time!"

#enhypen smut #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon smut #sunghoon scenarios #w: sunghoon

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bountydroid · 7 months ago

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Darlin' pt 6

pt 1 / pt 2 / pt 3 / pt 4 / pt 5 / pt 7 (SMUT)

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader (Romance)

Description: Cooper and Reader feel the effects of the radiation.

Notes: My tags are still goofy I don't know what is going on I am sorry. When I am writing the post your profile comes up and I click on it but then when I post it it doesn't work? Help? You guys may have to just keep an eye on my posts. :(

Cooper still hasn't told us where he is taking us yet. The sun seemed to get extra hot as the day went on. I knew the irradiation of the river was starting to hit me, just like it was the vaultie. We both had sunken, dark eyes and pale skin. Radiation sickness was starting to set in. Cooper made sure I stayed close to him, his eyes only leaving me to bark at the vaultie when she slowed.

"This damn sun," I whined.

Without saying a word, Cooper took off his hat and dropped it on my head. I smiled ear to ear, the idea of wearing his hat filling me with joy. "Thanks, Coop."

His footsteps stuttered at the nickname. Little did I know, it brought back a flood of memories that were long forgotten. "Just don't lose it, darlin'." He mumbled.

The show of affection filled me with a burst of energy, adding some pep to my step as we trekked along in the sand. Eventually, we happened upon a small, derelict town. The old homes were covered almost half up their sides with sand. The houses now were all the same tan color as the ground, a reminder of the harshness of the wastelands. We walked up to a building with "Westside Medical Clinic" written on a big sign out front. As soon as we stopped walking we heard it. The yelling.

"Roger! My name... is Roger!" A voice roared from inside the building.

The three of us exchanged looks before Cooper pushed the vaultie towards the door, making her go first. "Stay behind me, sugar." He said quietly to me.

We slowly continued into the building as the snarling grew closer. The vaultie hesitated, not wanting to get any closer to the danger inside. This caused Cooper to give her another harsh shove. The fear swirling in my stomach made me feel like I was going to throw up. I grabbed onto the back of Cooper's coat for purchase. We finally made our way into the room where the voice was coming from. A man, or a ghoul, was sitting in the sand, mumbling and snarling.

"Hey Rog," Cooper greets him.

"Hey. Hey." the man laughs, relieved to see his friend. "Fancy seeing you here. You out for that bounty, too, huh?"

"Yep," Cooper responds as he knelt in front of his friend.

You all stand there in silence for a bit, listening to Roger snarl and whip his head around.

"Oh, shit," Roger says between wails.

"How you feelin’?" Cooper asks quietly, already knowing the answer.

"Oh... you know," Roger replied. "It's hard out here. Dang smoothies can be so unkind. I see you got some smoothies of your own." He says as he looks over at the vaultie and me in the corner. "That one is cute with your hat on."

I give him a small smile as a blush warms my cheeks. "You like it? I'm thinking of keeping it." I say, trying to lighten the mood.

Roger lets out a gleeful laugh, "Oh, I hope she rubs off on you. Keep her around."

Cooper smiles in response, "Plan on it."

Roger cried out again, ripping the smiles off everyone's faces.

"You're turning," Cooper says reluctantly, he exchanges a worried look with you.

"Yeah maybe, maybe." Roger says on the verge of tears, "Maybe. Hey, you don't happen to have any vials, do you? Just one little puff and I'll be back on my feet. You know I'm good for it." Roger pleaded.

"I'm sorry Roger I am all out," Cooper says, looking sorrowful.

"That's okay. That's okay." Roger mumbles. "Though, um, you and your smooth-faced friends, you um... you might want to clear out before things get ugly."

Roger started to snarl again, he was growing louder and louder. It was horrible to watch. "Is this what will happen to Cooper?" I thought to myself.

"I did okay. 28 years since I first started showing," Roger said, before snarling again. "Oh, hell! Not as long as you are though." He pointed proudly at Cooper, "You've outlasted us all. How long since you first started wastelanding?"

"A long time," Cooper responds while shaking his head.

"That's a lot of vials," Roger said quietly.

"Well I've always been good at making money, Roger." Cooper exhales as he stands up. "Say, you remember how good food used to taste?"

"Yeah, BlamCo Mac and Cheese!" Roger says excitedly.

"Ice Cream and Apple Pie." Cooper countered.

"Hot damn! Apple Pie." Roger said, joy lighting up his face, even making the vaultie smile. "You know my mother used to-"

Before he could finish, Cooper shot Roger threw the head with no warning. I stumbled back in shock, tripping and falling on my butt and landing in the sand.

"Why did you do that?" The vaultie asked with tears in her eyes. "He was sick."

Cooper ignores her and starts making his way toward me while he holsters his gun. My eyes were glued to the man, lifeless on the ground.

"Darlin'." Cooper says pulling me from my thoughts and he crouches in front of me.

I look up at him with weeping eyes. "He...." I trailed off. I didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry," I whispered as the tears started to fall down to my chest.

"Don't be sorry, darlin'. Can you do something for me?" He asked calmly.

"Yeah." I managed to respond between sniffles.

"Wait in the hallway." He replies, rubbing my shoulder reassuringly. I give him a confused look before he starts talking again, "I don't want you to see this."

Realization washes over me. "You gonna eat him?"

"Just - just wait in the hallway." He says as he pulls me up to my feet. "Okay?"

"Okay," I mumble as I slowly make my way out of the room. I lean up against the wall and close my eyes. It's only a minute before I hear the vaultie begging.

"Stop. Stop Stop." The vaultie pleaded, "Please, I know it's hard out here but you don't, you don't have, you don't have to resort to... to..."

"What'd you say your name was?" Cooper asks her.

"Lucy MacLean." The vaultie replies hesitantly.

"MacLean?" Cooper asks a hint of recognition in his voice. "Huh. Well, Lucy MacLean, it ain't all peaches and marmalade left up here, sweetheart. Sometimes a fella gotta eat another fella."

Even from the hallway, I could hear the squishing from whatever he was doing in there. I felt nausea settle into my stomach, whether from the radiation or what Cooper was doing in the other room, I didn't know.

"You know, my vault has endured hardship too," Lucy said, pushing back. In the great plague of '77, everyone had to quarantine, they couldn't work the farms together, people starved. My mother included. My dad dropped to 128 pounds, and he still refused to do anything like this."

Cooper let out a deep chuckle at her words.

"What? What's so funny?" She asked, her voice dripping with venom.

"Well, there's what people say they did and what they really did." Cooper said, his accusation heavy in the air. "I'll bet your daddy was first in line at the cookout. I bet he had a bib with a drawing of his neighbor's ass on there."

"How do you live like this?" Lucy asks. "You obviously know it's wrong you sent her to the other room. So how do you do it? Why keep going?"

I open my eyes slowly at the mention of me. I didn't know if I could ever live like that, so Lucy's question piqued my interest as well. There was a heavy silence as I heard Cooper's footsteps making his way across the room.

"Well, one good question deserves another," Cooper responds, his voice was dark, sending a shiver down my spine. "Why the fuck am I doin' all the work? Now come on vaultie, ass jerky don't make itself."

This was a side of Cooper that I had not seen since the night we met. Ruthless. Cruel. It made me wonder was this who he really was. Or was the sweetness he has shown me his true self? It was probably a little bit of both. The silence in the building was deafening. It was a moment before I heard Lucy's soft footsteps in the sand.

"She is actually gonna do it." I thought to myself in horror, letting out a soft gasp.

Once they made their way out of the room, Lucy's hands were covered in blood and she had an empty expression on her face. She was clearly traumatized by what she had to do to Roger. Cooper didn't look at me as they made their way past. "Come on, darlin'."

It felt like forever since the incident with Roger, but it was hard to forget as his skin hung from Cooper's pack. The three of us hiked in silence, tension had returned to Cooper and me as neither of us knew what to say to the other. Cooper had started coughing some time ago. This filled me with dread, we needed to get him some Jet fast. Let alone, myself. I was getting sicker by the minute as I struggled with the poisoning from the river. My feet dragged in the sand behind Cooper as I struggled to keep up.

Cooper dipped his canteen into some water pooled in an old barrel. My chest filled with jealousy. I ran out of water some time ago and the lack of food and water was becoming painful. He made eye contact with Lucy as she watched him drink. This wasn't the first time he had teased her about her lack of water. Desperate for a sip, she fell to her knees in front of the water, scooping it into her mouth.

"Now you're gettin' it." Cooper mused as he watched her. "How does that golden rule jibe with what's goin' through your head right now?"

"What are you?" Lucy asked angrily.

"Oh I'm you, sweetie, just give it a little time." He responded.

"Because of the radiation poisoning?" I asked, my voice cracking from dehydration.

Cooper turned to me with a serious look on his face, "Not gonna happen to you darlin'."

I gave him a small nod before I squeaked out, "Okay." I trusted him completely.

As a coughing fit took over the ghoul, Lucy took her chance to make a run for it. I was torn between chasing after her and staying to comfort Cooper. Cooper started waving after her, signaling for me to chase her.

"Hey! Stop!" I yelled as I ran after her.

As we rounded the corner, she stopped to stare at the huge crater in the ground. I ran up next to her as I also marveled at the sight. I had never seen anything like that before. Suddenly, Cooper's lasso secured itself around Lucy's midsection as he pulled her down onto the ground.

"Where you think you're goin'? You ain't goin' nowhere." Cooper said as he stepped over her, leaning down to grab her face.

Lucy immediately responded by biting onto his finger and ripping it off with her teeth.

"Oh my god?!" I gasped out as I ran toward them. "Cooper."

He continued to keep his attention on Lucy. "There you are, you little killer." He said as he lifted her to her feet before grabbing ahold of her matching finger and cutting it off with his knife. "Now that right there is the closest thing to an honest exchange that we've had so far." He pocketed her finger before reaching down to pick up his own. "Here darlin'," He said as he handed me the rope that was tied to Lucy.

I hesitantly took it as I watched him rummage around in his pack for a small rag to wrap his finger in.

"You don't hurt, right?" I asked him.

"Don't feel a thing, sugar." He said smiling as he took the rope back from me.

This exchange seemed to have depleted Lucy's resolve completely as she quietly obeyed from there on out. It wasn't long after that that we reached an old building with the word SuperDuperMart written on it. It was surrounded by a broken-down fence and had some old cars in the front of the building. I was nervous, but Cooper's confidence calmed me as we approached the building.

"Transaction," Cooper said as he pressed on some sort of communication device. He threw his bag into the dirt next to him. He looked tired.

"Yes?" Someone responded.

"Two month's supply of vials. Exchange one female mint condition." He stated before looking over at Lucy's hand, "Near mint condition."

"Condition grading requires physical evaluation. Please send her in." The voice responded, there was something strange about the voice that I couldn't recognize. It almost didn't sound human.

The door to the building buzzes and slowly opens. Lucy watched it with concern evident in her eyes, "What's in there?" She asked.

"You're about to find out," Cooper replies as he cuts the rope that bound her wrists.

"You're selling me?" Lucy asks, a look of disbelief on her face.

Cooper pulls a gun from his hip and cocks it, "You got problems out here too, sweetheart. Best you try your luck behind that door. Go on." He says as he shoves her.

I watch on from behind Cooper as Lucy shuffles her way into the building, giving a nervous look back before she enters.

Once she enters, Cooper deflates. He was obviously putting on a show for her. Pretending he wasn't as sick as he really was. "Y/n?"

"Cooper?" I ask breathlessly.

Instead of responding, the ghoul collapsed.

"Cooper!" I yell out as I shake him. His eyes are open and he's still awake but for some reason, he was not able to move.

