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harryspet · 4 months ago

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well kept [3] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, DUBCON, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: Pls reblog and let me know what you think! Thank you so much for all the feedback so far :)

word count: 4.5k

In which it's your first day working from home with Rafe and you have a new lesson to learn.

well kept masterlist

The Cameron residence was fifteen minutes outside of downtown Charlotte and situated in a large neighborhood where hills and huge oak trees hid all the houses. You didn’t really see his house, only what you could tell was large pond, until the driver was at the end of the mile-long driveway. When you did, you felt woefully underdressed. Assuming that being inside all day meant you could opt for something casual, you’d chosen a cream knit dress.

Following Rafe’s instructions, you sent him photos of each outfit you tried on, but he hadn’t told you which ones you could return. It was another blow to your confidence. You began to doubt whether he’d even been serious, but the fear that he might mention it the next day kept you from taking any chances.

Stepping out of the black Escalade, your eyes widened as you took in the architectural masterpiece before you. The house was a striking blend of traditional and modern styles, with a light-colored exterior contrasted by dark shutters framing the windows. A stone chimney rose from the roof, and the three-car garage with wooden doors added a rustic touch.

After your car drove away, a tall and impeccably dressed staff member named Anthony guided you up the stone-paved driveway. From your cheat sheet, you recalled that he was the House Manager. Rafe required a full team: Anthony, two housekeepers, a private chef, a driver, a gardener, and now you—his personal assistant. The inside of the house was as intimidating as the exterior. The expansive foyer featured high ceilings and a grand staircase that curved up to the second floor. To the left, you caught a glimpse of the formal dining room. Each room you passed was more impressive than the last. Anthony informed you that there were six bedrooms and eight bathrooms.

“I don’t usually work on Fridays but Mr. Cameron wanted me to give you a tour of the house and show you the ropes of house management. It’ll be important for you to be able to oversee the staff when I’m absent and understand the scheduling.”

Once again, it was all too much to take in. Today was your fifth day working for Rafe, and you’d barely survived until now.

“I want to clarify that what happened yesterday stays between us. That includes Eleanor. Okay?”

That was all he said about his outburst. There was no apology for groping you, for pinning you down on his office couch, or for taking your virginity. If you were to tell the story, you’d have to mention how your body had betrayed you—not once, but twice. But you had said no. You didn’t want to use the word that described what happened to you. You didn’t want to think about it at all.

And it didn’t happen again—not over the next three days. He continued to be harsh, forcing you to apologize for every small mistake, even those you weren’t aware of.

As you followed Anthony through the expansive kitchen, you couldn't help but marvel at its sheer size and sophistication. The kitchen was a chef's dream, with gleaming marble countertops that seemed to stretch endlessly, state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances, and custom cabinetry in a rich, dark wood finish. An oversized island dominated the center of the room.

At the far end of the kitchen, massive glass-paneled doors stood, offering a glimpse of the world beyond. The porch was furnished with elegant wicker seating with plush cushions. The space was perfect for elegant parties, with enough room to accommodate at least a dozen guests.

Beyond the porch was a stunning infinity pool stretched out towards the horizon. As you walked closer, to the right, you took notice of a garden. You spotted the gardener, Tyler, who Anthony had mentioned earlier. In simple clothes, the young man blended easily into the scenery.

“This is where Mr. Cameron will typically entertain his guests,” Anthony said,

The beauty of the outdoor space was undeniable, but so was the control that permeated every aspect of it. You wondered what hand Rafe played in how spotless it looked. You could almost picture him, his jaw clenched and eyes blazing with a harsh intensity, if even the smallest detail were out of place. It was easy to imagine him demanding that every leaf, every petal, every stone be exactly where it belonged.

Did his staff ever make mistakes? Did he make them beg him forgiveness like he did with you?

“Shall I show you the study? It’s approaching seven-thirty.”

You nodded, a small smile on your lips. He was kind but part of you didn’t want him to hear your voice shake or your face contort into an uncomfortable position as you struggled to get your words out.

There would be enough struggling today, you knew that.

Surprisingly, Rafe’s home office was more quaint than you expected. Dark wood panneling decorated the walls as well as floor-to-celing bookshelves. As you made your way around the room, you took note of the picture frames containing images of what you believed to be his family. Here, it seemed he had a heart. The four of them stood on a dock, sun shining down, and his arms were wrapped a young girl with dark brown hair. His smile was genuine and there was darkness lingering in the blues of his eyes.

Other than the bookshelves, the room only contained his desk, a set of leather couches and a coffee table. The smaller room still managed to exude sophistication but it was far less imposing than you expected.

The room almost felt intimate as sunlight trickled in through light colored curtains. You were standing behind his desk, glancing out his office window which faced towards the nearby pond. Beside it, sat a gazebo, although you couldn’t imagine Rafe enjoying it. You wondered if he lived here alone as you saw no traces of the other three people in his family photo.

“Boo,” You yelped as you heard Rafe’s deep voice.

You placed a hand over your beating heart as you looked toward where he stood in the doorway. Having been deep in thought, you hadn’t heard the door opened. He knew that much which explained the amused look in his eye.

Everything flooded back at the sight of him. The air had already left your lungs. You felt his body pressing down on yours, warm breath against your ears, and that pain between your legs.

The door clicked shut, making you flinch.

“Good morning,” he said, his gaze fixed on you.

It hit you then, you hadn’t greeted him like you were supposed to.

You were taken aback by his appearance. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a plain navy t-shirt, a stark contrast to your heels and carefully applied makeup. You weren’t sure why you were expected to dress up, especially when he looked so casual.

“G-Good morning, Sir,” You crossed the room, his eyes locked on yours. You remembered where he liked you, near the door, ready to greet him and present yourself to him. You hated how your voice always betrayed you, how weak it made you sound. Your only saving grace was that you’d already memorized his schedule for the day, having spent the entire commute looking at your laptop. You recited it to him, including the midday Zoom call he had with Kelce and Topper.

Topper, you had learned, was Eleanor’s husband. Rafe hadn’t ever touched her but the way Eleanor always answered your questions with vague responses made you suspect that her relationship with Topper mirrored your own with Rafe. She hadn’t warned you but now you were suspecting that was because Rafe seemed to always get what he wanted, no matter who got hurt in the process.

You froze the moment his hand reached out to touch you. His fingers curled around your side, hovering just above your stomach but dangerously close to your breasts. His grip was surprisingly gentle as his thumb grazed over the fabric of your dress. You stiffened as his other hand mirrored the first, sliding across to the opposite side of your body. “Eleanor picked this,” he murmured, his brows knitting together as his gaze slowly traveled down your figure. A jolt shot through you as his thumb brushed over your nipple, sending a wave of panic coursing through you.

“Y-You don’t like it?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

He clicked his tongue, “Turn around for me.”

You did as he said, “Doesn’t do enough for your figure,” Your heart panged in your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious of your own shape, “Are you wearing the panties I sent you?”

All you could do was nod. Rafe never commanded you to wear the panties everyday to work but you didn’t risk it. Luckily, they were all comfortable despite the lace and cheekiness.

“Pull up your dress,” He said next.

You’d spent the last three days in a fog, trying to make sense of the situation, trying to understand why your body betrayed you. When you were younger, you always asked the universe why you couldn’t speak like the way all your friends at school did. Now you asked the universe why Rafe’s voice made you want to clench your thighs together. Why you had felt empty ever since he’d finished inside of you. Why you wanted to try again, to experience that intimacy again without so much fear. Your life was so simple before but now it felt like it was too late to turn back.

Your thoughts were too jumbled. Rafe cleared his throat and you realized you were just staring back, “I’m not gonna fuck you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Please-”

He rolled his eyes, “Don’t make me ask again.”

You squared your shoulders. “I’m nnn-nn-not comfortable—”

“Just do it.”

You reached down to the edges of your dress, slowly pulling the fabric to your waist. It was nothing he hadn’t already seen and yet you were shaking, “Turn around. Face the other way.” Like a robot, you obeyed. You’d chosen a light pink color today.

“Good,” You felt him against you. He pulled your hair back over your shoulder and leaned down against your ear, “Maybe I should make you walk around naked while you’re here, hmm?”

You bit down on your lip, wanting to contain the protest that was about to leave your mouth. You wanted to lean into his touch, to embrace the comfort that would accompany the torture. He brushed past you just as you tilted your head back, “Go make me a coffee,” He commanded.

He made his way behind his desk and you reached down to move your dress, “Did I say to pull your dress down?”

“N-No, Sir,” You moved your hands quickly to your sides.

“I could make you walk around like that, couldn’t I?” He asked, leaning back in his chair.

He tilted his head and you realized you needed to answer. You gave him a painful look. You could say no but what would it cost you, “I . . . I don’t know,” He wasn’t satisfied by your answer, clearly. It was torture to force the words out, “Y-Yes.”

“Right answer,” He said, “Pull down your dress, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help but see the irony in the fact that despite that you upgraded to a salaried job, you were still making coffee for the rich and spoiled. The opulent kitchen had an even fancier coffee machine than his office. Your movements as you prepared his steaming mug of coffee were precise despite the turmoil in your mind.

Searching for solutions, your mind landed on the idea of trying to assert your competence. Sure, you could make a great cup of coffee but the whole point of getting a real job was so that you could have real skills to market yourself. You could be perfect at this job, anticipate his every need, and you could more than an object to look at.

You re-entered his office quietly after realizing he’d begun his first meeting of the day. Carefully, you set his coffee down on the edge of his desk. He was always so intense, so completely absorbed in his work, and that unwavering focus made you even more anxious. Maybe that’s how you should be, more composed, projecting an air of confidence.

Unsure of where you should settle, you made yourself comfortable on one of the leather couches. You checked your email on your laptop, finding several reminders from Eleanor. You found yourself frustrated by how she picked and chose what information to share with you but you balanced those feelings with the fact that she was often your saving grace.

She gave you a list of tasks including arranging for a delivery of documents that needed to be signed by Rafe, confirming his dinner reservations for the night, and proofreading the notes you took from yesterday’s meetings. You told yourself by the end of the next week, you’d be able to handle things by yourself, and you wouldn’t have to lean on her so much. You’d have a day, eventually, where Rafe didn’t point out anything you did wrong.

“I was thinking-” Rafe’s voice cut through the silence. You were so focused that you hand’t realized his meeting had ended. He folded his hands over each other, his eyes on you, “From now on, I want you to wear what I pick for you each day.”

“How …y-you’re not happy with what I’ve been choosing?”

“It’s not about not being happy. Now I have more of an idea of what I like on you,” His voice was smooth and authoritative, “You want to reflect my taste, my standards, yeah?”

You mustered the courage to ask your next question, “Can I-I dress a l-little less … formally when I work at home with you?”

“Less formally?” He tasted the words on his tongue, “You mean, like more casual?”

“Yes, Sss-sir. Like more comfortable.”

“We could experiment with that,” His tone was deceptively light, “On my terms though. Yeah?”

You nodded and were grateful that he hadn’t reacted lightly. He seemed to enjoy that you were asking him for permission.

“You’ll have to wear something different tonight though, for dinner. Eleanor is coming by towards the end of the day to bring you your outfit and take you to get your nails done.”

“Oh,” Your eyes opened wide, “I-I thh-thhought it was more of a personal-”

“I won’t keep you out forever,” He said, “You got plans or something?”

You shook your head quickly, “No, Sir.”