I pushed the button he was using to communicate with the man inside the building. "He can't wait he needs it now!" Only to get no response. "We will give you another person! A female near mint conditon." I say, describing myself.

Cooper whispered out, "No." I could barely hear him.

I crouch down next to him and place his hat next to him, "It's my turn to take care of you." I declared, giving him a sad smile.

I took his gun and tried to shoot the door to break it. I had never used a gun before, so it took me a minute or two to figure out. The glass, however, appeared to be bulletproof.

"Shit," I mumbled before placing the gun on the ground.

I then decided to try and pry the door open with no such luck. I run between the cars around us, searching for anything I can use to open the door. In one of them, I find a crowbar. "Yes!" I yell happily as I run back to the door. I wrestled with it for a while before I finally was able to get the crowbar inside, finally, I had some progress. I yelled out in frustration as I tried to open the door. It was the heaviest thing I have ever felt in my life. Moving it just an inch took more strength than I had, especially in my state.

After a couple minutes of struggling, I collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. I looked over at Cooper only to see he hadn't loved an inch. "Cooper?" I call out as I crawl towards him. I sit next to him and gently lift his head onto my lap, rolling him onto his back. "You'll be okay," I say quietly before looking up at the door. I was hoping that soon they would come out to give him the vials he was owed. The silence felt like it had been going on forever when there were suddenly gunshots coming from inside the building. I help Cooper a little closer, afraid and confused. I grabbed his gun again and held it close to my side.

"I've got you, Coop," I whispered to him.

The building then went silent again. There was a moment before Lucy strolled out the door, covered in blood.

"Lucy? What happened?" I gasp.

"They were going to harvest my fucking organs!" She yelled angrily as she sauntered over to us.

I shakily hold up my gun, causing her to stop in her tracks.

"He doesn't get these, he turns into one of those? That how it works?" She asked, holding up a couple vials.

I lower the gun and start begging. "Please, Lucy."

She crouches down next to him and contemplates for a moment before saying to Cooper, "I may end up looking like you... but I'll never be like you." Before getting up, she gently puts some vials in my hand. "Golden rule, motherfuckers."

"Thank you! Thank you so much!" I cry out happily as I start rummaging through Cooper's pockets searching for his inhaler. "I've got you, I've got you.." I kept repeating as I shakily put the vial in the inhaler and hold it up to his mouth. It takes a couple tries, but ultimately, he gets ahold of it and breathed in the contents. I make a happy squeak as he starts to move again.

He lets out a soft wheeze before saying 'Why the hell would you do that?"

"What?" I asked him confused.

"You were going to fucking sell yourself? For me?" He states angrily as he sits up to a sitting position.

"Well-" I start.

"Well, nothing. Never do that again." He shouts as he stands, pulling me up by my collar. The fear on my face softened him as he released my shirt with a sigh, "I ain't worth it, darlin'."

"You are to me," I say quietly. "You are never getting rid of me."

He lets out a small laugh as he smiles wearily, his resolve dimishing. "You are way too good for me, sugar."

"Well too bad, Cooper. You've got me." I say as kiss him on the cheek.

Just as I was pulling away he grabbed hold of my hip "Come here." He says as his lips crash into mine.

I let out a squeak in surprise before I started to return the kiss. It was sloppy and heated, filled with pent-up emotions. It was everything I wanted.

Tag list: @msrawog @valdemarismynonbinarylove @topiramategreeable @whizbang-cap @sitkafay @lightan117 @eykismyfav @ajeff855 @madelinealexandra @justme12200 @sihlaryn @raviolisenpai @ellabellabunny123 @impossessedbyjeongyeon @leviathanleva @v3lv3tf0x @judgementdays-girl @savanahc @booksbabes @gauky76 @green--beanie

#cooper howard #the ghoul fallout #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout tv series #fallout

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ghostface001 · 3 months ago

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Broken Bottles

March is falling for you, but he sees how you act around Olric and knows you'll never return his feelings. His solution is to bottle up his emotions and drop kick it as far away from him as possible. Somehow, he doesn't realize what happens to glass when you kick it.

March x Reader

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending), assumed unrequited feelings, minor swearing, drinking as a coping mechanism, a slightly toxic confession scene

Note: This took a lot longer to write than I thought it would, but I love it, so that's okay. Please let me know if you like it! Tagging @atoltia because she asked so nicely

The bell ringing above the door of the blacksmith’s prompts March to turn from his spot at his desk to see who entered, greeted by your bright smile and sack of ore from your latest trip down to the mines. He ignores the clenching in his chest as you beeline to him, procuring a perfect piece of iron ore and holding it out to him.

“Hey, I found this and thought of you.”

He hates it when you talk to him like you want to see him. It could be so easy for him to trick himself into thinking that’s the case. The increased visits to the shop when you don’t need any new tools, the gifts, the attention — when he’s feeling particularly delusional, he wonders if it truly is all for him. But the illusion breaks after he takes the ore and gives the only response he’s capable of under your expectant gaze, something lukewarm to disguise the warmth rushing to his cheeks, and you move on to who you’re actually here for.

Olric.

It’s annoying, hearing Olric tell the same stupid story about his most recent part-time shift around town for the third time in two days. It’s even more annoying when he has to hear you laugh at it, because now instead of focusing on his work, he’s distracted by coming up with ways to hear your laugh for the rest of his life.

“I’m trying to concentrate. Don’t either of you have work to do?” His voice comes out harsher than he intends, but he can’t bring himself to amend it. His position at his desk is a convenient cover from your gaze as you pause. Do you see the white-knuckled grip on his pencil? Do you notice the redness in his cheeks?

He doesn’t have to look at you to know your expression. Raised brow, a wrinkle of confusion and annoyance. He hasn’t snapped at you like that in a while, hasn’t deemed you a nuisance. You thought you were past this with him.You purse your lips and side-eye Olric, who only gives you a guilty shrug. “Sorry, March. I’ll get out of your hair.” You shoulder your bag and say goodbye to Olric, pausing at the door. “I’ll see you both at the inn tonight?”

“Yeah, totally!” March gives a flat grunt following Olric’s enthusiastic answer, and continues scribbling out blueprints.

The door closes behind you, leaving a tense silence as Olric decides whether or not to question him. Before he can, a gasp escapes him. “I have a shift at the general store!” He rushes out the door, and March turns in his chair to see him walk past the window with you smiling brightly at him.

The rip of paper brings him out of his thoughts. March looks down at the blueprints to see a large tear where the pencil had ripped through the paper. With a frustrated sigh, March balls up the paper and tosses it into the wastebasket before pushing himself up from his desk, grabbing his hammer and heading out the door.

Get a grip.

Why do you care who the stupid farmer talks to anyway?

Why do you think they’d ever smile at you like that?

Each passing thought is channeled into March’s swing, punctuated by the loud banging of his hammer against metal. The shop needs a new sword on display after he gave you the last one in exchange for all the ore you’ve been handing over. He can’t let himself be in debt to you. Can’t let himself owe you anything. Because then you’d just give him that smile you have whenever you think you’ve made progress with him, the one that drives him insane. You drive him insane. Every laugh when he brags about his skill, every smile as you hand over a gift from the mines, every new scar from your journeys down there… he can’t tell if he admires you or is worried about you when you act like nothing happened after passing out in the mines. Seeing his sword strapped to your back as you run around town helped after the last time Valen had to heal you — it also made it worse. It made you keep talking to him; it made him keep responding. And now… now it just makes him confused. Frustrated. Annoyed.

Angry.

Angry when you smile at him as though he deserves it. Angry when he messes up and snaps at you. Angry when you just roll your eyes and give it back to him, making his stomach twist in guilt — both because you don’t deserve his attitude and because he likes it when you return his energy. You don’t coddle him like Olric does. You don’t defend him when he’s being a jerk. You don’t insist he’s secretly better than he is. You see him for who he is, and you like him for who he is.

But you like Olric more. You like Olric in the way March wishes you would like him. Not that he blames you, though he can certainly pretend to. Olric is better than him. Maybe not at blacksmithing, but at everything else. Everything you deserve. And it pisses him off.

“Are you, uh… trying out a new technique, bro?”

March forces his glare away from Olric to the anvil. The sword he’d been taking his anger out on now sits in pieces, the metal ruined from sitting in the forge for too long before he started working on it. He sneers down at his failure. “No. I’m screwing up.”

“I’m sure it can be reused… somehow.” Olric reaches up and scratches the back of his neck as he attempts to be reassuring.

“It can’t.” March swipes the metal into the scrap bucket that’s been steadily becoming more and more needed the longer you’ve been living in his head. Maybe it’s for the best that you like Olric. That way, he can finally force his feelings to the back of his mind and get back to his standards of perfection. Maybe it’ll actually work this time.

Olric is saying something about not worrying about the waste of metal when him saying your name brings March’s attention back. “— and I are going down to the tide caverns of the mines tomorrow, if you want to join?”

The offer makes March roll his eyes. He’s never been a miner. After the earthquake, sometimes he’ll go a few levels down in the upper mines for copper if he’s really desperate, but otherwise, he relies on Olric and Balor for supply. Not to mention, he’d rather look for worms after it rains than be a third wheel to you and Olric in the mines, working together, protecting each other with his sword on your back—

“March?”

He grits his teeth and tears off his gloves. “I’ll pass.” He storms past Olric into the shop, slamming the door behind him.

~~~

As soon as you walk into the inn, March feels the room brighten, and he watches you make your rounds. You first visit the Dragon Guard, who are conspiring on their next hit — March overheard them ‘whispering’ about Juniper earlier, the kids aren’t subtle. Next, you check in on the latest session of Dragons & Drama that Celine is running, and after that, you stop for a round of cards. March observes you sitting next to Olric, consulting each other about your hands to the annoyance of everyone else playing. And when you win instead of Olric, he cheerfully congratulates you, his arm around your shoulders causing March to grip his glass tighter.

You finally sit next to him at the bar, and the sinking feeling in his gut disappears with your smile. Hemlock slides a drink to you over the bar, and you thank him before turning to March, your voice low. “You seemed a little off this morning, are you feeling better?”

“Now that you’re here,” He drawls with a smile, propping his head up with his hand, his elbow resting on the bar.

You bite back a smile, and March suddenly has the strong urge to cup your cheeks in his hands as your face takes on a warmer hue and you laugh softly, hiding behind a sip of your drink. “Did Olric ask you about the mines tomorrow? I wanted to ask you myself, but thought you might still be… moody.”

He frowns — if he’s being honest, it’s more of a pout. “‘S’not fair.”

Your brow furrows. “Sorry, I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“You are bothering me.”

Your face twists in confusion and offense. “I can leave—”

“Noooo.” It begins to occur to March that drinking does not make him magically better at expressing himself. He reaches forward as you start to get up, but you’re closer than he’s prepared for, so he holds your wrists when he means to take your hands in his. “I mean… ‘s’not fair that you hang out with Olric all the time. ‘S’like you like him or something.”

“I do like him.”

You say something else, but the blood is already rushing in his ears. “You… you do?”

Your confusion doesn’t let up. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

No. There isn’t. Because Olric is everything March isn’t. He’s nice, and humble, and respectful. His compliments aren’t backhanded, and his praise doesn’t have to be earned. Olric doesn’t have to hide behind alcohol to express how he feels. He doesn’t have to drink to be happy.

You like Olric. March already knew, but to hear it from your lips makes the sting burn. The warmth of your skin under his hands turns to ice, and he pulls back quickly. Too quickly, as his elbow hits his glass and sends it crashing to the ground.

Everyone turns at the sound of glass shattering, and March’s face burns under their gazes as he pushes himself to stand. You reach out to steady him as he stumbles, avoiding stepping on broken glass. “I’ll pay for it,” He manages as Josephine approaches, ready with a broom and dustpan.

“There’s no need. You didn’t get nicked or anything, right?” Josephine waves him off with a smile that he can only read as pity.

“I’m fine.” He backs away, keeping his head down, and shoves his hands in his pockets before leaving. The cool night air does little to help the burning in his cheeks as he stalks over the bridge to get home.

On the way, a hand is on his shoulder. And he turns to see you, your concerned gaze under the moonlight doing nothing to help his inner turmoil. “March? What happened?”

“I said I’m fine!” He wrenches himself away, glaring at you. “Just go be with your boyfriend!”

You hold your hands up to placate him, only angering him more. “What are you talking about?”

“Olric!” He steps forward, closing in the space between you. “You said you like him, so how about you go do something about it instead of being a useless coward?”

Your face falls for a moment before hardening, and you straighten. “Get some sleep, March,” You say coolly. “It seems like you need it.”

You head back to the inn, and March glares over the side of the bridge, debating the merits of a night swim when Olric finds him and brings him home.

~~~

March is occupying himself witht he inventory books the next morning when the bell above the door rings. He looks up to see you enter, dressed for the mines, with his sword strapped to your back. Despite the pain relieving tonic from Valen, his head throbs. “Olric left already,” He bites out, forcing himself to look down at the book.

“I told him I’d meet him there.” You set a paper cup on the sales desk and push it towards him. “Fresh from Darcy. She said she hasn’t seen you today.”

There was no chance in hell he was going to the market today. Everyone would just ask him how he was, and what was wrong, and he might just throw himself over the bridge for sure. His headache forces him to take the cup, despite never wanting to accept anything from you ever again. It’s a mocha. At least he can pretend it’s from Darcy knowing his order instead of you. You watch him expectantly as he takes a drink, an edge in your gaze. You’re expecting him to lash out at you again. He just might. “You should go. Wouldn’t want you to be late for your date.”

Your eyes narrow, and he pointedly returns to the inventory lists. “It’s not a date,” You reply.

“But you want it to be.”

“No, I don’t.” You reach forward and close the book, bringing it over to your side of the desk. March glares at you, but you don’t waver. “So, let’s talk about it.”

It’s times like these when March wishes you would treat him like everyone else. Give him a wide berth when he’s upset, only bother him when necessary, and treat him like a ticking bomb just waiting to go off. Stop being so… you. Maybe then he wouldn’t like you as much, and you wouldn’t be forcing this conversation on him in the first place. “If you want to talk so bad, then talk to Olric,” He grits out.

“You are such a child!” You round the desk, removing the barrier between you. “I’m not dating Olric, I don’t want to date him—”

“You said you like him—”

“I thought you meant as a friend!” You throw your hands out in exasperation. “And you know what? Even if I did like him romantically, why do you care? Why is it any of your business?”

He balls his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “It isn’t.”

“No.” You step forward again, closing the distance between you. “It’s not rhetorical. Why do you care so much about who I like, March? Because I have a feeling, but I’m not gonna make it easy for you after you’ve been treating me like shit for no good reason. So how about you do something about it instead of being a useless coward?”

For the first time in a long time, he does something about it. The kiss he pulls you in for is bruising and awkward, but that doesn’t stop you from returning the intensity with equal fervor. His drink sits forgotten on the table as he holds the back of your neck, his other hand gripping your hip. You clutch the front of his shirt tightly, arching your body closer into him. His lips part, and you capture more of him, causing him to gasp against your mouth.

When you finally part, neither of you let go of the other, both breathing heavily. “Why… why did you think I liked Olric?” You ask softly, still catching your breath.

He knows his face is red, but he’s close enough to see that your cheeks are a deeper hue as well. “You always come by to see him.”

“I always come by to see you.” Your palms flatten against his chest and you laugh. “Do you seriously need me to tell you how disgustingly obvious it is that I like you? Because I will. And it will be disgusting. And slightly stalker-y. And you’ll feel really stupid that you got it wrong.”

He purses his lips to hide the smile threatening to surface. “So, what, you’re so smart that you’ve known I liked you all along and did nothing about it?”

“I had no idea until you freaked out on me last night.” Your hand trails up to his cheek. “So I guess we’re both a little stupid.”

“Can I kiss you again?” He asks, dipping his head down. “I didn’t do it right the first time.”

“It felt alright to me.” Your gaze falls to his lips. You can still feel where your teeth had knocked together, and your lips sting.

“‘Alright’ isn’t good enough.”

“You’re such a perfectionist,” You laugh, leaning in so your lips graze against his. “But I’ll allow it.”

He closes the distance, and vows to perfect his technique as long as you’ll let him.

#fom march x reader #fom march x farmer #march x reader #march x farmer #fields of mistria x reader #fields of mistria fanfiction #now that ive hyped this fic up so much im terrified to actually post it #but i must

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moonchild9350 · 9 days ago

Text

Whispers of Beauty

summary: you find your way again after a horrible breakup with the help of poetry and Hyunjin.

pairing: Hyunjin x fab!reader

genre: strangers to lovers au (slow burn), angst, fluff, smut-18+ MDNI

word count: 6.8k

warnings: time jumps, nipple play, clit play, unprotected sex (don't), creampie, multiple orgasms, cum tasting, finger sucking

notes: reminiscing of hyunjin as always. this will also probably be it until i finish the series i'm working on lol. the poems used in this fic are Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal by Tennyson and She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron if you'd like to read them in full!

if you enjoyed, please consider a like, reblog, or comment as it keeps me motivated ♡

dividers by @saradika-graphics

It was another busy day at the cafe, people coming in to order their usuals as they made their way to work, school, or elsewhere. You lose yourself in the art of making their drinks, the familiar task giving you a sense of comfort.

You definitely needed comfort after a recent breakup, the wounds so fresh, you could still feel your heart rip in two at just the thought. You were in need of some healing and your friend, Ember, knew just the activity that will help.

Every Friday, the cafe you worked at hosted poetry night where others can spend their evenings sharing their original works or reciting works of some of poetry’s greatest authors.

You loved poetry, loved getting lost in the words of those who walked this earth centuries before you. The works always incited emotion, your eyes welling up in tears, or scowling in anger at the passion of the writers.

You also loved listening to others, as they poured their heart out through words, weaving their stories through happy narratives or euphemisms.

While you were dating your ex, your passion for poetry dimmed, finding no comfort from the words on the page as your love for the stories was berated and considered worthless.

You sat aside your poems in exchange for the thought of love, burying the feeling of hopelessness deep within your heart.

Now that you were free, you started engaging in poetry reading again, getting lost in the words once more, your smile returning as you found some comfort from them. Ember suggested you start going to poetry nights, so you could get out of the house, meet new people, and of course engage in your ultimate love.

At first, you weren’t keen on the idea, having not gone to an event like this in years, but overtime you changed your mind, deciding it was exactly what you needed.

So you busied yourself in your work, counting down the hours until the end of your shift and when you could take a seat and enjoy the entertainment of the night.

Time passed, people came, drinks were made. Before you knew it, you were clocking out, taking off your apron and setting it on your hook. You fixed your outfit in the bathroom, then went in search of your friend, hoping she had already arrived.

You smiled as you spotted Ember, sitting on a couch in the corner. You walked over to her, embracing in a hug before sitting down with a sigh, happy with the relief of getting off your aching legs.

“I’m so excited you agreed to do this!” Ember exclaimed, pulling you close so she could hug you.

“Same, it’s been too long,” you replied, wrapping your arms around your friend.

She playfully ruffled your hair, laughing as you protested. “Seems like it’ll be a good turn out.”

You scanned the room, noticing that the tables and couches were filling in, friends, couples, and singles alike settling in for a good night.

“Yeah, the turn-out is usually good,” you replied.

You listened to the chatter, your mind wandering elsewhere in the cozy atmosphere. You’re not sure how much time passed as you stared into space, your mind running nonstop.

“Y/n! It’s about to start!” Ember said as she elbowed you in the side.

You shook your head to come back to the present. The lights were dim, a small spotlight shining on a spot in the center of the room. You assumed this would be where those who wanted to share their thoughts would sit, as there was a small wooden stool present, along with a microphone.

The crowd quieted, their attention focused on your boss who walked to the mic. She tapped on the head before clearing her throat.

“Welcome to poetry night! Tonight we will listen to some talented people recite some of literature’s greatest works. So sit back and let the words flow through your soul.”

You clapped as she left the makeshift stage, the first performer taking their place. You listened to poem after poem, your mind opening up and your heart beating at the promise of the words that were flowing through the small space.

Before you knew it, the night was almost over, the event coming to a close. You clapped as the last performer took to the stage, your eyes widening at the sight of him.

He was dressed in a black sweater and jeans, the fit loose on his slim body. His brown hair framed his face perfectly, the strands hanging down to his neck. His eyes were a beautiful shade of chocolate brown and seemed to shine with the spotlight that shone from above. His lips were large and plush and a pretty shade of pink that had you blushing.

He sat on the stool and pulled the mic closer and adjusted it. He cleared his throat as he looked out into the audience, his eyes roaming those gathered as if he was summoning their attention.

The extra step was moot however as everyone’s eyes were trained on him, awaiting the beautiful words that would fall from his lips.

You watched with bated breath as he opened his mouth and began to speak:

“Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white; Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font. The firefly wakens; waken thou with me.”

As the man spoke, you felt like you were transported to another time, as a princess professes her love for the prince. The words that he spoke were smooth like velvet, yet full of emotion.

His eyes gazed upon the crowd, his eyes catching person after person as he recited the poem, making sure to captivate the audience. Eventually, his eyes made it to you and remained there as he continued to speak.

You couldn’t help but watch his lips as they opened and closed, as he continued his prose. You could feel your face heat up, as you dragged your eyes to his, holding his strong gaze.

He finished in a beat, the crowd erupting in cheers as he stood up and bowed slightly, before returning to his seat. He wasn’t sitting far from you as he was only a few tables away, his back turned toward you.

As the night went on, you couldn’t help but stare at the man, your mind still reeling after that performance. You wondered who he was as you haven’t seen him around the cafe. Ember tapped you on the thigh, causing you to turn and look at her.

You rolled your eyes as she wriggled her eyebrows at noticing how you were staring at the mystery man.

Once the lights came back up, people milled around chatting, discussing the choices of the night. You noticed a crowd of people surrounding the mystery man, mainly women gushing at how well he did.

“I’ll be right back,” you told Ember, who was speaking with some random person that was sitting next to you.

“Sure thing babe,” she replied, a sly smile forming on her face.

You walked over toward the man, determined to speak to him before the night ended. You definitely wanted to compliment him on his choice of work as Tennyson was one of your favorite authors.

You waited patiently as the flock of groupies gushed to him about irrelevant things, probably trying to see who could get his number first. You smirked at their desperation, watching as he tried to disentangle himself from a girl who was trying to hug him.

Chuckling, you decided to help him out.

“Eh mm,” you said, raising your eyebrow at the girls who turned around to see who had interrupted them.

“Others are waiting to speak with the gentleman, just wanted to let you know.”

The girls looked at you with disdain, their eyes narrowed as they hesitated to move. When you opened your mouth to say more, they scrambled away, muttering under their breaths about how they were rudely interrupted.

Shaking your head, you approached the beautiful man and smiled.

“Hi, great job tonight. Tennyson huh?” You said, watching as the man blushed and tucked his head down.

“Thank you, uh…yeah. He’s one of my favorites.”