Rafe worked through lunchtime, so you brought him the meal prepared by his chef, Stevie—an elegant older woman with blonde hair. She had made a pesto pasta salad that looked like it belonged in a gourmet magazine, despite your protests and insistence on eating your own packed lunch. Only after delivering the meal did Rafe grant you permission to take your break elsewhere.

You settled on the outdoor patio by the pool, enjoying the peacefulness of the space despite the distant, steady hum of a lawnmower. For a moment, you didn’t feel out of place. Your dress, though apparently unflattering to your figure, was worth a small fortune, and the gourmet lunch you were now enjoying was a far cry from the PB&J you’d packed.

Thirty minutes later, after finishing your lunch and enjoying a lengthy chat with Stevie, you reluctantly headed back upstairs. Hearing Rafe still on the phone, you decided to explore a bit more. His office was situated in the private wing of his house, and as you meandered through opulent corridors, you couldn’t resist sneaking a glance into the master bedroom. It was cozier than you had anticipated, with tall gray walls that gave it a masculine feel and a plush bed draped in navy linen blanket that created a snug, cocoon-like atmosphere.

Rafe ended his call a minute later and the afternoon wore on. You settled into a rhythm, completing the various tasks that you’d added to your own to do lists and ones he’d assigned to you. You spent some time organizing files in his office. His gaze burned into you, even more when you were turned around, and surprisingly, you were starting to get used to that unnerving feeling.

He waited for you to make a mistake but you used a hundred-percent of your effort to make sure that didn’t happen.

The clock inched towards the evening, and the day grew even more quieter, more intimate. “I was looking over your notes from yesterday’s meeting with the board members. I highlighted some sections for you to read back to me,” He waved you over, his voice gruff after a long day of talking. You joined him behind his desk and you moved to lean over and get closer look, but he placed a hand on your hip. The gesture was firm, possessive, leaving no room for hesitation. With effortless strength, like a wolf guiding its prey, he maneuvered you onto his lap, settling you on his thigh. You felt the power in his grip, the unspoken control, and all you could do was comply.

“Rafe–” You started, an desperate attempt at a protest.

“Start with the first section,” He commanded, his grip tightening.

“I’ve been working on proofreading them–”

“Sweetheart,” He warned, not needing to add that you were making him angry. You could feel it, the heat coming off of him.

You took a deep breath and slowly tried to read each sentence. Even if you didn’t have a sentence with a small typo, you still stammered over several of your words. He slid the chair closer to the desk and you yelped.

“See right here,” He pointed to the screen but that only pressed him into you. You breathed slowly, trying not to hyperventilate, “This whole section needs more detail. I don’t want to have to ask more information.”

You were taken aback when Rafe actually began to instruct you on what you were meant to do. He spent at least ten minutes walking you through each sentence, explaining how to word your report, and deleted all the unnecessary details you added. He was surprisingly patient.

“Now, your turn,” he said finally, leaning back in the chair. For a moment, you thought he was letting you up, but the pressure of his hand on your waist told you otherwise. “Fix it.”

You swallowed, hesitating as your fingers hovered over the keys. Ever keystroke was amplified in the quiet room. Doing your best to actually use your brain, you carefully made the changes he suggested. He watched you closely, his hands first placed on your hips but soon one wandered between your thighs.

“Good,” He said. You could do it again, you thought, and not be so scared. His touch was teasing, a reminder of what he could do to you, all the pressure that built inside of you a spilled over. You could impress him, you could be beautiful, and not turn into a crying mess when he was inside of you. You could be more than a fragile thing to be broken.

Each word was a small victory. It was a battle you thought you could win until his fingers slipped inside your panties and his other hand grabbed a handful of one of your breasts. It was unbearable, and as he made small circles, you found your fingers slipping clumsily over the keys.

You pressed your palms into his desk, your body tilting forward. A frustrated sigh left your lips, you couldn’t contain it, and Rafe’s chuckle rumbled from behind you, “Do you ever touch yourself like this? Be honest with me this time.”

“Y-Yes,” You whispered.

“How do you do it?” He pulled you away from the desk, pulling your torso against his, “You use a toy?”

“J-Just my fff-fingers,” You admitted.

“Like this? How do you like it?” Carefully, he switched between different approaches. He rubbed circles over your clit, smaller ones and then slower, bigger ones. Then he stroked you up and down, fingers slipping easily into your warm hole as he wandered lower, “You put those little fingers inside of you?”

“Rafe, please.”

“Tell me,” He kissed the side of your neck, “Or I’ll stop.”

"I-I don't usually put them inside… ," you confessed, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I always use my pillow…”

He hummed against your ear. "See how much better this is when you cooperate? You can be such a good little assistant when you try."

You nodded, unable to speak, and let the feeling consume you. He brought you right to the edge, you were seconds away coming undone, but his movements slowed. Before you could register the feeling as disappointment, Rafe was hoisting you off of his lap.

Moving with sudden determination, your feet were suddenly off the ground and Rafe was carrying you out of the room in his strong arms, “Rafe!” You clutched his shoulders as he carried you down the hall.

You turned your head as he nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, the heavy thud of the door slamming shut reverberating through the room. With a swift motion, he laid you gently on the bed. The softness beneath you was just as you had imagined, but the thought barely registered. You shot him an incredulous look, your face flushed with a mix of pleasure and frustration.

He leaned over you, grabbing a pillow from behind you and placing it in front of you, “Show me.”

You shook your head instantly and moved to crawl away. Somehow, you could let all of his other sleazy behavior slide by but this was an insane boundary for him to try to cross. He’d already been inside you and yet this was a thousand times more intimate.

He grabbed ahold of your thigh, “You’re so close, sweetheart. I know you want it,” He challenged you, “Probably feels like you need it.”

“Please,” You tried, your voice threatening to crack. His hands found your hips again, slowly positionin you over the pillow. The soft fabric brushed against your most sensitive spot, the familiar sensation making you bite down on your bottom lip, “Rafe.”

“You saying my name like that just makes me want it more,” Balancing on his knees, he grabbed ahold of your face and leaned in to kiss you. You felt the intensity of his desire, how much he wanted this, and it left you dizzy.

When he pulled back, he looked over you. Your hips started moving in a familiar motion despite your embarrassment. You trembled from the vulnerability, the pounding in your chest, but you chased that high he gave you. It ignited your fire again, and since you didn’t have the full force of his touch anymore, you focused your eyes on him, “Good girl,” He said again and you whimpered, “Look at me just like that.”

You rolled your hips harder, faster, imagining his kiss, his touch, as the tension coiled tighter inside you. His gaze never left yours, his words a constant stream of encouragement and control.

“Doesn’t that feel good?”

His words all jumbled together.

“Just let it happen.”

“I want to see your face when you cum, sweetheart.”

“You look so desperate.”

“So needy.”

“You’re gonna make yourself cum, huh?”

“Just because I told you too.”

“Such a good girl.”

“Look at you.”

The words pushed you over the edge, finally, and you were able to let go. He watched as you rode out that wave of pleasure and his hands found your body again, his grip grounding you. “Fuck,” You heard him say but you couldn’t respond.

You were too overwhelmed to respond, your mind unable to fully process what had just happened. All you knew was that you felt good, embarrassed, and strangely satisfied that you'd pleased him, all at once.

When you manage to look at him again, the doorbell rang.

Eleanor navigated through the upscale nail salon, a palace of white and silvers, with ease, like she was a regular, and this was just an extension of her universe. You imagined this place as an escape for her, from both Rafe and Topper. She secured side-by-side seats near the back of the salon and you followed her lead as she set down her purse and removed her sandals. Her movements were fluid and assured.

“Have you thought about what color you want?”

“Oh, um, n-no,” You tried to make yourself comfortable in the pedicure chair, “What d-do you think Rafe would like?”

“Maybe something pastel. You can’t go wrong with a soft pink.”

“Is that what you’re getting?” You asked, unassured, as you glanced around the luxurious setting. It wasns’t like other nail salons you’d been to where the technicians and customers talked at whatever volume they liked. It was quiet and each technician wore matching black uniforms.

“I’ll tell them you want ballet slipper on your nails and white on your toes.”

You nodded, grateful for her guidance, “Thank you.”

As your pedicures began, the warm lavender-scented water soaking your feet, two technicians took their places by your sides, working silently as they filed your nails.

“How are you holding up?” Eleanor asked.

“Fff-fine,” You said, “I’m trying to . . . t-to understand him, I guess.”

“You’ll go crazy doing that,” She laughed lightly, flashing a look that said “poor you”.

“How d-did you meet Topper?” Her face tightened at your question, “I mean, y-you didn’t say.”

“I’m from the same town as them, Rafe and Topper. Not really the same town, my parents didn’t have money growing up. But I worked at the country club they all went to. That’s how I met Topper.”

“And you started dating?”

“Something like that,” She made a small shrug, “I owe everything I have to them.”

You nodded, sensing the weight of her words despite the lack of detail. Another piece to the puzzle you were trying to put together. Maybe the two of them had an attraction to girls struggling to get by.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” She asked and it made you pause.

Your instinct was to mirror her shrug, but you hesitated, wondering if you could trust her with your thoughts. If anyone could understand what you were going through, it had to be Eleanor. “I-I just ffff-ffeel like I’m doing everything wrong.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve only heard good things.”

“A-About me?” She nodded and your lips parted in shock.

“Yes. I know you feel uncertain right now, but I think you'll be glad if you can stick it out. Topper… he’s a bastard, but he takes care of me. Rafe likes you too. Maybe he doesn’t know how to show it, but…” She paused, her eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “He’s filthy rich. That would be enough for me.”

In that moment, her brutal honesty felt almost like reassurance. You weren’t sure if Eleanor truly grasped the extent of Rafe’s inability to show affection, that his pleasure came from humiliating you, from making you cry. Just as you couldn’t fully know what she endured with Topper. Her words weren't necessarily comforting but at least they felt real.

Please reblog WITH your thoughts on the chapter to be added to the taglist for the story :)

#dark fic #well kept #rafe cameron #black!reader #rafe cameron x black!reader #outer banks smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe obx #rafe x reader #topper thornton #billionaire au #billionaire!rafe #ceo au

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gomioujo · 2 years ago

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Traditional Kitchen (Houston)

#With a farmhouse sink #recessed-panel cabinets #gray cabinets #marble countertops #a white backsplash #a ceramic backsplash #stainless steel appliances #an island #and white countertops #this large #elegant l-shaped medium-tone wood floor and brown floor kitchen pantry photo is stunning. white dining table #antique hutch #white cabinets #gold faucet #open concept #casual dining #wood floors

0 notes

oldmanweldon · 2 years ago

Photo

Traditional Powder Room - Powder Room

#Inspiration for a small timeless beige tile marble floor powder room remodel with an undermount sink #furniture-like cabinets #dark wood cabinets #marble countertops and beige walls bathroom #casual elegance #ebony

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misstel · 2 years ago

Photo

Los Angeles Powder Room

#Small transitional beige tile powder room photo with furniture-like cabinets #dark wood cabinets #beige walls #an undermount sink and marble countertops casual elegance #bathroom wall sconce #beige wall paper #single sink vanity #drapery #brushed nickel faucet

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yummymitzy · 4 months ago

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By your side

Summary: Who knew that nightmares could lead to a night of cuddles?

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

WC: 2,473

A/N: I wrote this when I was high off my ass😭

————♡————

Natasha found herself to be incredibly independent and she maintained her routine well. But she noticed that ever since the day you got settled in the compound, she grew more and more distracted. And apparently she wasn’t the only one who took notice.