“Really mine too! I’m y/n,” you responded, holding your hand out to shake his hand.

His eyes lit up at your words, excitement etched on his face. “Ah! Another fan, that makes my heart sing y/n. I’m Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin reached his hand to you, wrapping his fingers around yours and giving you a firm handshake. You couldn’t help but think how soft his hands were, albeit a little sweaty.

“I’d love to chat with you more about him…or poetry in general,” you said dropping your hand.

“Of course, of course, that would be excellent!” Hyunjin said as he nodded, his hair falling into his face at the movement.

“Great, I actually work here, so maybe we can meet-up after one of my shifts?”

“Sounds perfect,” he said, fiddling with his sleeves.

You smiled at how nervous he was, thinking he was pretty cute. “I’ll see you around then,” you said with a wave of your hand.

You turned on your heels and walked away, making your way back to Ember. You couldn’t miss the sly grin she had plastered on her face.

“Well, well, well, someone’s been busy,” she teased, giving you a wink.

“No, no, I just wanted to speak with him and see if he wanted to talk more about Tennyson. Turns out that’s his favorite poet too.”

“Mmhmm, sure whatever you say babe. Did you get his name?” Ember asked.

“Hyunjin,” you said simply, a warm feeling spreading throughout your body as you said his name.

“Well, may great things be in store for you two,” Ember said, as she genuinely smiled at you.

-- --

Weeks passed with you filling your days with work. You picked up long shifts which left you exhausted by the end of the day, causing you to tread home and immediately fall into bed out of exhaustion.

You saw Ember sporadically over the weeks on your few off days, which was a nice change of pace.

You haven’t seen Hyunjin, as he hasn’t stopped by. You pretty much gave up on the idea of the man showing up, chalking it up to that he forgot or wasn’t interested….not that he owed you anything anyway.

Despite this, a part of you hoped he would have stopped by, wanting to discuss with him his love for literature. You were fascinated with him, remembering how velvety his voice sounded as he brought centuries old words to life.

You were working the register one day, taking people’s orders, which you didn’t mind as most of your customers were regulars and really kind. However, the sight of a particular person made you gasp, your eyes widening at the sight of them.

The man sauntered over, a smirk on his face as he approached the counter.

“Well, well, hi love,” he said.

You felt bile rise-up at his words, your mind swirling with a million thoughts.

“What are you doing here?”

Your ex, Elias chucked and ran a hand through his hair.

“Can’t I just stop by for some coffee and to see my favorite girl?”

“I’m not your girl,” you sneered, your fists balling up at your side.

“Oh come on love, don’t be like that. I’ll take you back you know. Just be a good girl and be mine again.”

You were furious, heat rising to your face as your blood boiled. You could feel your hands shake, wanting to punch this man in front of you.

You were about to respond when another person stepped behind Elias, his eyes narrowed.

You looked up and recognized Hyunjin, your heart skipping at a beat at the sight of him.

“You’re holding up the line,” Hyunjin said, crossing his arms and adapting a threatening stance.

“I’m almost done,” Elias said as he continued to focus on you.

You swallowed as you saw Hyunjin’s face turn red, his fists balling up.

“Is he bothering you y/n?” Hyunjin asked you, concern in his eyes.

You merely shook your head yes, scared your voice would betray you as you were close to tears.

“Leave.”

Hyunjin spat the word out with so much venom, even you were taken aback. He seemed so sweet and innocent, but it seemed he had a tough side as well.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Elias said, looking between you two. “Good luck man she’s a piece of work.”

At that, Elias turned on his heels and walked away, walking out into the crowded sidewalk. You found yourself letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as your eyes landed on Hyunjin.

Hyunjin let out a huff and then uncrossed his arms, as he walked up to the counter. His eyes searched yours, making sure you were ok.

“Hi,” you sheepishly replied as you fiddled with your apron.

“Hi,” Hyunjin replied as he smiled, clearly happy you were ok.

“So, can I get you anything?” You asked as you smirked.

“Hmmm, I was thinking we could have that chat. Sorry I haven’t stopped by sooner, work has been busy.”

At his words, you felt your heart flutter within your chest, your excitement rising at the prospect of spending time with him. You tried to control yourself before responding, willing your heart to slow.

“I’d love that. I get off at 8.”

Hyunjin smiled, elated that you accepted his proposal. “Perfect, how about I swing by and pick you up then?”

“Sure,” you said as you tried not to bounce on your feet.

“It’s a date then. Oh, and I guess while I’m here, might as well get an iced americano!”

You chuckled and began to ring him up, a smile on your face all the while. When you selected his cup to write his name down, you drew a cute smiley face, adding little stars around the face. You smiled at him as you set the cup down.

“See you tonight y/n,” he said as he turned to walk to the pick-up area.

Your mind was reeling, your heart pounding in your chest. Hyunjin called it a date, an actual date. Is it a date? Did he just ask you out? Or was he just saying that to be cheeky?

The rest of the day, the thought was on your mind, causing you to make a few mistakes as you helped out customers. As the time for your shift to end got closer, you began to feel nervous and jittery, as you weren’t able to stand still.

Hyunjin was right on time, a huge smile on his face as he walked in looking like an absolute angel. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, not realizing you were staring until he called your name.

Apologizing profusely, you clocked out and grabbed your stuff, rushing to stand by his side.

“Where to?” You asked, looking up into his eyes.

“Well, I thought we could take a walk around the city? Chat a little and enjoy the night atmosphere?”

A walk after a long day sounded perfect.

“I love that, let’s do it!”

Hyunjin grinned and bowed, ushering you ahead. You giggled and blushed as he opened the door for you, the little bell tinkling lightly against the glass.

You stepped out into the night air, the crispness a nice welcome after being in the cafe all day. You both joined the many others making their way down the sidewalk.

“So you like poetry?” Hyunjin asked in a serious tone as he stared straight ahead.

“Mmhmm, I do. I studied English literature back in university. I don’t know, it’s just something about reading the words of those from long before you that creates such an intimate look into their life and thoughts.”

“I get it. I’ve been studying and reading poetry a few years now. It’s a comfort to me.” Hyunjin said, as he contemplated his thoughts.

“How long have you been reciting poetry?” You asked, turning to look at him.

Hyunjin paused in thought as he considered your question. “I’d probably say the last three years or so.”

You hummed in response, impressed with his dedication. You both were silent for a moment, the sound of crickets chirping through the night, their song almost melancholic.

“So…” Hyunjin began, “who uh…who was the guy that was harassing you earlier? Of course you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to! I was just curious…” he continued, his voice trailing off.

You let out a heavy sigh. You deserved to give him an answer, especially since he came to your aid.

“That was my ex, Elias. We broke up a few months back. He um…I caught him with another girl in our bed…”

Your mood fell at the thought, remembering the day when you came home, exhausted from your long day at work. You were excited to see your boyfriend and have a relaxing evening…that is until you found out he wasn’t exactly excited to see you as he was between some other girl’s legs.

You recounted to Hyunjin how Elias tried to deny the affair, even though you saw the proof with your own eyes, but you didn’t give him a chance to grovel, ending the relationship that very night.

Hyunjin listened intently, his heart breaking at the fact that someone who was supposed to love you betrayed you instead. He definitely thought you deserved better as you seemed intelligent and kind and not to mention beautiful.

“I’m sorry y/n… he seems like an asshole to be honest.” He replied as he balled his hands into a fist at the thought of the sleaze bag he encountered earlier in the day.

“I recognize that now. There were definitely signs leading up to that night, but I guess I chose to ignore them.”

Hyunjin nodded, “I get it. You were blindsided by what you thought was a loving relationship.”

You hummed in agreement. You were blinded and so stupid, but Elias was in the past. You didn’t have to worry about him anymore.

“You deserve better y/n, just thought I’d mention it.”

You felt the corner of your eyes prickle with tears, threatening to spill over at any moment. Your chest felt heavy at his way of consoling you.

You did deserve better, and you believe that’s why his betrayal hurt so much. Your heart was healing, one day at a time. You could feel another stitch find its way within you at his words, Hyunjin’s company soothing. Somehow at that feeling, you knew you would be ok, and could continue to heal with the help of Hyunjin.

Your mind wandered to the man next to you. Maybe it was fate that you met him that night. If it wasn’t for your friend pushing you out of your comfort zone, you’d have never stayed to listen to others pour their heart out in prose and ultimately never met Hyunjin and his beautiful soul.

Months have passed and you are now dating Hyunjin. Each day is full of bliss as he showers you with love, making sure you feel like a queen.

He is picking you up after work and taking you to dinner as today is your birthday. You tried asking where he was going to take you, but he kept saying it’s a surprise.

You were excited to say the least at the thought of the night to come. Your shift couldn’t end soon enough, as the clock struck six, your boss letting you go early in honor of the special day.

Your face lit up at the sound of the bell, Hyunjin walking into the cafe. He looked handsome in his jeans and sweater, his hair styled neatly.

“Hi angel! Ready?” He asked, stopping at the counter.

“Yep! Let me clock out and grab my bag.”

Hyunjin chuckled as he watched you scramble around, picking up your bag and hurrying to his side.

“Now I’m ready,” you smiled, looking up at your boyfriend.

Hyunjin grinned and took your hand, his fingers lacing with yours as he brought the back of your hand to his lips for a kiss.

Even though you’ve been dating for a few months now, you still blushed at his antics, the novelty never wearing off.

“Then let’s go, angel.”

Hyunjin led you out of the cafe and outside. You looked around your surroundings, your eyes widening at every restaurant you passed, wondering if it would be the one.

However, you passed building after building, not stopping at any of them.

Hyunjin could sense your curiosity, as he gave your hand a squeeze. “We’re almost there, see?” He asked, pointing to a building in the distance.

You took notice of a brick building that seemed empty. You were confused as he guided you to the door, the corridor beyond eerie looking.

“Where are we going?” You asked as you were more than nervous at this point.

You trusted Hyunjin but a part of you was a little scared, not knowing what awaited you within the building.

“Don’t worry angel, let’s keep moving, just one more flight of stairs,” Hyunjin cooed, as you both walked up a flight of stairs.

At the top of the staircase there was a large door, the metal frame seeming unwelcoming. Hyunjin stopped in front of it and grasped the handle while looking at you with a bright smile on his face.

“Ready?” He asked.

You nodded your head and held your breath, prepared for whatever was on the other side. As he opened the door, you were greeted with a balcony overlooking the city, the skyline lit up against the night sky. There were fairy lights strung around the perimeter, casting a soft glow on the rooftop.

In the center, there was a small table, set up for two, the flicker of two candles casting shadows across the table. It was all so surreal. You couldn’t believe Hyunjin did all of this for you.

“Surprise!” Hyunjin said, dramatically wiggling his fingers.

You chuckled at his antics, all of your nervousness gone.

“It’s beautiful! I can’t believe you did this for me,” you said, your voice breaking as you looked at Hyunjin.

“Aww angel, don’t cry,” Hyunjin said as he rushed over to you.

He gently wiped the tear that had escaped while he pulled you closer to his body.

“I’d do anything for you y/n. I love you so much.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words as the feeling of butterflies fluttered within your stomach. You couldn’t believe your luck, happy that you were able to share this moment with the most perfect man.

“I love you too,” you gushed, your cheeks flushing with the statement.

Hyunjin flashed his beautiful smile before taking your hands in his once more.

“Shall we?”

“Yes please,” you softly said, letting him pull you toward the table.

You watched as he pulled your chair out, gesturing for you to sit. Once seated, he rushed to his chair and sat down. Your eyes followed his every move as he plated up dinner, the food smelling delicious as it was piled up on your plate.