She couldn’t help it, every time you passed by her, she always felt her heart rate increase as a sudden warmth encases her body. She always wondered what it was she felt about you, it was hard to distinguish.

Natasha hated that you had that effect on her, she didn’t know what was going on, she never felt this way before. She hated the fact that her heart yearned for you when you got sent on missions, and she hated she would do anything to have your smile directed towards her.

It took Natasha weeks to finally distinguish the feeling as love, but the denial built up. Love was for children, so why was this feeling so overbearing? The butterflies that fluttered in her stomach whenever she heard your laugh across the room, she’d always wish it was because of her.

————♡————

It was a late night in the compound, the soft moonlight shining through the windows. Natasha was perched on one of the kitchen stools, her head rested in between her hands while she was deep in thought.

She was a night owl, it wasn’t something she always liked but it brought her some peace. The nightmares she had were practically burned into her eyelids every time she closed her eyes.

That was definitely the not peaceful part of being a night owl, but other than that, she loved staring out into the night. It brought her a sense of comfort as the sounds of the city echoed in her ears, the lights of buildings far too bright but still beautiful.

But this wasn’t one of those nights, Natasha didn’t know what changed. It was another terrible experience that the red room had brought her, other than being on the table for her graduation ceremony.

The graduation ceremony was an experience that Natasha prepared herself to talk about, knowing well enough that it had to be brung up soon. And it did, with Bruce.

But this memory, it was just inexplicable. She felt like the words were just getting stuck in her throat before they even came close to being vocalized. Not that she couldn’t explain it, but she couldn’t express it.

Sighing, Natasha dropped one of her hands onto the cold countertop, her warm skin screaming in relief once it came in contact with it. Her finger tips tracing the marble lines with a soft touch.

The half glass of water beside Natasha was completely forgotten as she was practically drowning in her head. Her mind slowly drifted to you, was she ever going to confess to you?

Hell, would you even want to start something with somebody like her? She was closed off with many barriers, and yet you managed to break them all down without even realizing it. You quickly grew her trust possibly ten times faster than Clint, and he was the first one she ever opened up to!

Natasha loved how you were just so kind, you were like a puppy who just got adopted. You always blew her breath away whenever you’d be the first to greet her, or when you’d silently hand her a plate of food whenever you cooked for yourself.

She wondered if that was all casual, it was just you being friendly, right? There was no way you reciprocated those feelings, you were nice to everybody, you just didn’t to leave her out? Natasha honestly prayed for that to not be the case.

She sighed once more as her other hand fell from her cheek, her head slumping slightly as a wave of exhaustion flew through her. She desperately needed sleep, but she couldn’t bare the thought of another nightmare, especially when the images were still deeply engraved in her head.

Natasha’s throat felt dry and scratchy as it felt like she had been munching on saltine crackers. Her eyes slowly drifted towards the glass of water before she reached out to it. As she was drinking the remains of the liquid, the sound of the floorboards creaking with light footsteps echoed the hall, making her ears perk up. Who else would be up at this ungodly hour?

Her eyes narrowed, trying to make out the dark figure that was approaching the area where she sat. The darkness making it especially harder for her when the only source of light was the slight glow of moonlight shining through one of the many windows.

Natasha quietly set down the now empty glass on the counter, her mind screaming at her to stand up or do something. But her body didn’t make a move to stand up. Her eyes were trained towards the hallway as she waited for the figure to finally step into the soft glow of the night.

It was you. Every fibre of her being froze as her breath hitched, the sight of you as the moonlight kissed your face, enhancing your features.

She quickly averted her gaze and looked down at her fingers which were still tracing the streaks of grey that splayed across the counter.

Natasha came to the assumption that you hadn’t caught sight of her yet, as she listened to your footsteps trail past her to the cabinets that held all the glass cups. Soon enough, she heard the ringing of glass cups and water being poured into it.

Her verdant eyes slowly lifted from her fingers, before placing her sights on you. Slowly traveling up your figure from behind, huffing a quiet laugh at your choice of pajamas.

As she was still gazing at you, Natasha slightly shifted in her seat. The quiet noise catching your attention, as your head shot up from your full glass of water before your lips even touched the rim.

Natasha’s eyes widened a fraction before she instantly eased up. She watched as your eyes flicker around the area around you both, before they landed on her, and she swears she saw them soften at the sight of her.

“Nat?” Your voice hushed into a gentle whisper, afraid that if you spoke any louder that you would alarm her. “What’re you doing awake?”

“I could say the same about you.” She dodged, her head tilting to the left as her tone held a playful manner.

“I was just honestly craving for some cold water. But what about you, Nat? You look really…” You paused as you pursed your lips in thought, afraid of offending the Russian woman sat in front of you.

“Exhausted. Especially when I clearly see that the glass in front of you is dry, water is long gone. How long have you been up?”

Your tone voices out your concern as your feet absentmindedly leads you to sit in the stool next to Natasha, your knees brushing together as you could feel the heat radiating off of her.

“Not long.” The words flying out of her mouth almost immediately. The action making you furrow your eyebrows as you turn your head to peer at her side profile.

She was gorgeous, even in the dead of night, hell it made her stand out even more. The moonlight blending in with her scarlet hair, making it into a more beautiful hue. Her cute button nose and her raised cheekbones kissed under the moon.

“Mmm.. You know you could talk to me right, Nat?”

The nickname made Natasha’s heart leap, it sounded so good when you said it, she yearned to hear more of it. Processing your words, she let out a soft sigh, her gaze floating away from her pale skin as she stared ahead of her.

“Yeah. Its just..” She drifted off, a blank look on her face as she stared into nothing. Your face contorted in concern on the other hand, your hand hovering over her shoulder before placing it, thumb rubbing tiny circles.

Natasha let out a breath, whatever it was that she was thinking about, you knew it was definitely personal. “You don’t have to talk about it right now, Nat.”

You had an idea what it could be about though, especially with the distant look you could recognize anywhere in her jade eyes. A nightmare, or at least that’s what you assume it is.

There was a few minutes of comforting silence between the two of you, all you could hear was Natasha’s slightly labored breaths and the sound of your own heart beating in your ears.

“I have nightmares too,” Natashas head snapped towards your direction, her eyes still holding the blank look but a hint of curiosity. She wondered where you were going with this. “I never overcame them. There’s some days where they just packed a harder punch, and other days they just seem to quiet down. But they never left.”

Natasha stayed quiet, soaking in your words as she tries to understand the point you’re trying to make.

“I know you have them too, and I don’t want to push it with you and make you tell me what’s going on. That would just make me feel like a jerk.”

The hand on Natasha’s shoulder felt heavier, she didn’t know if it was you or because she had just realized how comforting your touch was.

“I just want to let you know that you could always come to me. Even if it would be in the dead of night or not, my room will always be open to you. I deeply care about you, Nat.”

Tears slowly welled up in Natasha’s eyes as her gaze met yours, her eyes glittering with tears making the green in her eyes pop.

You take the chance and examine her features once more, the tip of her nose starting to flush a subtle pink along with her cheeks.

The both of you bask in the silence once more, her eyes moving past yours to stare at your necklace, feeling overwhelmed by your gaze. You understood her, probably too much, it was always hard having to get over a nightmare you had moments prior.

You waited a few moments more before slowly reaching your hand away from her shoulder to her other one, pulling her into a soft embrace.

Your arms gently encasing her firmly, but not firm enough to where she feels suffocated. Feeling her shoulders slump and her breathing starting to even out, you rest your head above hers, feeling her breath hit the skin of your neck.

One of your hands reached up towards her hair, combing through her red locks, from her scalp to her ends. You stayed like this until you feel Natasha’s body slump into yours with dead weight.

Sneaking a glance at her face, you finally noticed she was asleep. She looked so graceful when she slept, as if she never had any worries to begin with. You wondered if you’d ever get the opportunity to ask her out. Taking a deep breath, you reached under her, before lifting her up bridal style, taking her back to her room.

————♡————

You were exhausted, every limb of your body was screaming for you to just jump into your bed. You and Tony managed to save the mission before it failed, but tons of HYDRA agents jumped the both of you in return.

Finally stripped of your bloody suit, you limped your way to your bed. With each step you took, the drowsiness started becoming more overwhelming.

You fought to keep your eyes open as you draped the comforter over yourself, your body immediately relaxing from its tensed state as you laid sprawled out on your back.

It didn’t take long for your eyes to slowly shut and your breathing eventually evening out. Before you knew it, you were asleep.

But there was still a part of you that was conscious, even through all the exhaustion. You soon heard your door creak open and close with a small sound of the handle spinning back into place.

Quiet footsteps made their way towards your bed before it all went silent. You felt a shiver run through you as you felt eyes on you. Unbeknownst to you, those pair of eyes belonged to the specific Russian whom you gave permission to your room.

Natasha hesitated, she was stood at the foot of your bed. It had been a week since you gave her that offer. Every day since then, her nightmares had gotten progressively worse. She had thought about going to you sooner but then would back out, afraid to be a bother.

Tonights nightmare wasn’t any different from the rest, but she managed to wake herself up before the worst came. Now here she was, next to your bed as she watched the soft rise and fall of your chest while you lay sprawled out like a starfish.

Natasha clenched her jaw, still deep in thought. Should she really take up your offer? She could always go to the training room and let it all out there.

She sighed, rubbing a palm over her face as her eyes start to flutter. She was too deep in thought that she hadn’t noticed how tired she really was.

Letting out another heavy sigh, Natasha took a step forward and sat on the edge of your bed, scared you’d wake up if she’d put anymore weight.

But that thought flew out of her mind almost immediately once she felt a yawn crawling its way up her throat. Natasha gently grabbed the covers that you were buried beneath and curled up next to you.

As if sensing her presence, your arm found its way under her neck and around her back, resting on the curve of her waist and effectively pulling her closer to the warmth of your body.

Natasha’s eyes shoot open as they instantly land on you, wondering if you’d been awake the whole time. But the steady fall of your chest and the quiet snores coming from you seem to answer her question as she lays her head down on your chest.

The comforting sound of your heartbeat and breaths lulled Natasha as her eyes fluttered, but yet she still fought to stay awake, wanting to bask in the moment before she has to face you in the morning.

Natasha shifted impossibly closer to you as her arm reached over your waist and her leg intertwined with yours. She was practically bathing in the warmth that your body gave off, as her nose nuzzled into the juncture of your neck.

To her, it was honestly a dream to even be this close or intimate with you, especially with her infatuation. Soon enough, she was drifting off into a peaceful slumber, by your side.

#black widow #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #marvel #mcu

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captain-hawks · 3 months ago

Text

LET ME SEE THE HEAT GET TO YOU.

rintarou suna x f!reader

wc: 2.1k tags: 18+ only, and they were roommates, the complete and utter objectification of rintarou suna's hands, hand kink, oral fixation, finger sucking, fingering -> requested

“What?”

Suna’s voice startles you from your drifting train of thought, and the back of your neck heats up in embarrassment as you peel your gaze away from the sight of his fingertips drumming against his mouth, turning your focus back to the television.

It was accidental—the birth of this oddly distracting fixation.

Suna’s been your roommate for nearly six months, an arrangement of convenience when your prior roommate bailed with hardly a week’s notice and left you scrambling for someone to take over the second bedroom. Given that he was in between apartments and had been crashing on Atsumu’s couch for nearly a month at that point, it worked out in both your favor and his.

You even managed to convince yourself that the slightly inconvenient attraction you felt for your friend was negligible in the face of the prospect of trying to carry the bills for the apartment solo—that, or the inevitable stress of finding a complete stranger to move in instead.

And it was fine, for a little while.

Between work and cramming for finals, you hardly had time to dwell over things like how unfairly attractive he looks with his mussed bedhead and tired eyes when he makes his way out into the kitchen in the morning, or your newfound burden of knowledge of a tattoo that exists on the curve of his hip (courtesy of your single bathroom dwelling and a conveniently low-slung towel).

But three weeks and four days ago on an unsuspecting Wednesday afternoon, Suna unknowingly smashed every single precarious eggshell you’d been tiptoeing over with what you’d mistakenly thought was practiced ease.

Suna leans forward now, elbows resting on his knees as he watches the movie that you’ve hardly been paying attention to, and he idly drags the side of his thumb against his bottom lip.

Warmth stirs in your gut. You think back to that day, the slice of cake sitting atop a small white plate in the middle of the kitchen. The easy way your fork cut through the icing and down its soft center. The gentle mirth in Suna’s eyes as he stood on the other side of the island and listened to you recount a silly story from work.

The even easier way he’d reached across the expanse of marble countertop, wordlessly swiping away a rogue bit of frosting from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, leaving you to flounder for your words mid-sentence as he casually licked it off after.

To Suna, it was clearly nothing, given the way he’s carried on since like it never even happened.

For you, it’s become a Problem™.

Because now you can’t stop thinking about his stupid goddamn hands.

His large hands with those long, slender fingers and neatly kept nails.

It really doesn’t help that you’ve spent enough time watching him play volleyball to know the extent of their power, the quick dexterity with which he effortlessly blocks and serves, the impressive amount of control he can leverage with his digits curled around the ball’s surface.

Logically, they’re just hands.

This is what you try to tell yourself when you’re free from the stifling, one-sided terrarium of unrequited pining that you’ve turned your cozy third floor apartment into. You let your eyes sweep downward when you’re at work, when you’re in class, while you’re walking the aisles at the grocery store—and there’s not a goddamn single hand that passes through your line of sight that sets your heart racing like the ones that belong to your roommate.

Now you can hardly catch his eye in the bathroom mirror when you reach across the counter while he’s brushing his teeth without feeling warm all over at the sight of his fingers wrapped around his toothbrush.

Just last week, you nearly choked on your own dinner when you glanced up across the kitchen table to find him pressing his mouth to a piece of rice clinging to his knuckle.

The loose, uninhibited state your thoughts pile into at night doesn’t help your current predicament in the slightest, as you’ve begun to find yourself restless as you dwell on other things—other places Suna’s hands could slide and cup and grasp.

You’ve imagined how they’d feel pressed down on your tongue or molded against your breasts. Wrapped around your hips. Lodged deep in the slick of your cunt.

Spread, curled, grasping and thrusting until you’re coming so hard on nothing but the precise stretch of his digits that you can barely breathe.

It’s a date with someone who isn’t Suna, of all things, that brings it all crashing to a head.

Glancing down at your phone as it lights up on the bathroom counter, you groan when the time flashes across the screen. You’re running late.

“Wow, where are you headed?” Suna curiously pokes his head into the bathroom, and his eyes widen a fraction when he notices your outfit.

“Shit,” you gasp, jumping at the sudden sound of his voice and smearing a line of lipstick beyond the corner of your mouth in the process. The applicator clatters into the sink.

Whipping around, you inhale, clutching the edges of the counter with both hands as you blink at your roommate in surprise.

“Sorry,” he says, wincing.

“I have a date,” you tell him, words coming out in a rush.

Suna blinks, and while he’s in no way the most talkative person you’ve ever met, you’ve also yet to see him at a loss for words like he seems to be now. You don’t bother adding that the date in question is for the express purpose of giving you reprieve from the pathetically Pavlovian response you’ve developed to the mere sight of his hands.

“There’s—” he belatedly motions toward your face, where you can feel the smudged trail of lipstick.

You should probably turn around and start digging around under the sink for makeup remover, but predictably, you’re too focused on…yes…his hands.

When you make no move to clean yourself up, Suna takes a step forward, the toes of his socks brushing against your bare feet. He reaches out, eyes focused on the corner of your mouth, and swipes two fingers over the mess.

You stand there, rooted to the spot, the dizzying rush of blood in your ears hindering your ability to tell him that wiping it with his bare hands isn’t going to do anything.

And then his fingertips softly feather over the upper edges of your mouth.

You meet his gaze, your ribcage shuddering at the intensity of it, and before you’re fully aware of what you’re doing, your head tips back just enough to let his fingers slip to the plush center of your bottom lip.

Suna stares at you, unblinking, and he applies just enough pressure to part your lips.

Hot, insistent sparks of arousal flood your nervous system, setting alight the trail of desire that’s been steadily coating your better judgment like sticky, rich honey.

You lean forward, your hips and thighs brushing against his, and take Suna’s fingers into your mouth.

Whatever you were feeling before, whatever petty fantasies you’ve imagined in the quiet beneath your sheets, they pale in comparison to this—to the feeling of your tongue wrapped around Suna’s slender digits. The pressure of them against your tongue as the saliva pools in your mouth. The molten path that blazes through your gut when he pushes in further, from the second knuckle to the third.

A moan crawls up your throat, drool slipping out past your lips and down your chin as you suck, and you’d be embarrassed—if not for the hitch of his breath, the appreciative, answering groan that leaves Suna as he cups the side of your neck with his free hand.

The counter presses into your backside as Suna’s body presses more firmly into yours, his thumb scraping beneath your chin as he watches you come untethered.

“Fuck,” he mutters as you shudder at the friction he draws between your legs, desperately trying to take his fingers even deeper into the wet recesses of your warm mouth.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know the errant swipe of your lipstick is likely nothing compared to the state of your lips as a whole right now.

And Suna seems to know exactly what you’re thinking, because without warning, he turns you around to face the mirror.

He’s hard, you can feel him pressing into your backside as the bite of the counter meets your hips.

“You’re a mess,” he murmurs softly against the shell of your ear, eyes dark as he finds yours in the mirror.

He’s not wrong—you are a mess. Lipstick is smeared well past the boundary of your mouth, and his fingers are stained red and slick with your saliva. Your chest heaves.

Suna slides his fingers back into your mouth, and this time, he watches you watch yourself as you suck on them, observes the none-too-subtle shudder that wracks down your spine at the depraved sight before you.

He smooths out the wrinkles in your dress, hand trailing down your front.

Your cunt aches.

“Suna…,” you gasp out.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he mouths at the curve of your jaw.

“…please…”

He adds a third finger as you continue to suck, and teeth drag down the side of your neck, his lips a hot brand as he presses them to your nape.

“Rin—”

The fingers in your mouth curl, and you place a hand over his, slowly tugging up the skirt of your dress.

“I thought you had a date,” he rasps, your phone vibrating beside you as a text message flashes across the screen.

“Change of plans,” you gasp as his hand slips out of your grip, rucking up the skirt of your dress to reveal the pretty, lacy panties beneath.

“You sure?” he asks, eyes finding yours in the mirror again, fingertips toying with the waistband of your underwear. His fingers leave your mouth, slipping down your front to caress your collarbone.

You nod.

Suna’s hand slips lower, gliding into your underwear, and he exhales when his fingers find the full extent of what a mess he’s made of you.

“And I thought your mouth was wet.” He sounds amused, but his tone is rougher now, the hard press of his erection against the globes of your ass more insistent as he begins to finger your slit.

You gasp at the sensation, your legs sliding further apart as your entire body relaxes into his, your head tipping back against his shoulder. His free hand finds a home loosely splayed across the throat that you’ve bared to him.

A slender finger slips easily into your wet hole, and the pleasure from that alone has your entire spine arching, hips eagerly rocking into his touch.

“Sensitive,” he observes, curling the digit against your plush, slick inner walls.

You whimper.

It’d be so much easier to stumble into his bedroom or yours, to be splayed wide across the sheets, hips arching up off of the mattress as he sinks three fingers deep. But it’s the filthy sight of yourself in the mirror that keeps you firmly rooted to the spot, body wholly overheated with arousal and desire.

Your legs spread a bit wider of their own accord, your balance going slightly askew, and Suna holds you fast as you writhe when one finger becomes two. Arousal drips from your folds, coating his hand and soaking into your underwear. The tightness of your hole relents around the stretch, and your throbbing clit aches as his palm firmly rocks against it.

An unhinged laugh threatens to burst out of you as you think about the last time a guy fingered you—the abysmal way you’d had to fake an orgasm out of pity just to get him to give up as your enjoyment petered out further with each overenthusiastic stroke.

You think about now, how your entire body’s been reduced to a livewire of heady pleasure, ready to burst on a hair trigger. Suna could probably stop moving his hand altogether and you’d still end up trembling and moaning and gushing all over his fingers before long anyway.

And it’s the sensation of his fingers sliding back into your mouth that finally sends you over the edge. The bright line of bulbs across the top of the mirror merge into one as your vision goes white, your climax rocking through you with reckless abandon. Suna’s nose slides against your cheek and he exhales roughly, his own muscles taut as his fingers guide you through it.

Your phone vibrates again on the counter.

“I can’t believe you’re standing up your date,” he murmurs, teasing, teeth nipping at your earlobe.

He’s still hard.

“I mean, I guess I can go looking like this,” you reply, making a circular gesture at yourself while you turn to face him.

Suna catches your chin in his hand, gently.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

You dart your tongue out, letting it poke against the tip of his thumb.

The corner of his mouth curves upward as he leans in to kiss you.

#rintarou suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #suna rintarou #rintarou suna #haikyuu!!#dee writes #dee's 2k #roommate!suna

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loveisanimaginarydagger3000 · 1 year ago

Text

Kinktober (3)- Age Difference

Wanda X Reader 18+

Summary: Separated from the rest of the group, you and Wanda find the perfect opportunity in the kitchen to have some alone time.

Warnings/Tags: SMUT MDNI, Mommy Kink, Oral and fingering (W receiving), Power Bottom Wanda, Implied cheating

Kinktober Masterlist

"Uh I don't think so young lady," your aunt, Natasha, says teasingly, taking the glass of wine you just picked up out of your hand. She simply raised her eyebrow at you, taking a sip herself of the drink as she watched with fake glare.

"Oh come on Nat," you grumbled, leaning back into your seat as your aunt chuckled at you, Wanda also laughing at the display. "Surely I can have one drink ," you stare at her with your best puppy eyes, hoping that even though you're an adult she'll give into the oldest trick in the book.

"You can have a drink when you're twenty one," she says with no room for challenge in her tone, yet you decide to try anyway, what's the worst she can do? Pour it on you?

"Please, everyone else is drinking," you motion to Wanda and Vision who sit together on the couch, Maria who sits in an arm chair and to Yelena who is casually sipping her beer while on her phone, most likely texting her girlfriend Kate. "And I'm basically twenty one, It's only two months."

"Well if it's only two months, I'm sure you can wait," she takes another large sip to taunt you, smirking over the rim of the glass as you groan in annoyance at her. "Also everyone else here is at least over twenty one."

"More like over thirty," you grumble, earning a real glare this time. "Fine," pushing yourself to your feet, you start heading towards the kitchen, "I'll go get myself a drink suitable for a twenty year old." You hear a chorus of laughter and shake your head while making your way through the house.