He poured both of you a glass of wine and then signaled he was done. You both began to eat, the food seeming to melt on your tongue as a burst of flavors invaded your taste buds.

Hyunjin filled the evening with chatter, asking you about your day in detail. You were more than happy to discuss your day, as it was a little rough, having some difficult customers come through.

Once you were done eating, Hyunjin dished up dessert, setting down a slice of chocolate cake in front of you.

“You know me so well,” you said as you eyed the cake, your mouth watering in anticipation at eating the sweet treat.

“Of course angel, have to make sure you have your chocolate!”

You giggled and picked up your fork and cut a piece off. You moaned at the taste, your eyes closing as it melted in your mouth. You were in heaven, or close to it.

“So,” Hyunjin started as he twirled his fork around in his hand. “I am going to enter into the poetry night contest at the cafe. I think it would be something fun to do.”

Hyunjin looked at his plate, nervous in how you would respond. He wanted to share his talent with more people, and what better way to do so than through a friendly competition? The prize was also nice, one he believes would be worth winning.

“That’s a great idea baby!” You exclaimed, clapping your hands at the idea.

Hyunjin’s eyes lit up at your enthusiasm, his body relaxing further into the chair at your acceptance.

“Mind if we practice when we get home?” He asked, hope in his eyes.

“Of course, I’d love to help you,” you gushed, excited to hear which poem he chose.

“Great, let’s pack up and then we can head back.”

You nodded and began to gather your trash, helping hyunjin clean up. Once done, you both walked back to his apartment, giggling and chatting the whole way, your arms swinging back and forth between you.

“Thank you for dinner baby, I really did enjoy it,” you said, as you continued your walk.

“I’m happy you liked it angel, anything for my baby.”

You chuckled, your heart swelling at how sweet he is. You walked in silence, enjoying the quiet of the city as it was late. Within the last few blocks from Hyunjin’s apartment building, an idea popped in your head.

“Wanna race the rest of the way and see who can get there first?” You asked, wiggling your eyebrows.

“Oh yes! Let’s do it,” Hyunjin said.

“Just so you know, I plan on winning,” you teased as you dropped your hand from his.

“I’d like to see you try,” Hyunjin responded while squatting, preparing to take off.

“Ok, ready? 3…2…1..go!”

You both took off down the walk, a fluster of laughter and shouts as you both raced to his building. You couldn’t remember ever feeling this happy as you felt the wind blow through your hair as you raced your boyfriend. Tonight was a perfect night indeed and would definitely be one of your favorites.

— —

Once inside, you both made yourself comfy, changing into your sleep clothes. You giggled as Hyunjin pulled you into bed and pressed kisses all over your face.

“I love you sweet girl,” he murmured in between kisses.

“I love you too baby, that tickles!” You chuckled as he tried to pull you closer, all the while continuing to kiss you.

Once he was satisfied, he pulled back to look you in the eyes. “Happy birthday angel,” he whispered as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You smiled before leaning over to kiss him on the lips, your heart swelling at the gentleness of the kiss. You both laid there for what felt like a lifetime, snuggled into each other’s embrace as you lazily kissed each other. You tugged your fingers through his hair, the soft locks gliding easily through them.

Hyunjin whimpered against your lips, as he pressed himself against you, his length hard against your thigh. You rolled your hips, grinding against him as you deepened the kiss, running your tongue against his bottom lip asking for entrance.

He pulled you closer, your bodies flush against each other as his tongue danced with yours. You wrapped a leg around his waist so you could feel him better and continued to grind against him, sighing against his lips as his cock brushed against your core.

Disconnecting with a gasp, you laid there catching your breath as you stared at your lover, taking in the love mixed with lust in his eyes. Your eyes fluttered as Hyunjin lightly dragged his finger down your cheek, to your lips, his thumb catching at your bottom lip.

You moaned as he slowly pushed his finger within your mouth, your lips immediately wrapping around the digit. You lightly sucked on his finger, your tongue swirling around the digit, your eyes on his.

You smirked as you felt his cock twitch against your thigh. As you released his thumb with a pop, Hyunjin pounced on you, rolling you onto your back. He attached his lips to yours in a hurried kiss, his hands fumbling with your sleep shorts.

He dragged them down as best as he could, you aiding the process as you wiggled out of the fabric, your feet pushing them down your legs. Hyunjin pulled away briefly as he gripped the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head.

You moaned as he attached his lips back to yours, your pussy clenching as he rocked his clothed cock into your core. He lazily kissed you, his pace slowing down, his heart beating against yours. You were lost in the feel of him when you heard him murmur, his voice sultry in your ear.

“She walks in beauty like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies; and all that’s best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and her eyes; thus mellowed to that tender light, which heaven to gaudy day denies.”

You pulled away slightly, confusion plastered on your face.

“Baby…what…”

But Hyunjin just silenced you with a kiss. “Shhh my angel, I’m practicing remember?”

It took you a moment to realize what he was talking about, lost in thought as his lips moved with yours, until it clicked a few seconds later. The poem. Ahh it made sense now.

At that, you relaxed further, letting out a sigh as his lips moved to your neck, sucking the skin there and licking the area to sooth it. Your fingers played with his hair, twirling the ends around the digit. As he continued to leave purple marks on your skin, he continued murmuring, his voice soft in the otherwise quiet room.

“One shade the more, one ray the less, had half impaired the nameless grace, which waves in every raven tress, or softly lightens o’er her face; where thoughts serenely sweet express, how pure, how dear their dwelling place.”

Once he was done reciting the next part, he trailed his lips on your chest, pressing wet kisses down the valley of your breasts. He wrapped his plush lips around your nipple, letting out little moans as he suckled the hardened nub.

“So beautiful angel,” Hyunjin murmured in between kisses as he fondled your breasts, his eyes closed in bliss as he savored your body.

His fingers trailed down your tummy, leaving goosebumps in its wake as he made his way to your core, his fingers swirling around your swollen clit. You sighed as he continued to gently play with the nub, shocks of pleasure wrecking your frame as you surrendered to his ministrations.

As he tortured your sweet flesh, his eyes snapped up to watch you writhing in pleasure. Licking his lips, he took a shaky breath before continuing on.

“And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, so soft, so calm, yet eloquent, the smiles that win, the tints that glow; but tell of days in goodness spent, a mind at peace with all below, a heart whose love is innocent.”

You opened your eyes as he finished, his voice trailing off at the end. You looked down at the love of your life between your legs, watching the veins pop out of his arms as he continued to pay attention to your clit.

You were close, the pleasure building, your chest heaving as you tried to breathe. Your hands gripped the sheets, the white fabric bunching up as you rocked your hips against his fingers.

“So sweet, so beautiful, delicate like a flower. Cum for me angel.”

You groaned at his words, your orgasm hitting you hard as he continued to gently fondle you. He grinned as you fell apart, his eyes roaming your face, taking in the look of pleasure, the scent of you as your slick made a mess of his hands.

Once you came down, Hyunjin shuffled up, parting your legs even more. At some point he had rid himself of his clothes, his hand stroking his leaking cock.

He brought his length between your folds, running his cock through your slick, before pushing into you. You both let out a moan, your arms reaching out for Hyunjin as he began to thrust into you.

“My baby,” Hyunjin cooed as he leaned down, your hands wrapping around his neck as you brought him closer to you.

Hyunjin slowly thrusted into you, taking his time, his cock dragging through your walls and hitting your sweet spot each time. You whined as he buried his face within your neck, placing sloppy kisses there, as he murmured his love for you.

You felt overwhelmed as he made love to you, the heat within your core building again. You clutched onto Hyunjin anywhere you could, his hair, his back, his waist as he brought sweet bliss upon you.

You reveled in the sound of both of you, as you breathed as one, punctuated with a low moan as he continued to rock into you. Hyunjin groaned each time your pussy made known how good he was fucking you, his hips stuttering as you squeezed around him.

“Come on angel, cum for me, be a good girl yeah?” Hyunjin moaned into your ear, his pace becoming more erratic as he got closer to his high.

You felt his cock twitch within you, your pussy clenching again and again, locking him in. You were blindsided as the coil within you snapped, your orgasm hitting you hard as you gasped, your pussy dripping with your arousal, drenching Hyunjin’s cock as he continued to fuck you through it.

Hyunjin let out a loud groan at the feel of your walls spasming around him, triggering his high, his cum spurting out within you, thoroughly coating your walls.

As you came down, you watched the man you love fall apart above you, a sight you will never get used to. He looked down at you, sweat dripping down his face, his hair disheveled as he thrusted his hips within you a few more times for good measure.

“Such beauty in your afterglow,” Hyunjin cooed as he pushed a strand of hair behind your ear and trailed a finger from your lips, down your chest, your breasts, your tummy, all the way down to your core.

He dragged his finger through some of the cum that was leaking around his cock that was still buried within your heat. Taking his soaked finger, he brought it to your lips, smiling as you opened and took the digit in.

You swirled your tongue around his finger, licking up the salty liquid, humming as you swallowed.

“Good girl,” Hyunjin praised as he withdrew his finger and his cock.

You whimpered at the emptiness, your arms reaching out for Hyunjin. He snuggled into your embrace, pressing sweet kisses all over your face.

“Stop baby,” you giggled, turning your head side to side.

“Nope, won’t stop angel,” Hyunjin teased as he continued his assault.

You both battled for a little while longer, the room filled with laughter as you both teased each other. Hyunjin settled down however and stared at you, almost as if he was staring into your soul.

“You know I love you right?” Hyunjin whispered, as he memorized your face for the millionth time.

“Mmhmm,” you said as you brushed your fingers through his hair. “And I love you.”

Hyunjin smiled at your confession as he leaned to press another kiss to your lips.

“Happy birthday,” he said as he rested his head on your chest.

This would be one of your best birthdays yet, filled with special moments with the man you love.

The days passed as Hyunjin prepared the competition. He was ready to win, ready to receive that prize so he could surprise you. He had a plan after all.

You helped him practice as much as possible, your nights spent at your place or his, snacks scattered around the table as Hyunjin paced the floors reciting the poem. You were sure he would win, as he improved greatly over the last few weeks.

You had to work the day of the competition, however, Hyunjin would meet you there before your shift ended.

“You got this babe,” you said to him as you left for your shift, giving him a smile as you walked out the door.

Your shift passed, your nerves getting the best of you as the time of the competition drew nearer. Ember showed up early, wanting to support your boyfriend and cheer him on.

You directed her to a table, so that way you both would have good seats for the night. It didn’t take long until Hyunjin showed up, handsomely dressed as always.

He smiled as he approached you. “Hi angel!” He gushed, his body radiating with excitement.

“Hi baby, ready?”

“Of course, gonna win this thing!”

You chuckled at his optimism. “Go sit, Ember saved us seats. I’ll be there soon.”

Hyunjin nodded and blew you a kiss before walking away, taking a seat next to your friend.

You finished your shift and clocked out, the time passing fairly quickly. You sat down next to Hyunjin and placed your hand on his giving it a squeeze. He seemed to be buzzing with enthusiasm, but deep down you knew he was nervous.

“You got this baby,” you whispered, giving his hand another squeeze.

Hyunjin smiled and relaxed, elated that you were there to cheer him on.

The event began in no time, the little cafe packed with patrons. You watched as contestant after contestant performed, their words filling the small space, and taking the listeners to a different place and time.

Before you knew it, it was Hyunjin’s turn. You and Ember cheered him on as he took his place on stage, his confidence oozing as he gazed at the crowd. You were captivated as he began to speak, the words reaching each person, telling a story of love and beauty.