When you arrive at the kitchen you head straight to the fridge hoping to find something to drink and take back to the group. You frown when all you can see are juice boxes and groan when you remember this is Wanda and Visions house so everything is catered for children. Mumbling a small, "Fuck it," you grab two blackcurrant juice boxes and place one on the counter top while stabbing the straw through the other. You got lost in your thoughts as you moodily drank one of the twins drinks, jumping when a pair of arms wrapped around your middle.

"Hey Detka," she whispers into your ear, body flush against your back. "Enjoying the drink?" she teases making you groan once again, turning in her hold to face her. You stare up at the older woman, admiring her features as she smiles softly at you. Your mouth opens to make a snarky remark but your voice dies down when you feel her hands drift towards your ass and face lower, her lips now ghosting yours. "How about I give you something that tastes a lot better than any drink you can have?" she rasps out, accent delicately wrapping around her words.

"What about Vision?" you murmur, losing yourself in her darkening green eyes.

"He's too busy telling the others a work story," she slowly turns the two of you around, her now leaning against the marble countertop of her kitchen. "So?" one hand cups your jaw, tilting your face upwards to look at her better, "Do you want to make Mommy feel good?"

You lean forward to capture her lips, groaning at the lingering taste of alcohol on her lips and move your hands to hold her waist. You feel her tongue slide over your bottom lip, not hesitating to part your lips to allow her tongue to slide in and dominate your mouth. You groan into the kiss when her hands move up your body, one resting casually on your neck.

"We don't have time to play Detka," she murmurs between kisses before pulling back, "Be a good girl for Mommy and kneel." You practically drop to your knees at her sultry voice, staring up at her with lust-filled eyes as your hands slowly creep up her legs. When you reach the hem of her skirt you stop, the silent question in your eyes answered when she nods and threads a hand through your hair. Swiftly, you lift the skirt so your head can meet her core and groan quietly to yourself when you see she's not wearing any panties, her arousal dripping from her.

"Fuck Mommy, you're so beautiful," you mutter while place a few kisses on her thighs before leaning forwards to lick a stripe up her core.

"Shit Detka," she moans quietly, hands gripping the countertop till her knuckles start to bleed white. "Do you know how turned on Mommy was when she saw you earlier?" her voice breathy as she tries to control her volume, your tongue swirling over her clit not helping her stay quiet. "I was so tempted to drag you into the bathroom and have you on your knees like now, fucking me with that perfect little mouth of yours." You groan into her pussy at her words, one of your hands raising to her core so you could tease her entrance with your fingers. At the same time, you suck hard on her clit and thrust a finger into her, one of her hands clamping over her mouth to muffle the moan that erupted from the back of her throat. "That's it Detka, you're making Mommy feel so good," she praises quickly before placing her hand back over her mouth as you curl your finger inside her.

Your tongue continues to swirl around her clit as you add another finger into her, thrusting both digits into her mercilessly as you're addicted to the sound of the muffled moans echoing around the room.

"You taste so good Mommy," you murmur before pulling your fingers out, earning a low groan in response before a choked moan when you thrust your tongue into her. You relentlessly thrust it into her while your fingers go to her clit, circling it in time with the way you curl your tongue inside her to have her legs shake slightly as she supports herself with the countertop.

" God Detka, " she groans out, "Right there, fuck I'm gonna come." You feel her clench around your tongue, legs trembling by your head as her orgasm washes over her. You moan into her when you feel her cum coat your tongue and help her ride out her aftershocks by slowly circling her clit. Her hands gently push you away when she gets too sensitive, you sitting back on your feet as you look up at her with a dazed smile, her arousal all over your mouth. She pulls you up by the collar of your shirt and crashes her lips to yours, moaning into your mouth at the taste of herself. "Good girl," she praises one last time before she lets you clean your face off with a washcloth and tidies her appearance up.

"How's the drink coming along?" Natasha says while Maria wraps her arm around her middle, both of them holding empty wine glasses as they stroll into the kitchen. They pause in their tracks when they see you with a straw in your mouth, your hand holding the other juice box as you finished the first, while your cheeks seemingly flushed with embarrassment.

"Oh my god!" Maria exclaimed while Natasha burst out into laughter, placing down her glass so she wouldn't drop it. You scowled as they started to tease you for drinking a child's drink, defending yourself as best you could but to no avail. You grumbled under your breath before turning your gaze to Wanda who had a soft smile that lessened your bad mood.

You made your way out of the kitchen to avoid any more teasing but stopped at the door of the living room when Wanda grabbed your hand.

"Meet me later for your reward, you were such a good girl for Mommy."

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda fanfic #marvel fanfiction #wanda x you #eventual smut #mommy wanda #wanda maximoff x female reader #smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction #mommy k1nk #kinktober #risky #wanda maximoff oneshot

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coco-loco-nut · 2 months ago

Text

Condolences

pairing: max x reader

summary: there is such a thing as being too competitive

masterlist requests open

——————————

The world stopped the moment your phone buzzed. You could barely read past “breaking news” before running into the next room.

“Daniel-“ you barely get the words out before Max nods solemnly.

“I heard,” Max says dejectedly. You sit beside him, letting a sad silence fill the room.

“Is he home?” you ask, not knowing the pain your friend and idol is going though. Your Aussie roots are what helped you and Daniel bond. Without him you wouldn’t have met Max.

A knock on your door interrupts Max before he can reply. You make your way to the door, opening it to see a very sad Daniel Ricciardo.

The trophies and other Formula One decor seem gauche in the moment as your friend is walking through your cozy apartment.

You silently sit down beside your friend and hug him. You and Daniel have only gotten closer since you started dating Max, before you were more like casual acquaintances and now he’s your older brother.

“I’m sorry, Daniel. What they did wasn’t right,” Max says, breaking the silence.

“I knew it was coming, I just didn’t expect it to be so hard this time around,”

“Whatever you need, we are here for you,” you rub his back. Daniel leans into your touch, resting his head on your shoulder as he takes in the comfort of you and Max. Max offers to go to the bar and drown the sorrows in liquor, but Daniel declines, needing to go back to his apartment and call Heidi.

“I just feel so bad,” you sit back down beside Max after letting Daniel out. The plush couch is almost as comfortable as your boyfriend.

“I know. He told me it was a possibility, but I didn’t expect the team to drop him the way they did,” Max squeezes you, holding you close.

“Wait,” you lean back, eyes narrowing as you look at Max. “You knew, and you didn’t say anything to me? You asshole,” you gasp. Jimmy and Sassy look at you curiously, a little confused why you suddenly seem upset. “A little warning would’ve been nice,” you advert your eyes, looking at one of the trophies that adorn your living room instead.

“I had an idea, but I wasn’t one hundred percent sure,” Max awkwardly tries to defend himself.

“Well, I am going to make Danny feel better,” you silently challenge Max as you stand up, ready to make your way to your bedroom with a yawn.

“Oh yeah, I bet I can do a better job than you,” Max doesn’t back down from your challenge, watching you pad across the carpet to your shared room. He opens his phone and takes another look at VCARB’s post. “Worst birthday gift ever,” Max groans.

“I’ll be back, I need to run to the store,” you practically jump off the couch. Max narrows his eyes, but doesn’t say anything.

You spend the rest of the day baking and meal prepping your favorite Australian dishes, hoping that Daniel enjoys the taste of home.

While you occupied yourself, Max searched through his racing memorabilia, hoping to find something that would pique Daniel’s interest.

The first time Max really noticed was when he got home from the gym and noticed the heavenly smells coming from the kitchen.

You stood in front of the stove humming to yourself, different containers and food scattered across the marble counters. Daniel happily sat at the countertop, eating a pesto pasta.

“Hey Max,” Daniel smiles, mouth full of food. Max cautiously walks towards you. You turn to him, a smug smile on your lips.

“Welcome home, Maxie,” your voice is a little too sweet, rubbing in your advantage in the unspoken competition between you. Max narrows his eyes as he leans down to press a quick kiss to your lips.

“I didn’t realize you were making dinner,” he says warily.

“Oh, I’m just making some food for Daniel to take with him. A little taste of Australia and his favorite meals,” you explain. Daniel enthusiastically nods.

“It’s really good, you lucked out man, having such a great cook as a partner,” Daniel tells Max, not having picked up on the competition.

“There’s some pesto pasta left if you want any,” you point your spatula to the stray pot on your left. Max silently takes a portion that you didn’t pack for Daniel to take home.

“Thanks,” Max mutters, plotting his next move. You barely notice as you finish the chicken cutlets. Daniel’s mom happily shared her recipe and preferred brands with you, glad that you are there to comfort Daniel.

A few nights later, you are getting ready for a girls night with some of the WAGs.

“You look beautiful, where are you going?” Max asks, sitting on your bed.

“Some new club that the girls found. I’ll send you the location when we get there,” you say as you put your earring in. Max gets up and grabs your heels for you, motioning for you to sit down.

“Don’t go too hard, I don’t want you to regret it tomorrow,” Max says as he secures your heels before standing up and giving you a hand as you stand.

“Of course, someone has to be responsible for the girls,” you smile, leaning in to kiss Max. Max pulls back from the kiss with a smile, using his thumb to fix your smudged lipstick.

What you don’t expect is to see Max walk into the club with Daniel and Charles half an hour later. You try to ignore them down the bar as you and the girls order another round, like you never saw them come in.

“These are for you ladies from the men across the bar,” the bartender says as he places a round of shots in front of you.

“Did you-?” you ask Alexandra who shakes her head in shock. You whip your head towards the guys and see Max raise his glass in smug greeting to you. You don’t break eye contact as you grab a shot and bring it to your mouth, quickly throwing it back and heading to the dance floor, vodka red bull in hand.

“What did you do to piss her off?” Daniel asks Max, a little concerned.

“It’s nothing, I just beat her at a game,” Max waves Daniel off.

“Seems like you have some making up to do,” Charles says, Daniel nodding in agreement.

The boys eventually find their way to your group, Max pressing himself against you. You try to push him off but he stays glued to you. His fingers brush the back of your neck as he moves your hair to one side. His breath tickles as his lips are against your ear.

“What’s wrong baby?” Max says, you mind dizzy and breathing a little heavy from the alcohol and contact.

“Max,” you breathe as he kisses the sensitive spot behind your ear, purposefully riling you up before turning you around so you are face to face. The look in his eyes is similar to yours. When you did go home, sleep was the last thing on your mind.

This carried on for a week. You would deliver whatever treat your found, or meal you made, while Max brought alcohol or dragged Daniel along to things.

You both found yourselves seated on Daniel’s couch, not meeting each other’s eye. You stare at Daniel’s thrown together yet cohesive display of trophies. You and Max had an unofficial official score between you two for making Daniel feel better and you were in the lead by two points.

“You two need to stop. I appreciate your support, and you are two of my closest friends, literally,” Daniel speaks as if you are children. “It sucks, but losing my seat isn’t the end of the world. You’ve helped, but this competition needs to end,” his stern eyes have you looking at your shoes, embarrassed. Has Daniel always had a cowprint rug under his couch?

“Sorry,” you and Max mutter in unison, resembling schoolchildren who’ve been chastised by their teacher.

“Now, why don’t we all go to the bar and have one last pity party?” Daniel suggests, finally getting a say in how he feels better. Although, he doesn’t mind the taste of home when you bring him food.

“I guess we can put aside our competition,” Max sighs, extending his hand to you. Your eyes flick between his hand and his face, unsure if it’s safe to trust him, but you ultimately shake on it for Daniel’s sake.

“Good, now go get ready. I’ll meet you in 30,” Daniel claps, kicking you out of his apartment and sending you back to yours.

“I won,” you smile as the door closes behind you in Max’s apartment.

“I can’t believe my husband chose my girlfriend over me,” Max says a little exasperated.

“Well, you aren’t a fellow Aussie and all guys are the same. All it takes is some food,” you laugh as Max pulls you close.

“I’ll be an Aussie too once I marry you,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, just below your ear, sending shivers up your spine.

“How long do we have?” you notice Max’s eyes darken.

“Long enough.”

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo

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letorip · 4 months ago

Text

casual [iii]

"i hate that i let this drag on so long, now i hate myself, hate that i let this drag on so long, you can go to hell"

===+++===

pairing: natalie scatorccio x reader

summary: you're not just going to let her go, this time. after long enough, you arrive at the very obvious conclusion that you're in love, and there's very little else to be done about that

warnings: mentions of sex, cuss words, a bit of angst but i promise a happy ending :)

word count: 7.2k

A/N: all good things must come to an end. trust, i'll write for nat again. also i stayed in that airport so fucking long it was like purgatory, and i'm so sorry it took longer than i thought, i've had an exhausting past two weeks and just needed to stop and breathe for a minute

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THAT ONE ANON I FEEL BAD I'M LATE

===+++===

"Please tell me you didn't do it on my sheets," Lottie groaned, lip curled in disgust and eyes hidden by her sunglasses.

"Sorry," you said back from behind your own pair, without looking away from the crystal blue of her pool water. You both were splayed out on her sun-bleached deck chairs, with matching hangovers (and bathrobes) that made the bright, beaming sunlight a whole new level of awful.

Her house was in disarray around you both, with crushed beer cans and overturned chairs all across the pool deck. Some cigarette butts floated in the water and you were certain the sprinklers in her garden were misting a pile of vomit and washing it down the front of her lawn, but neither of you made a move to get up and deal with it yet.

At the far end of the Matthews' pool, there was a statue of a mermaid that doubled as a fountain, spitting water in a gentle stream. Someone had put a snapback that said 'I <3 BOOBIES' on her and a bit of lipstick around the area that water shot out, and though usually you would have laughed, you instead were a bit annoyed by how it was taking you out of what would've been a nice scene.

There was just something about waking up and seeing Nat had gone without any sort of indication, that sparked the sudden urge within you to reconnect with nature. So you were reconnecting— more like brooding— on Lottie's pool deck in a peaceful silence.

After what felt like thirty minutes but was probably more like five, she turned to you. "Do you wanna—”

“—Talk about it?” you finished, raising your eyebrows. You shook your head. “No.”

She pouted. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to make pancakes.”

“Oh… then yes.”

You both lazily trudged into her equally wrecked kitchen, with even more cans and spilled liquids thrown over her marble counters. There was a burnt bag of popcorn sitting in the sink and the garbage can underneath it was overflowing with paper towels, but Lottie's kitchen was big enough where you could ignore it entirely, jumping up to sit on the clean countertop near her massive range cooker.

When Lottie said 'make pancakes,' she really meant she would be the one cooking and you would be there for moral support, if anything. You were gifted in many things but cooking or anything of the sort had never been one of them. Instead you leaned your head against the massive stone hood, and watched her from the pair of sunglasses you still wore.

Nat had laughed at you, when you said you didn't know how to cook. Not an omelette, not mac and cheese, and barely a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Of course, you assumed the last one wouldn't be hard to figure out, but you hadn't ever made one before, and it made her laugh into your chest, where her head had been resting. It hurt a bit now, but you had the sunglasses to shield your eyes while you stared off into space.

"Chocolate chips?" Lottie asked, running a hand through her dark hair and combing out a few knots with her fingers. You nodded, and she turned back to the pan in front of her, grabbing a fancy looking bag from a stack of supplies nearby. "My dad brought fresh chocolate back with him from when he was in the Caribbean a few weeks ago," she said to you, sprinkling it into the pan and flipping it over.

"Is he going to be pissed you're using it for pancakes?" you mumbled, feeling your headache return.

"No more pissed than he'll be when he sees that Jeff and his friends cut off the leg on one of his horse-shaped hedges." You winced, hopping down from the counter and feeling your back still scraped raw from, well, Nat. Lottie shot you a look. "That heated, huh?"

You rolled your eyes, heading towards the kitchen island and grabbing some of the beer cans to toss in the rubbish. "She's made her decision clear. I'm honestly done with it. I don't care anymore."

Lottie didn't say anything, turning back to the pancakes and sliding them on a plate as you slid into the barstool at the other end of her island and rested your head on your elbows. "I mean, she called me selfish, Lottie, and then said she loved me multiple times, minutes later. Who the hell does that?"

"Mhm," she hummed, sticking her spatula and the pan in the sink and then moving to the walk in pantry to grab syrup and powdered sugar.

You watched her go, calling after her. "She disappears for days after she gets mad about me talking to people, and then I see her immediately with Bobby Farleigh of all people, and they're cuddling up! I'm done with it all."

"Okay," Lottie said, reappearing with her arms full and tossing them down on the kitchen island. She clambered up into the seat next to you and stole some of the plain ones for herself, before covering them in syrup.

"And," you continued, remembering something else as you began cutting up the pancakes and smothering them in powdered sugar, "she egged my fucking house! How could I even forget about that? I mean, what was I thinking? I don't want to talk about her."

"Oh yeah," Lottie snorted. "You really don't want to talk about her."

You shot her a glare, stuffing your mouth with an angry fork. "I'm serious, Lottie."

"You wish," she scoffed. "If you were serious— and I'm not trying to be mean— but if you were serious, you wouldn't be ranting all about her. I know you keep saying it's impossible and it can't happen with her, but you sure as hell seem like you want it to happen with her."

You frowned, taking a forkful and stuffing it into your mouth. Right as you did, a couple sheepishly walked down the hall and towards the front door, clothes obviously messed up. They sent you an awkward wave and Lottie gave a quick nod in their direction, turning back to her plate. "Then why'd she leave?" you asked, when the door was shut behind them.

She shrugged. "Why the hell would I know? If anyone here would be the Natalie-whisperer, it would be you."

"Yeah well, apparently not," you huffed, shoving more pancakes into your mouth.

"I mean, it's not like you guys were on glowing terms before you... y'know. Wasn't gonna magically all be fixed, after." You groaned, leaning your forehead down onto the cool marble countertops. It actually felt nice, against your raging headache, but you still felt like crap.

"Would've at least been nice for her to wait until I woke up to go. No 'goodbye,' no 'we should talk,' nothing. When we were just hooking up and stuff, I at least always waited to say goodbye."

"So it's not just hooking up, anymore?"

"I don’t know what it is, Lottie. You tell me, because apparently everyone knows but me." She shrugged, finishing her plate and pushing it away from herself.

"I have an answer, but you're not gonna like it."

"...No, I'm not in love with her."

"You absolutely are."

"I'm done with this!"

"You keep saying that."

"'Cause I am."

"Okay."

"I'm done," you frowned, attempting finality in your tone and coming far short.

"Right," she snorted, and then she stood to grab your now-finished plate too. "Can you help me?”

It took around three hours, to get the Matthews house back to its usual formality. You sprayed burnt and disturbed bushes with the hose, threw out bag upon bag of party rubbish, and vacuumed cigarette butts off the carpet of her living room, silently working while Lottie played some records on her grandfather's old gramophone.

Her dad usually put jazz records on it or snooty classical music, whenever you were over, but Lottie had Dancing Queen blasting throughout her house and was hopping around as she snatched stuff off the mantle and shoved it into bags, turning to you and yelling a lyric from time to time, along to the music.

This wasn't your idea of fun by a long shot, but you could appreciate Lottie trying to make it fun.

"So, how much convincing did you have to do, to get Laura Lee here at a party? I mean, with the alcohol," you asked with a snort, grabbing an almost empty bag of crisps and tossing yourself down in her father's leather armchair to finish them off.

Lottie flushed. "A really embarrassing amount," she admitted. "I kind of glazed over that part."

"I'll bet she was surprised?" you asked with an amused crunch.

"It wasn't even that— this guy from my third period started going at it with this girl right in front her. I had to literally stop her from going over there to talk to them about waiting until marriage."

You shrugged. "I mean, she seems to like you a whole lot."

"She does," Lottie nodded. "She's so sweet to me, and she has the best hand to hold, like, ever."

"Honestly, I'm surprised, but happy for you. You're in a big ol' throuple with Jesus Christ."

"Ha ha," Lottie rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out at you. "At least whatever we have is holy. I don't even want to think about you and—"

But whatever dig she would've said was cut off by her doorbell ringing. You sighed, letting your feet down from where you had propped them up on the side table and wiping the crumbs on your bathrobe.

"I'll get it," you grumbled, leaving Lottie to clean. When you opened the door there was absolutely no way you could've prepared to see her so soon.

Nat stood awkwardly in the entryway, looking just as surprised to see you as you were to see her. She wore a pair of blue shorts she practiced and slept in, and staring right back at you was the shirt you thought had gone missing weeks ago, barely hidden behind the ratty zip up hoodie she had over it.

Her eyeliner was still smudged from the night before in places, and you stared at her blankly, waiting for her to say something— anything, really.

"I forgot my damn lighter," she said, casting her eyes to the floor after a moment.

"Oh," you replied, feeling a bit stupid suddenly, in your bathrobe and sunglasses, with your flip flops for shoes. You looked like you were mid-spa day, or like someone's drunk uncle on a cruise. Then, before you could stop yourself, you felt an annoyance twinge in your gut, and said "Is that all you've got to say?"

Her eyes shot up, looking challengingly at you, in what was a clear frustration. "What do you want me to say?" But the answer went unsaid, even as much as you didn't like it. That you came back for me.

"I don't know..."

"Great," Nat scoffed. She looked over your shoulder into Lottie's house, as if her lighter would appear behind you and jump right into her hand, and she would just be able to leave. "Can I just have my—"

"—Why did you egg my house?" you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to block the door a bit more. She raised her eyebrows at you, confused.

"What?"

"You egged my house, after our argument," you repeated, slower, feeling the tips of your ears burning.

"No the hell I didn't."

"Yes the hell you did," you argued back, leaning forward with your hands on your hips. "You're the only one with the gate code. I get it, you were mad, but—"

"—Fucking Christ, I didn't!"

"You wrote a giant 'fuck you' on my house. No one else would."

Nat glared. "I didn't invent it. Is it such an impossible thing for you to consider that maybe not everyone is Team (Y/n)? I don't mean to break your brain, but for once somebody might actually dislike you."

You rolled your eyes. "You're the only one with a history of breaking rules and doing shit."

"So, what, you think I would do that to you?"

"Maybe you would. Maybe you don't care about me at all. That's why you ran off, wasn't it?"

She narrowed her eyes at you. "I had to go, before my dad caught me out."

You shook your head. "Bullshit. You've stayed out, before."

"Oh, so now you're mad that I'm not cuddling up to you?"

"That's not cuddling, that's having me stick my fingers in you and then you run off. You were pissed at me a few days before, Nat, for literally the same thing."

"It's almost like it's confusing, (Y/n), when you get mixed signals. And no, I got pissed at you because you went shopping for girlfriends— which, I'm assuming because you're being an oblivious, self-righteous asshole, you're still doing."

"Yep, still looking," you glared at her. She glared right back, just as steely.