Hyunjin maintained eye contact with each person, his voice raising and falling at the appropriate moments, his hands flowing in movements that helped tell the story.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him and neither could anyone else. After he recited the last line, there was silence in the cafe as everyone recovered from the journey, before a thunderous applause rang out.

You grinned as you cheered enthusiastically, watching as your boyfriend bowed before walking back to your table.

“Good job babe!” You said as you kissed his cheek, the flesh reddening at the action as all eyes were on him.

As he was the last contestant, the award ceremony began shortly after his performance. You listened as your manager thanked everyone for being there to support these talented people as cheers rang out once more.

Once she was done with logistics, the time came to announce the winner. You held your breath as she slowly unfolded a piece of paper, your hand reaching out to hold on to Hyunjin’s.

She took a moment to read what was written before a smile broke out on her face.

“And the winner is….Hwang Hyunjin!”

Cheers rang out at the announcement, but loudest of all was you. You hugged Hyunjin tightly, tears forming in your eyes at his win.

Hyunjin stood up to go claim his prize, the loud uproar not dying down until he sat down.

“You did it!” You exclaimed, grasping his hands in yours.

Hyunjin beamed, his eyes shining as he tried not to cry.

“I did it for us love.” He said as he gazed into your eyes.

You cocked your head in confusion. “For us?” You inquired.

Hyunjin nodded as he handed you the prize he’d won. “Open it.”

You took the envelope from him and opened it, eyeing two pieces of paper nestled within. It took you a moment to notice what they were.

“Plane tickets?” You looked closer. “Oh! We’re going to Paris!” You exclaimed as you began bouncing on your seat.

“Yes we are angel,” Hyunjin said as he watched you dance in your seat.

Hyunjin needed to win this trip. He wanted to take you to Paris, the city of love, to shower you in love. He also had another plan up his sleeve, one that he had to keep secret for just a little longer.

His mind wandered to the little black box tucked away in his sock drawer, a beautiful diamond nestled in the velvet within. He knew you were the love of his life from that first day he saw you, sitting in the crowd listening to him speak.

You were his muse, his love, his everything; your aura radiating whispers of beauty.

He wouldn’t want to spend his life with nobody else but you. That he was sure of.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @velvetmoonlght @possum-playground

#stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #skz smut #skz x reader #hwang hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids fluff #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin angst #stray kids angst #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfics #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids hard hours

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hongjoongtime117 · 7 days ago

Text

I can’t stand you - 200 follower special

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong/reader

Genre: SMUT (MDNI 18+)

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: rough sex, bratty reader, oral (M receiving), enemies to lovers, edging, marking, “hate” fuck (as usual, probably forgot a lot, let me know!)

Author’s Notes: Thank you all SO MUCH for 200 followers! I hope you all enjoy this! It was fun to write. My love aggression for Hongjoong may have prompted this idea, just a little bit!

Taglist: @kihyuns-military-wife @Arki-sha @Ghostlovesworld

The bass thumps loudly in the club, vibrating you to your core. You grind against Mingi, as you watch the one man in your friend group you absolutely can’t stand with a look of disgust as he nurses his drink at the bar.

“God, I can’t fucking stand him, Mingi!” you say into his ear, loud enough to be heard over the music.

“I never understood why, though. What’s he ever done to you?” Mingi throws his head back with a hiccuping laugh.

“He’s just arrogant and cocky!” Not that he didn’t have reason to be, he’s absolutely gorgeous. He was in fact the furthest thing from cocky. He was sweet and charming, and you wanted him. But you would never let him know that, or the rest of the group. You would be teased relentlessly by them, given the facade you’ve maintained about your hatred for Hongjoong.

You head to the bar to down another shot, purposely squeezing yourself next to Hongjoong in the crowded space.

“Hey there, pretty girl.” Hongjoong gives you that million dollar smile and you return it with a roll of your eyes.

“Fuck off, Hongjoong,” you snark as you throw back your shot, hissing at the bitter liquid.

As you go to walk away, he grabs your wrist and pulls you to him. “Why are you always so fucking feisty with me? Seriously, what have I done?” his tone serious and a glimmer of something else hidden in his dark eyes.

“I just can’t fucking stand you, Hongjoong. Haven’t I made that abundantly clear!?” you shout as you rip your wrist from his grip and head back through the crowd to Mingi, who’s now dancing with Yunho.

“What’s got you all riled up?” Wooyoung questions as he sees the annoyed expression on your face.

“What always does, Woo?” you say with an exasperated sigh.

“I think you two just need to fuck out all of this tension yall got going on,” Wooyoung prods with a smirk and a wiggle of his brows.

“Yeah fucking right, Woo. Be so for real right now,” your annoyance growing at his teasing.

With the tension that’s always sparked between you two it would indeed be the hate fuck of the century. You didn’t actually hate Hongjoong. You hated how absolutely perfect he was. And before you could tamper down your attitude, Hongjoong had quickly followed you through the crowd, relinquishing any semblance of control you had gained over your emotions. He again grabs hold of your wrist and drags you through the crowd towards the exit, tightening his grip as you struggle against him. The remaining seven of the group exchange surprised glances with each other.

“LET GO OF ME, KIM HONGJOONG!” you scream at him once you’ve made it to the much quieter outdoors of the club. He ignores your raised voice and throws you over his shoulder and carries you to his car as you beat against his back. Once you’ve reached his car, he finally sets you down.

“Get in,” he opens the door and gestures for you to hop in.

“Since when do I take orders from you?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he lets out a long, tired sigh. “Y/N. I’m taking you back to my place. We need to talk. Whatever this reason is that you hate my guts, I need to know so I can fix it. And the club isn’t exactly the proper place to do so.”

You roll your eyes, and half heartedly plop into the passenger seat of his sleek, black sports car. He settles into the driver’s side and starts the car, engine purring to life. The car ride to his place is eerily silent, as is the ascent to his apartment.

He unlocks his door and allows you to enter first. With the door shut securely behind the two of you, he pins you to the door by your throat. Not enough to restrict airflow, but enough to let you know he means business. “You want to tell me what your problem is?” his voice a low, dangerous growl.

The corner of your mouth curls up into a mocking smirk. “I fucking hate you, and your stupid, pretty face. Your perfect damn smile. That gorgeous ass body I know you have hiding under all those clothes. Your perfectly pointed nose that I think about riding more often than I should. There, you happy now?” venom oozing from your words as you push him away from you and throw yourself onto his couch.

Before you can fully settle, he’s hovered over you on the couch. He grabs a fist full of your hair and yanks, forcing you to make eye contact with his blown out pupils. “Awww, if you wanted to ride my face, all you had to do was ask, darling,” his tone condescending. “But then again,” he places one of your small hands on the buldge growing in his jeans, “my dick clearly enjoys your attitude.”

“You’re all talk, Joong. All bark and no bite,” you challenge him, even in your vulnerable position.

“No bite, hmm?” he whispers into the shell of your ear as he straddles your body and rests in your lap. Without warning, he sinks his teeth into the flesh of your neck, bringing forth a sharp gasp from your lips. “You can talk all the shit you want. But I know you want me as badly as I want you, and I’ll have you begging for more long before I’m finished with you.”

“Cocky much, Joongie?” you spit out.

“Is it really cocky if I know I can back up my words, darling?” He places heated, wet kisses on all the sensitive areas of your neck, his hold on your hair never faltering, and you can feel the stickiness forming between your thighs.

“Yet all I’m still hearing is a bunch of talk.”

Your feistiness makes Hongjoong groan into your neck before leaving another harsh bite. “That little mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble.”

“Like I give a shit,” you choke out. You’re pulling out all the stops to piss him off enough to thoroughly ruin you.

“I’ve got better uses for that smart mouth of yours,” he growls, annoyance seeping through his words. For the second time tonight, he throws you over his shoulder, and carries you to his room. He throws you on the bed on your back, your head towards the foot of it. He hastily strips himself of all of his clothes, and his throbbing cock slaps against his abdomen. You don’t even need to right yourself to tell his size is impressive. You swallow hard at the sight, your mouth going dry.

“Nothing to say now, huh?” the devilish smirk playing on his lips. “Open up for me, pretty.”

You open your mouth wide for him, and he shoves his thick cock down your throat in one go, making you choke around him. “Mmm, that’s the sound I love to hear. Not your smart ass mouth.”

In a fit of defiance, you carefully but firmly let your teeth graze his cock as he thrusts in and out. Crazed look in his eyes, he grabs you by your throat, pushing against the bulge his dick has created. “You better watch those teeth, little brat.” He removes himself from your mouth, and you fill your lungs with a full breath of air.

“Or what, Joong? Hmm?” you grit, catching your breath as you sit yourself up on the bed.

“I’ll just have to fuck your brains out until you beg for mercy,” a wicked glint flashes across his eyes, and he climbs towards you, like a predator after prey.

“You keep making promises, yet I’m still here, not being fucked. You know, if you’re incapable, I’m more than happy to find someone else to satisfy me. Or do it myself. And just leave you here with an angry, leaking cock,” you shrug, indifferent.

“Fucking try me,” he snarls, his face centimeters from yours, breaths mingling together.

You move to get up from the bed, but before you can move an inch he has you pinned against the mattress under him. He reaches under your skirt and swipes two fingers through the slick that is pouring out of your tight hole. “With the way she’s purring for me, I know you’re full of shit. And no panties? You were just waiting for someone to fill you, hmmm?”

“So sure of yourself, huh?” you pant.

“Darling, you’ve been eye fucking me from the moment we met. I know you want to be split open on my cock, until the only thing that leaves your lips is my name.”

“Does this bullshit work on all the other girls?”

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, darling. There are no others. The only one I want to stuff full is you.”

You scoff at his words. “Yeah? Then prove it to me. You’re still all talk, Joongie.”

Without warning, he flips you around on your stomach and lifts your ass in the air. He rips off the skirt, and resounding smack fills the air along with a strangled moan from you. He gently rubs the reddening mark on your ass cheek. “Mmm, such a pretty color, let’s make the other one match, hmm?” He lands the second smack, and watches your hole tighten around nothing as you let out a high pitched whine.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” you say, feigning annoyance.

Without so much as a warning, he shoves two fingers inside your wet heat, and plays with your sweet spot, ripping a loud whine from your lips. “Acting like you hate me, but your body betrays every word that leaves those sweet little lips.”

You fake a yawn. “Are you done yet? I’m getting bored.” You pick up your phone from the night stand and unlock it, attempting to piss him off even more.

Harshly pushing his fingers further inside of you, he yanks your phone from you with his free hand and tosses it somewhere on the floor. You gasp at the sudden force of his fingers. “I want all of your focus on me as I pull you apart, piece by piece, my little stubborn brat,” he growls into your ear.

Against your heaving breaths, you still maintain your defiance. “I think it’s you who’s going to fall apart first, Joong.” He gives you an extremely arrogant laugh. “Mmm, not so fast, baby.”

“But I like fast,” you quip back.

“Unfortunate that I’m the one who’s in charge here, darling. It’s about time I show your needy little pussy who’s the boss.”

“Oh, and who is that, Hongjoong?” you try and say with confidence, but the tremble in your voice betrays you just the smallest bit.

“Considering the way she’s sucking in my fingers, and clenching them, I’d say it’s me. It’s always going to be me,” his fingers pumping in and out of you at a furious pace, and the fire in your gut is roaring.

“Prove it, then,” the challenge in your voice evident.