"Great."

"Great," you replied. It was annoying, how good she looked when she was frustrated. She was great at looking mad, and even better at looking good when she was mad. The furrowing of her eyebrows, wrinkling of her nose in anger; she had the face you wanted to kiss away. It was impossible not to wonder, if doing so would uncurl her fists and smooth out the lines on her forehead.

Then you stopped. Holy shit. Everything seemed awful, like a massive case of vertigo had just washed over you. You had had hangovers before, but this somehow seemed infinitely worse. See, a thought had finally self-realised itself within your little peanut brain.

I'm in love with Nat.

It made the ceiling feel like the floor, and Nat sent you a concerned glance and seemed about to question your change in expression, when Lottie came from behind you.

"Hey, Nat," she said with an awkward smile, brushing past you with a look and then handing her the lighter quickly. "Excited for nationals?”

"Yeah," Nat nodded, but her eyes were still glaring at you. She cleared her throat, finally looking off. "Thanks, Lot. Great party."

"Mhm," Lottie nodded, trying her best to seem at ease and not at all like she was walking in on a code-red situation. "Have a great weekend! Bye now! Get home safe! See you!" She rushed, tugging you from beyond the doorway and giving a wave, before shutting the door.

The moment the door was closed, she gave you an unappreciative stare, but your eyes were wide and your cheeks flushed.

"What?" asked Lottie, her eyebrows furrowed with concern.

"I...I think I'm in love with her."

===+++===

Your home was just as empty as it was when you had left the night before. Reginald wasn't even due to come in, since your mother and father weren't home and it was a Saturday. Even the groundskeeper and maid had the day off, and the groan you let out at finally returning home and falling onto the warm rug on your living room floor echoed against the walls of your empty house.

In your hand was the letter you found in your mailbox. A cool black and Princeton-orange colour. You already knew what it said, without even looking into it. Your father and mother went there. His father and mother, too. For years and years and years. And now, if you followed the rules set out in front of you, you too.

It was impossible not to wonder, when the fog of privilege would slowly cloud your brain. Would it be the law degree from a private school, or legacy admissions? The more frightening thing was that maybe Nat was right: it had already set in, and you unaware. You at least felt different than the rest of them. That made you different, right? You and Lottie?

The image of Nat seemed ever-prevalent. Glowering at you, like she had been in the doorway. In your shirt. With that frown. The frown that you wanted to kiss away, but would never be able to. A Scatorccio, of all people. Of all people, you had to be in love with the one person you couldn't have.

It felt simultaneously like life had resolved into something more clear and understandable, and something more depressing and doomed. You wanted to forget the realisation, and the acceptance as well. Maybe it was truly better when you were promising your friends that you felt nothing of the sort.

Your eyes flitted from where they stared at the ceiling over to the giant brown bookcase in the corner, stacked high with thick volumes of what your dad had once said were family records, but you had never grabbed one off yourself. The one that stuck out against the brown leather-bound books was a more sleek, grey memoir with your grandfather’s name printed onto the hard cover casing.

That one you had read— your father had made you read it, when you were fourteen, and your parents gave up on trying for another kid. It wasn’t as dreadfully boring as you thought it would be, but it was still a memoir about a stuffy stockbroker from the 80s, with all the parts involving cocaine conveniently edited out, but not your grandfather’s insane escapades with women.

Your father was in the process of writing his own edition, and had thereby implied that he expected you to write one for yourself. You didn't know what you could possibly write about, but then again there was the expectation you write about it anyway. You weren't a guy on Wall Street, you weren't an international businessperson. You didn't even know what you were going to school for, yet.

Next to the bookshelf in equal intimidation was a painting of your family that your father had commissioned years ago. It was back when you still had braces and acne, but thankfully the artist had removed both. You hadn't been allowed to smile for it, though that's what child-you thought you did for pictures. Instead, you and your parents' mouths were drawn into disapproving lines and hardened expressions, and the golden plaque at the bottom wore your surname in proud, powerful letters.

You sighed, sitting up onto the palms of your hands and then standing slowly, still a bit uncoordinated. You sent the painting a final glance before you wandered to the phone, grabbing the thing and checking your watch while you did it. You slumped down into the seat at the end of your dining room table, where your father usually sat, and pulled the antenna from the top, punching in the numbers absentmindedly as you stared out the window onto the garden and the pool.

The number was for your father's Monaco residence, and you waited with a jumping knee and wry expression while it rang. Eventually, though, your mother picked up. "Hello?"

"Hello, mother."

(Y/n), darling, is something wrong? You know to call Reginald first, in case of emer—"

"—No, nothing is wrong, mother. Look, I actually wanted to ask you a question."

"Well, go on then. We're about to go out to dinner."

"...Mother, do you have Julie Roosevelt's number?"

Silence on the end of the line. "Absolutely!" You didn't need to be there with her to hear the smile in her voice. "What for?"

You swallowed. "I think I'll try to take her out tonight."

"Well! Darling, that's just wonderful!" You nodded into the receiver, not like she could see it. "Make sure to wear your nice shirt, we don't want to upset the Roosevelts! I hope you know, I'm proud of you for this, really." You almost mentioned getting accepted into Princeton. Almost. But you decided not to mention it. It wasn't like you wanted to think about it anyways.

From the far wall, you could see the painting of the woman with the blue eyes staring at you.

===+++===

The local mini golf was always busy, but Saturdays were absolutely the busiest. There were couples upon couples who had the exact same idea, and were wandering around with their hands together and beaming at one another like they were living in a rom-com in the real life.

And yet you stood there with your hand in Julie Roosevelt's, and a massive frown on your face. It wasn't one that you'd let Julie see— every time she glanced in your direction, you'd quickly replace it with your best smile, showing her your teeth— but it was one that you knew you wore when she turned away.

"Sorry about the late notice," you said. You dropped her hand and went to grab a putter from the front, handing it to her and then grabbing one for yourself.

"It's okay, I was wondering if you were ever going to talk to me again," Julie laughed, a bit awkward. You winced. It's not like you could be honest, and say that you didn't intend to. The truth was, that while Julie was a bit shallow, she was also a bit too nice to deserve this one-sided thing.

Of course, there was the hope that you grew the love your mother spoke of. Maybe it would hit you, and alleviate you from Nat, who seemed to haunt your thoughts even more now, that you were aware she had captured your heart.

"I was just busy, this past week," you shrugged. "It's kind of a big deal for the Yellowjackets, and both of the teams are practicing and stuff...so."

"Wow. I guess you really like the Yellowjackets then, huh?"

"Uh...something like that, yeah. It's a big deal." She hummed, then took her things out onto the first green.

You let her go, standing behind her and watching with a grin and the scorecard in your pocket. Mini golf was something you took pride in being good at. But, then, of course, Julie let the ball drop, took a second, and gently hit the ball around the bend with a near perfect curve, and right into the hole.

"Yay!" she cheered, jumping up and down in celebration.

"Wha—"

Julie put her hands on her hips with a teasing grin. "Captain of the golf team, remember?" You hadn't.

"Right..."

You played a terrible game, for the most part. You stood at the end of the second-to-last hole with the scorecard in your hand and a whole bunch of big numbers on your side of the table. Julie was beaming from ear to ear, though you weren't exactly sure why.

It had been pretty much silent, with the two of you failing over and over again to find an interesting thing to talk about. It wasn't the calm, pleasant silence like it was with... well, it didn't matter now. You filled in a four, two shots over the par, and made your way over to where Julie was crouching down, to get a better view of the final hole.

"Actually wait, there's a special way you have to play this one," you called out to her, and she turned to you with a puzzled expression.

"What do you mean?"

"It's kind of local tradition here," you shrugged. You weren't even sure if that was true, you just knew that it was what Nat had called it, when she taught you. "You have to swing really, really hard, and to win, you've gotta get it over the fence," you pointed, "and right into the back of that neighbourhood."

She blinked at you for a moment, and then Julie frowned, looking down to the ground. "That's mean, though. What if you hit someone's house? Or a window?"

"Bonus points," you shrugged. "I don't know, you can't really see where they go, once they're over the fence. It's fun."

Julie raised her eyebrows. "Don't you think it's a little immature? Why would I do that if I'm going to win for real?"

You opened your mouth to reply, then firmly closed it. "I guess you're right," you mumbled. It hadn't felt stupid when you suggested it, but Julie's disdain at the suggestion made you feel improper.

She did win, by a massive landslide, and you let her keep the scorecard with little protest. She was still beaming though, brightly at you like she had just had the best date of her life. Your stomach felt like it was tied up in a bunch of knots, but you smiled back at her nonetheless.

If love was something to be worked towards, you really hoped it would start working soon.

===+++===

You had only been home for about twenty minutes, when your phone started ringing. Off the hook. Over and over again. You knew who it was just from the ring, but that didn't mean you wanted to pick up.

After the disaster that was dropping Julie off at her house, you wanted to continue to staring at the ceiling. But after the sixth call back, it seemed Jackie wasn't giving up.

You picked the phone up with a frown, rolling over and smushing your chin into the bed. "Hello—"

"—OH MY GOD, YOU AND JULIE?!"

You groaned. "Jackie I dropped her off like thirty minutes ago, how do you already know about this?"

"So it's true?! You're dating?"

You sat up. "What? No, we just went on one date."

"Really? Cause Julie told Margie who told Randy who told Jeff, who told me that you kissed her and you're going out!"

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "I didn't kiss her, she kissed me. And it wasn't even like an actual kiss, she like, pecked me, and then scrambled out of my car and up her driveway."

"Well, she's saying you're going steady."

"'Going steady?' The 40s called, they wanted their slang back."

"Ha ha," Jackie said back, and you could hear the eye roll. She went silent. "...I bet your mom is happy."

"Probably..."

"Are you happy? You're probably a shoe-in for prom court, especially since I'll be out of town. Your mom won't let you go to nationals, will she?"

"No. She'll want me and Julie to go to prom together."

"Well, I mean, at least you'll win, right? That's gotta be exciting?"

You looked over to your nightstand, where you had a polaroid of you and Nat that sat taped to the side. "Thrilled."

"(Y/n)? You okay, hubby?"

You took a sharp swallow. "Yeah, I'm fine. Julie's great."

"Right...," she paused again, "does Nat...does she know?"

"I don't think so... It's only been like, thirty minutes."

"She will soon, though. Monday."

"Yeah...I guess she will soon."

===+++===

Monday was terrible. It seemed Julie had taken the awkward attempt at kissing you as the sign that you were together. She was there at your car when you first arrived, grinning again while you and Lottie got your things for school out of the second row. Then, the moment you had locked your car, you were tugged along by a hand grabbing yours.

You didn't exactly have a good reason to be grossed out. Julie was beautiful, and if you had felt the same way for her, you would have been thrilled with the enthusiasm. Hell, if it were... well. So, you mostly let her drag you wherever she wanted.

There was about a week, to run for prom court. Your mother had promptly called you that morning to insist on prom, and insist on shopping for prom, when she returned home on Wednesday, from Monaco. It was all Julie would talk about, and you were starting to wonder how much of this was a political move for her too, rather than one of genuine interest in you.

You first saw Nat coming down one of the halls, and you hesitated a bit the moment you saw that she noticed you. Or, that she noticed you and Julie together. It was the walk of shame, frankly. You didn't belong to her, in any formal sense. But your heart did, and that was enough for it to hurt. Badly.