He pulls his slick covered fingers out of your spasming hole, and reaches around to rub light circles against your clit. Just light enough to leave you on the edge, but never enough to tip you over. He switches between your dripping hole and your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your pussy is making loud, lewd noises from how wet you’ve become in your little banter with Hongjoong, and how well he’s working your body. “You hear that, baby? How wet she is for me? She’s mine. You’re mine.”

“You sure about that?” you huff out, trying not to give him the satisfaction of your moans, letting him know how good you feel. But a slight pinch to your clit renders your efforts useless.

He pulls you by your throat until your back meets his strong chest and whispers in your ear. “With the way you’re soaking my hand and the pretty noises you’re making for me, and you haven’t even had my cock yet, I’d fucking say so, darling.”

“I bet Mingi could do a better job. I should find out. He’s been dreaming to be where you are right now.”

His jaw clenches in annoyance at the mention of someone else having you the way he is right now. He slides his fingers back inside you, bringing you right to the edge. Your legs tremble as you whimper and whine, and before you can get the euphoria of release, he withdraws his fingers.

You sigh in frustration and he chuckles because he has you right where he wants you. “You sure know how to push my buttons, hmm? I’m gonna stretch this pretty little pussy open until the only thing you can scream is my name.” He uses the hand soaked in your juices and brings it to one of your aching nipples. He pinches and pulls, just hard enough to bring pleasure. He can see your pulse pounding in your neck, and he sucks a dark, possessive mark right over it.

He brings his unoccupied hand back to your swollen clit, giving you the friction you’ve been craving. Tears spring to the corners of your eyes from all the sensations he’s making you feel. Your breathing is ragged from his ministrations, labored pants mixing with the heavy breathing from Hongjoong, and the squelch of your pussy.

He can tell you’re reaching your peak yet again, and yet again, he stops. The tears you tried so hard to stop from escaping finally fall down your cheeks, along with a strangled cry. Hongjoong licks them up with a smirk, savoring the salty taste.

“Hongjoong, please,” you beg breathlessly.

“What was that, darling? Please what? You’ve been using your words this entire time, don’t stop now, my little brat.” His tone is mocking, but at this point you couldn’t care less. You need him, in the worst way.

“Fuck, I need you. Please,” desperation in your voice.

“That’s it, darling. Beg for my cock. Let yourself go. Fall apart for me, baby.” He places you down on the bed and rolls you over until you’re on your back as he cages you in. He sets a tortuous pace in exploring your body with his mouth, leaving no skin unkissed.

“Hongjoong…” you say his name in a drawn out whisper. “Please…” He looks up at you through half lidded eyes, stopping his exploration for a moment. Tears spill down your cheeks again and he gently wipes them away.

“Look at you, crying for me baby. Tell me what you need,” he coos.

“S-stop teasing!” You’re writhing underneath him, your body on fire, as you grow restless, waiting for him to finally fill you.

“Patience, darling. Haven’t you ever heard that good things come to those who wait?” The grin on his face makes you whimper with a need you’ve never felt before. He slides his cock between your glistening folds, spreading your arousal to coat him before he pushes just the tip inside your aching pussy. You both let out a simultaneous moan as he stretches you just the slightest bit, and he finally gets a feel of how tight and wet you are.

“How long are you going to let us both suffer, hmm? I’ve waited, now give me something good,” you pout at him, that hint of bratiness still hanging on by a thread.

He slowly pushes in, just another inch and you try to rock your hips to push him inside further. He pushes your hips down roughly to stop you. “So needy, darling.”

“Hongjoong, you’re just torturing me at this point.” Your hands grip the sheets beneath you as you try and gain control over your body, every nerve set alight by how much you need him right now.

“Mmm, and what do you think you’ve been doing to me for years, baby?” He growls as he envelops your mouth in a searing kiss. As the kiss grows more impatient and messy, he finally sinks the rest of his throbbing cock inside your warm, wet heat. Your eyes widen and he swallows your moan, your back arching prettily underneath him.

Panting hard, he breaks the kiss. “Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me. You’re mine. No one else gets to feel these tight, silky walls squeezing their cock, do you understand?”

“Yes, Hongjoong.” Your voice is barely above a whisper and your walls squeeze him tighter at his words as you finally succumb to the man you’ve pretended to hate for so long.

“That’s a good girl. All you needed this entire time was for me to put you in your place, and stretch you open, hmm?” He groans at your pussy clenching around his cock, his strokes lazy and unhurried. “I knew it was only a matter of time before I tamed that sassy little mouth, darling.”

“Fuck, Hongjoong.”

“So obedient now, hmm, baby?” He smirks as he looms over you to place a claiming bite on the flesh of your shoulder.

You choke on a moan at the pleasure mixed with pain from his bite. You smirk dangerously at him, your brat never fully becoming tamed. “I enjoy a bit of pain, Joong. Stop treating me like I’m fucking fragile.”

“Oh, do you now, darling? Let’s see just how much you enjoy it.”

“Ruin me, Hongjoong,” you taunt, wrapping your legs around him, pushing him in impossibly deeper, and your hole pouring out even more slick around his cock.

The look is his eyes is primal as he sets a punishing pace, the sounds of skin meeting skin filling the room, along with the symphony of pretty noises falling from your lips, and the deep, guttural ones from Hongjoong’s. Hongjoong’s eyes fall to your stomach, where he can see the online of his cock as it pistons in and out. He splays his hand across it and pushes down, just slightly, the pressure causing your orgasm to come barreling to the forefront exceedingly fast. Your walls throbbing around Hongjoong has his head thrown back in ecstasy, a predatory growl rumbling in his chest.

“Come on darling, cum on my cock. Let that sweet little cunt milk me for every drop.”

Neither of you being able to take in a full breath, chests heaving in rapid succession, he places a single finger under your chin. “I want you to look at me when you cum, darling.” After a few more thrusts and expert fingers on your clit, you come undone, locking eyes with him as he soon follows, hot seed filling you to the brim.

His warm, sweaty body collapses next to you and he pulls you close. “Are you done hating me now?” he questions, trying to keep his voice light, but there’s a hint of seriousness and worry in his tone.

“Hongjoong, I never hated you,” you chuckle. “And if I did, you fucked it out of me.”

“So does this mean that you’re actually mine?” He mouths at your shoulder and the back of your neck. “You’re not gonna go run off with Mingi?” he jokes.

“I’m yours, Hongjoong. Who’s Mingi?”

The two of you shake with laughter as you cuddle close, enjoying the newfound relationship between you.

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez atiny #ateez hongjoong #kim hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x you

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caesium-55 · 8 months ago

Text

—seven days. [ vi.ii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: guess who's not listening in her calculus lecture rn. also, wifi is acting funny rn.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal

masterlist.

2020

There have been a lot of new protocols to follow. Social distancing. Wearing face masks. Races being rescheduled. Australia, China, Netherlands, Monaco, Azerbaijan, Canada, and France are canceled. Vietnam is postponed. The first race of the season takes place in the Red Bull Ring in Austria and Max gets a fucking DNF.

After exchanging Instagram accounts in December, Max has spent a normal amount of time stalking your feed. That's what you do when you’re trapped inside your apartment alone because of a global health crisis, you explore the online world.

It seems like you’ve been operating the account since your university days and a lot of your posts show a side of you that’s different from the manager he knows. He learns that you play billiards competitively. You've even reached an Australian tournament. He learns that you watch NASCAR and motocross and drift racing. He learns that you know how to drive a firetruck. He learns that you like partying in LA and you took up volunteer work in the LA fire brigade around your sophomore year. He learns that you’re particularly fond of taking pictures of the skies at different times of the day and the things you’re studying. He notices that you only post group selfies or low angle blurry selfies of you. You don't take pretty pictures of just you.

The oldest post is a photo of you offering a middle finger while smiling and filling up the gas tank of a truck. You're also wearing a red sweatshirt with the letters USC written at the front and skinny ripped jeans. If you swipe right, the next photo shows a picture of you and your group of friends writing on papers on the hood of the truck. Max sees numbers and scratches and crossed out sketches. Max notices a canned beer on your other hand while you press down on your scientific calculator buttons and shakes his head. You do not change.

The latest post is a photo dump of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix in 2019. A picture of the aerial show, grainy zoomed in pictures of the garage, selfies with the mechanics, a bathroom mirror selfie, and a blurry picture of a beer in your hand from the after party. He presses like in every post, latest to the oldest.

you: fucking stalker

max: fuck you

max: *sent a photo*

max: nice teeth by the way

you: i hate you

you: *sent a photo*

you: ya think im the only one who looks ugly with braces?

Since then, Max’s relationship with you has considerably improved. The two of you spend a lot of nights dm-ing each other on Instagram and sending each other reels.

max: SOS

you: ??

max: I THINK THE STOVE IS ON FIRE

you: the stove is supposed to have fire

max: ITS ON FIRE

You and Max sit on the floor, back against the kitchen counter, chest heaving in quick breaths, shoulders bumping against each other. You hold the fire extinguisher close to your chest and your eyes are closed and your lips are parted a little. Max observes your side profile.

You're not a categorically attractive woman. But with the way the sun rays enter Max’s kitchen window and hit your face at all the right angles, you look like someone worth missing a sunset over. Max allows himself to stare and mentally tries to convince himself that this is a very normal amount of staring at one’s manager slash friend.

He’s crossing the line that divides friendship and something unnamed.

“Do you need me to call maintenance so we can get your stove replaced?”

Max nods.

“Yes please.”

You post a new picture on Instagram after a long period of dryness. Max gets a notification. He checks it out.

The caption reads: meet my full time dog and part time boyfriend

The picture is blurry and grainy but Max can make out your face perfectly. There’s a billiard table. Max sees a person in the background. A man. He's wearing a Williams shirt.

Is that a racer? Max immediately thinks of Nicholas Latifi. You and him are around the same age. But the blurry man in the picture doesn't look like Nicholas. The hair color and the build is different. George, maybe? He’s a year younger than Max. Do you prefer your men younger? Scratch that. That’s impossible. Max knows he has a girlfriend named Carmel or Carmen or something.

max: you have a boyfriend

you: youre fast

max: when did this happen?

you: uh

you: earlier?

Max resists the urge to hurl his phone across the room.

max: details [name]

max: i need details

you: nuh uh kid you havent unlocked that level of friendship yet

you: that's friendship level 8 ur still on level 6

max: i will hunt you down and force you to tell me

max: and don't call me kid i'm one year younger than you

you: id like to see you try

max: i think u forgot im the one who gave you the apartment where u live rn

You introduce Leo to Max a month later.

Leo is a British brunette guy with a face that one would consider mid in Europe but a ten in the US. He is one of the Williams mechanics. You mention that he used to do karting as a kid and even went up to F3 but he’s decided to discontinue his racing career because he thinks engineering and the technical aspects of a formula car is far more interesting than racing.

He’s basically the complete opposite of Max.

He’s a good guy, Max can tell. He’s well-mannered, he’s calm, he knows how to treat you right. Above all else, he makes you the happiest. You have the most genuine and beautiful smile on your face when he comes into your view.

He also handles your relationship very maturely. He doesn't demand. He understands that you work for different racing teams with different jobs and that means different priorities.

The weekly IG posts are also too cute. It looks like it came out of a Pinterest board.

Max will never tell you that he spends a good hour every time you post something with Leo in it like an obsessive freak. He tries to make sense of the feeling in his chest. Something green. Something ugly. Something he can't name.

Max should be happy that you found a guy as great as Leo. But he cannot, for the life of him, be fully happy for you. He doesn't know why.

“PR told me that you received a dinner invite from Kelly Piquet,” you state, sitting down on the empty chair across from him and putting your packed lunch on the table. You carefully lay the folded clothes on the other chair. Max deduces they will be the ones he’ll be wearing for the interview scheduled in about two hours. You already sent him the list of questions in his email but he hasn't opened them yet.

“Yeah,” Max says after swallowing. “She’s been sending invites since two months ago.”

“And you left her on seen?”

Max scoffs, “I didn't leave her on seen. I just…well, I saw them late and declined them politely.”

He knows Kelly Piquet. He’s aware of the history she shared with former Red Bull Racing now Toro Rosso driver, Daniil Kvyat. Max also knows she’s the daughter of Nelson Piquet, retired Formula One champion. He thinks it's rude to take the guy’s ex-girlfriend after he’s taken his seat in Red Bull.

“She’s interested in you,” you claim, opening the tupperware and quickly saying grace before digging in.

Max is not good with dealing with women. Twenty-three years old and he’s still girlfriend-less. But he knows how to recognize people who are interested in him. A significant number of women have tried their chances with him since he began racing professionally and he may have used you as some sort of getaway driver to get him out of all the awkward situations where he has to deal with women who are interested in him.

You have a very scary resting bitch face if you try hard enough. Its efficiency in scaring off people is proven to be, well, efficient.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Are you interested in her?” you question.

Max thinks about it. Really thinks about it.

“Do you think it’ll be good if I get a girlfriend?” he throws you a question instead of an answer.

“You're twenty-three, man. It's about time you start doin’ somethin’ about your empty dating history.”

Max nose scrunches but doesn't say anything because it's the truth. His dating history is hilariously empty.

“What’s your opinion of Kelly?”

“Uh, cool pussy, I guess. Don't really care.”

Max rolls his eyes, “You’re so crude.”

You shrug uncaringly.

“But I don't mind who you wanna date, man. I mean, it's your life. Date who you wanna date. Live the life you wanna live. All the jazz and shedazzle.”

Max accepts the dinner invite.

The 2020 season ends with Hamilton standing at the top, officially becoming a seven-time world champion. Bottas is behind him. Verstappen, like 2019, still stands in third place. Max vows 2020 will be the last year Hamilton becomes a world champion. The team doesn't hold a big afterparty like it usually does and Max flies home to Monaco immediately.

It's been months since he's started seeing Kelly and the woman is pleasant company. Her daughter, Penelope, is the most adorable human being that ever stepped on Earth. Max loves the little bean with all his heart and he himself is surprised that he’s capable of loving a little human this much. He’s practically convinced that he’ll be a shitty father one day. He does not have a good model figure to look up to when it comes to fatherhood.

Little P, Max learns, is obsessed with crocheted things. Max sees her little bags and little hats—all crocheted. Kelly says she pays their housekeeper to make things for little Penelope because she likes them so much.

Max decides he wants to learn how to crochet. He buys the material and learns through hundreds of Youtube videos. His first masterpiece is a bag. It's white and light orange. He shows it to his mum, who questions how on Earth did her son take an interest in a hobby other than racing or anything car-related. Despite that, she compliments it and Max feels confident that you’ll like it, too, now that he’s gotten his mother’s approval.

He finishes making it by the eighteenth day of December and he calls you, hoping he has the chance to give it before you fly down to Texas for the off-season. But you already left Monaco, just the day before and are now spending the first few weeks of the break in New Zealand with Leo.

“So it's serious?” Max asks you over the phone. He stares at the dark sky in Belgium. There's no stars tonight. Only the moon and it’s looking down at him like it's mocking him. Max wonders what the sky looks like in New Zealand right now.

“Of course,” you say.

“Well then, enjoy the holidays.”

“You, too, man.”

The call ends.

2021

Max sees you enter the Red Bull hospitality. The first thing he notices is that your shoes are brand new. Same model—the black and gold YSL Opyum heels, yes he knows the name because he searched it on Google—but brand new. Your bag is also brand new and it’s not the old cream-colored tote bag with peach prints. It's a cream-colored tote bag with Van Gogh’s painting—the Starry Night—printed at the front. You show it to Max excitedly and tell him that it's from Leo, the bag and the shoes, and Max fakes a smile the whole time. When he returns to his room in the evening, he throws the crochet bag he made over December in the trash bin. Kelly sees it but she doesn't question it.

“PR suggests that you film a Tiktok.”

Max groans, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

“Tell them no.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” you encourage him, shaking his shoulders. “There's a lot of dance trends right now.”

“I said no, [Name].”

“Max.”

You throw your hands on your waist, looking at him pointedly with your lips pursed. Max returns the stare.

He gives up after five seconds.

“Fine.”

You huff in triumph.

“But you’re doing it with me,” Max bargains.

“Oh come on,” you throw your hands in the air.

“Now you know how it feels. Tell PR that I’m not going to film a Tiktok unless you film it with me,” Max smiles cheekily.

You're not going to film a Tiktok video with him. He knows you hate filming yourself and posting it for the public. There's a reason why you avoided cameras as if it’s the sun and you're a vampire and had all your social media accounts in private.

You pull an unexpected move and you nod your head.

“Fine.”

Max’s smile drops.

You film a Tiktok using Red Bull Racing’s official Tiktok account. A simple dance. Max does not know the title. The steps are simple and it's easy to memorize. He believes he can do this fairly easily. You don't look like you’re having fun while memorizing the dance steps but you're not overly struggling.

You film the video in three takes. When Max sees the final outcome, he cringes. His long limbs look awkward as he performs the steps despite thinking that he’s doing fine while filming it. You, on the other hand, look fine.

You look good while dancing actually. There’s a certain grace that accompanied your movements.

“You dance good,” Max comments.

“It’s the Latina in me,” you claim, raising your chin a little.

Max snorts.

You show the draft video to the PR team. Without hesitation, they scratched it.

“Why?” Max asks, brows furrowing.

“Apparently, they're too tired releasing statements that we’re not dating. They're afraid that the Tiktok video would bring back our dating rumors,” you roll your eyes. “They’ve decided to just make you do a Tiktok filter game.”

Max does the one filter where he has to solve the simple math equations projected on the screen. He has to tilt his head to the side where the right answer is placed and he needs to do it quickly.

Max is not bad at Mathematics. He’s not good at it either. He’ll say that he’s just average at it like every human being on Earth.

You sit beside him, barking him the answers before his brain can even process and perform the required operations.

“60 points. That's not good enough,” he says.

You nod, “Damn right. You're not tilting your head to the right answer fast enough.”

“Maybe you're not giving the answers quick enough.”

The video gets more than ten takes. The two of you don't stop until you get the perfect score.

Monza is a disaster. To summarize: the 53-lap race is won by Daniel Ricciardo, who has now moved to McLaren. He capitalizes on a good front-row start and the crash between Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton to take the race lead. Lando, Daniel’s teammate comes in second with Mercedes' Valtteri Bottas in third. Max and Lewis—DNF.

Max doesn't remember the last time he’s been that angry and the anger doubles when he sees the seven-time world champion celebrate on the tracks. Max then decides that he’s going to be more risky, especially now that he knows how safe the car is. Max is willing to risk his life for number one.

Max lies in the medical bay and he hears voices outside. Too many voices. He’ll appreciate it greatly if the voices disappear. He's too angry right now that the noise of the outside world is too much.

“Max?”

The voices disappear and it's only you he can see, he can hear, he can feel. You're everything.

You said it. His name. It sounds even better than he imagined.

“[Name].”

After making sure he’s okay, you tell Max that you wish to go to Danny and congratulate him for winning. Max grabs your hand, unwilling to let go.

“You're not his manager anymore,” Max reminds you. “You're mine.”

He’s very much aware that he sounds like a child who refuses to let his older brother borrow his favorite toy but he cannot find himself to care. Screw Daniel.

You give him a long look but follows his demands anyway, “We’re gonna congratulate him later whether you like it or not. He’s our friend and he just got P1. We’re gonna be happy for him 'cuz that's what friends do. I’ll drag your ass to his hotel room if I have to.”

Jos Verstappen is not happy. When has he ever been happy with Max anyway? He calls Max after the Monza race and proceeds to yell because that’s all he ever does with Max. He yells. Max is embarrassed that he’s twenty-three and he’s still getting yelled at by his own father.

“Your Dad’s an asshole,” you stated after he ends the call. Max knows you heard his father’s voice even though he has not put the call on loudspeaker.

“Don't talk to my Dad like that,” he reprimands, though not unkindly. “But yeah, he is.”

You snort, “You okay?”

Max lets out a shaky breath, nodding weakly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You would think that after all this time I would get used to it but I don't know. It still makes me feel so uncomfortable and like I'm doing everything wrong even though I've been doing that for such a long time now and I've achieved so many things he asked for."

Your gaze softens and Max mentally begs that you stop looking at him like that. He does not want your pity. Pity is for the weak. Max is not weak.

You open your arms, “Rein it in, big guy.”

“What are you doing?”

“You need a hug.”

Max hesitates but he invites himself to your arms anyway. He allows himself to melt. In your arms, he feels like he's home and that he's good enough.

The breakup happens two race weekends later. Max is not dumb nor is he so emotionally indifferent that he cannot sense if a person is going through a breakup especially if that person is someone so close to him. He already knows there’s something wrong and he knows exactly what’s wrong and yet he still asks, “What's wrong?”

“Nothin’,” you say a little too quickly as if you already know that Max is going to ask the question.

“[Name],” his fingers circle around your wrist. “It's not nothing. Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?”

He wants you to open up. He wants you to say something. He wants you to share the heartache you carry so it won't feel heavy on your shoulders. He wants to be someone who’ll carry your problems with you when the world feels too big and you too small.

You sigh shakily, forcing a polite smile. Your hand comes up to squish Max’s cheek in between your palms and Max’s brows rise slightly at the action. Your hands feel cold and they’re trembling slightly and Max wants to point it out, but he sees how your lips wobble and his mind just blanks, “It's not important. You only have one thing to think about and that is to win. You hear me?”

Max considers marching to the Williams Racing livery and demanding for Leo Stark but he chooses not to. You won't want him to, anyway.

Max never realizes how horrifying blood is until he sees it dripping down the side of your head. He watches as your face changes from shock to realization to absolute anger. It’s like watching you transform from human to a rabid animal who wants to shed blood. At first, he tries to pull you away and calm you down. When he sees the girl’s boyfriend appear, Max joins the fight. No man is allowed to hit you. Not on his watch.

The higher-ups are not the happiest when they learn of what happened. The PR team is having a field day as well. Someone captured the event in video and posted it online. Max has been given a script for the video he’ll have to do to save his image but it’s written differently. Different in a way that the way the words are arranged feels odd to him unlike the way you write your scripts for Max. You write the scripts as if Max is the one who writes them. You write the script in a way Max will write them. Because you know him enough to know what kind of words he wants to use and how he’ll phrase things. You choose words that are easy on his tongue and you structure the sentences so that he can memorize them easily.

Helmut is the one who says, “She should leave the team.”

“If you fire her, I’m leaving,” Max decides.

Christian narrows his eyes at him, “You won't dare.”

“Try me,” he challenges. “I am willing to pay millions to leave if she leaves.”

The other teams want him, Max knows. They know he’s rising to stardom, a racer who can stand equal to Lewis Hamilton in the right time. Red Bull is too afraid of spitting out their star now. Not when Max is already giving Lewis Hamilton a big run for his money this year. Not when Max just showed the world that he’s capable of more than just being third place.

The wretched Hamilton fan decides to sue and Max calls upon his mother’s help to find the best lawyers to fight for you. Sophie willingly helps him.

Max is going to protect you, like you always do to him.

#max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #f1 imagines #manager!reader #mv33 x you #mv1 x reader #mv33 x reader #mv1 #mv33

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