It seemed to hurt her too. She immediately frowned, tugging on Kevyn's sleeve and walking in the opposite direction. You wanted to run after her, but Julie had an iron grip on your hand and a smile so bright.

It was awkward enough at lunch, with Julie insisting to sit next to you and to bring her golf friends. A few of them were nice, and Jackie managed to chat them up well enough to make even more friends than before, but Lottie had a frown the entire time, and Shauna looked less than happy.

Nat wasn't staring at you at lunch anymore. It was a startling realisation, that you wanted her to be looking at you. If anything, you were looking more at her. You kept turning around, trying to seem like you were just scanning the cafeteria, but Nat was firmly looking down at her food, at the same table as always.

You felt like a runaway dog that had temporarily shrugged off its collar, trying to find home with a tail between its legs. Julie was nice, and smart, and talented. But she wasn't the one. Your one.

===+++===

"Hey, you ready?" you asked Lottie, finding her out in the hallway in front of the locker rooms. it was Friday, and you both had your soccer bags slung over your shoulder, and were about to head out to practice, but Lottie seemed transfixed on a poster on the wall. "Hey now, you've got nationals tomorrow, no distractions," you tried.

"Is she seriously trying to make it seem like you two are soulmates?" Lottie said with a grimace. It was one of the ones Julie had made in two days, and was now putting all over the school to really earn you both the win. There was a drawing of you and her on it, with a heart in the middle, and 'VOTE JULIE & (Y/N) FOR PROM COURT 1996.' It was an objectively good design, but Lottie didn't like Julie very much— or at least had started to hate her, the longer you and her were together.

"I think it's because she has a crush on you," Julie said once with a pout, after Lottie had been less than welcoming to her on a ride home.

"No she doesn't," you shook your head.

"She definitely does. You shouldn't hang out with her as much, or people will think you and her are a thing. I mean, I did at first."

The whole conversation had only made Lottie more and more annoyed with her, and that was saying a lot, with how Lottie was usually nice to most people.

"Come on," you said, gesturing with your head out towards the pitch. "Last practice before nationals."

Lottie still had a frown on her face, but she followed you out there with her arms crossed. It was still relatively early, only a few people were out. Coach Martinez's son Travis was up in the bleachers, watching, while you could see Trevor and Misty talking next to the water cooler and Jeremy and Mari passing a ball back and forth to each other.

"Hey (Y/n)," a voice called from behind you, and you could feel a similar annoyance to Lottie's washing over you. You turned to see Carter Avery, back from his suspension, with a cheeky smirk on his face. "Miss me?"

"Not even close," you scowled. He brushed past you and Lottie, pausing for a moment when he was directly in front of you staring down in an attempt at intimidation. He kept walking though, until he paused, right at the edge of the pitch.

"Oh, and (Y/n)?"

"What."

"I think I need to borrow some eggs. You got any for me?" Your eyes widened. "What about toilet paper, then?"

It was intended to create anger in you. You knew he wanted you to charge at him or something, or to scowl, but all you did was stand there, in a stunned silence. You had thought that Nat would do that. That Nat could do that to you. Of course it wasn't Nat. You felt stupid and you felt guilty, and you felt even worse that you couldn't do much about either of those things. You could try, though. And maybe that would be enough.

Lottie sent you a knowing look, but all you wanted to do was curl up into a ball and die. Maybe you could try to talk to her, after practice? It was a long shot, but it was worth a try.

The Yellowjackets' moods were infectious, and it was impossible to not have a great time, at that practice. Their emotions were high, along with their excitement, and you started to feel a little bit better, the more you ran and the more you felt the wind in your hair.

Of course, that's when everything decided to go wrong. A single slide tackle from Taissa, right into Allie's leg, and everyone was panicking and yelling. You could see the bone sticking out from it, and Misty was bolting in your direction, hovering over her and attempting to right it.

"Can I get two people to carry her?" She shouted at both teams, and you immediately raised your hand, stepping forwards while Allie began to cry. You didn't even see who was grabbing her other arm until you had made it into the locker room, and Allie was still crying with Misty following behind and a very clueless looking Coach Ben behind her.

You should've known, it was her. She was selfless like that, even though she'd rather die than admit it herself. And yet, there Nat was, on the other side of Allie, laying her down on one of the locker room benches and raising her leg up. Misty ushered you both out into the hall, and suddenly both you and Nat were regretting volunteering.

You had to wait until she came out, so you would be able to carry her to the front, where the ambulance could arrive to take her to hospital, but until then it just meant you and Nat were forced to stand there in awkward silence.

It stayed that way, until you tried to speak. "So...nationals, hu—"

"Don't even," Nat snapped, shutting you up. She was twitching a little bit, in discomfort, and you knew right now that if it were outside, or if she were to have her bag, she would be pulling out a cigarette.

"...I know it wasn't you who egged my house. It was Carter... I'm...sorry."

"Real genius, aren't you."

"Allegedly. Not in practice, apparently," you admitted, sliding to the tiled floor in wait. She eyed you cautiously, but did the same, sliding down.

"Man, if I had a nickel, for every time we've been in this hallway with a serious injury... I'd have, what, two nickels?" You hummed, leaning your head back against the wall.

"That's not a lot," Nat said, rolling her eyes.

"No," you nodded in agreement, "but it's weird that it happened twice."

She thought for a minute, then shrugged. "I guess." You both could hear the whistle being blown outside, to end the final scrimmage and indicate that it was time to circle up.

"Don't you want to go hear that? Y'know, for tomorrow?"

Nat shook her head. "I'd rather be here for Allie. Though she's kind of an asshole."

You snorted. "She's a total fucking bitch."

"...Just so you know, I really did have to leave, after Lottie's party... I, uh, kissed your forehead, before I left... I guess you couldn't feel it though. You were asleep."

You shook your head. "I didn't know that..."

"...Yeah... my dad was being an asshole... it was a whole thing." You knew it hurt more than she was saying, right now, and you so desperately wanted to scoot closer, like you would've before things had gotten so messed up. Back when you were on the cusp of happiness.

"I'm sorry, Nat."

She shrugged again, like it didn't hurt, but you knew all too well. "For what?"

You would've said for being scared. For being weak. For not realising sooner. Anything. But instead you were interrupted by the sound of shoes on the tile.

Of course, there Julie had to be. She took a single look at Nat who was covered in sweat and a bit red from practice, and grimaced, before coming up to you and standing right over you, expectantly.

"Is practice over?" she asked, checking her watch. "I finished my club meeting. We have to go dress shopping— I want you there to colour match— and I need you to drop Margie off at her house, cause I said you would yesterday."

You blinked. "I mean... It kind of is? I should probably stay a bit—" you looked to Nat to see what she would say, but she was already standing up and walking off, taking the not so secret hint that Julie was telling her to get lost.

Julie watched her go, scowling behind her back and then spinning to you the moment the door clicked shut behind her. "What did she want with you?" she asked.

"We were just talking, Allie needed help."

"Well she's no good. She's one of those kids, y'know." You narrowed your eyes, getting up to your feet and wiping your hands on your shorts.

"What are you talking about?"

Julie tilted her head to the side, like she was confused by your confusion. "You must not have a lot of them, around here, but we had them all OVER, in Massachusetts. The town bicycles. Everyone wants a ride, if you know what I mean."

It was your turn to cross your arms. "No the hell I do not, Julie."

"Oh come on," she said, throwing up her hands. "She's trailer trash, at best. The delusional kind who thinks we'd look at her, like, ever. I mean, what's her body count, like over a hundred?"

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," you snapped at her, glowering.

"Okay, I know she's on the Yellowjackets, and she's clearly trying to get in your pants, but cmon. I'm your girlfriend, we can laugh about this kind of—"

"No, the hell you aren't. You're not my girlfriend, Julie, and you barely ever fucking were. That girl you just insulted is the best fucking person I know. She's selfless, she's kind, she makes me laugh—"

"Well then go sleep with her then!" Julie yelled, stomping her foot.

"Y'know what, I already have! And I fucking love her. So there!" And you turned right around and stomped back out onto the pitch.

===+++===

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you rolled your eyes, trudging down the stairs and calling out into the foyer. It wasn’t like whoever it was would actually be able to hear you, through the thickness of your door, if anything it was more to air your grievance with having to get up so fucking late. Your mom was once more distraught, now that you had kept the "perfect" girl for a single week and then promptly dumped her. Another vacation was in order.

Rain was still pounding on the roof from above, and it filled the emptiness of your house with a faint white noise, that was immediately shattered by the person pressing the button again. You rolled your eyes, deciding to walk even slower to the door out of nothing but spite.

When you actually opened the door, though, you had to blink a couple times, seeing a figure retreating already, down your drive. However long you had took had made them rethink why they were here, and you would've been all too happy to let the door close. That was, until you narrowed your eyes into the rain, just barely making out the shape of a familiar leather jacket.

"Nat?" You called into the storm, loud enough that there was no way she couldn't have heard you. You crossed your arms, thinking about how she had been earlier that day. "I know it's you, Natalie. Why the fuck are you here? You have nationals tomorrow."

She stopped in her tracks, just standing in it. She gently turned, shoulders rising and falling and it was clear she was breathing heavily. Her mascara was running in massive streaks down her face and dripping in small, grey droplets, and her eyes were sensitive and red, as if she had been crying and rubbed them raw. You swallowed what felt like a lump in your throat.

"This— all of this, with you— I— I can't," she stumbled, looking like a sad, wet dog in the rain.

"What?" you furrowed your eyebrows at her, walking out further onto your large, covered doorstep.

"I can't see you with her, (Y/n), I— I just can't."

"With Julie?"

Natalie threw up her arms in frustration. "Yes, Julie. I know she's perfect, or whatever, but— I— you can't be with her—"

"—Nat," you tried, stepping forward again.

"—Because I love you," she continued. You stopped in your tracks. It felt as if the air had been sucked right out of your lungs, even in the freshness brought by the storm. "I know we argue," her voice shook, "and I know we fight, and I know I smoke, and I curse, and I get bad grades, and my dad's a shithead, and I'm kind of an asshole sometimes— but I fucking love you, (Y/n). You.... I—"

"—Shut up," you said, shaking your head and rushing forward, out into the pouring storm. You collided with her, cupping her face in your cheeks and kissing her like the world would end in ten minutes. It would have, if you hadn't done it, and you had no idea how you had survived so long without doing it.

You kissed her once, and then you kissed her again, and then, when she was crying harder, and you were crying too, and she was holding onto your arms like you would fall away, you kissed her forehead, and held her tight in a hug.

"I'm selfish, and I'm a mess, and I'm never good enough for my stupid fucking parents," you said, over the rain and just for Nat, "and I don't realise that I hurt people 'cause that's not what my family does, and for that, I'm really, really fucking sorry."

She nodded in her tears, looking up at you as you both got rained on together. "But, I agree," you said, voice shaking, "we're not casual. I'm really, really fucking sorry, but I also really, really fucking love you, Nat. And I'm sorry I was too scared and too stupid, and," you raised your voice, as if to the sky, "I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING GO TO PRINCETON—" this time it was Nat who shut you up.

It was another kiss, but it was far more gentle than the first. It was a gentle press, and it took your breath away. When you pulled apart, you let your forehead fall against Natalie's. Even though the droplets were cold, you felt so warm.

After what felt like forever, but still wasn't long enough, Nat murmured to you, "should we go inside?" She still smelled like cigarettes and her perfume, just as she had in her trailer, and you intended to let the scent linger.

You shook your head. "Just stay out here a little longer with me. Please? Just let time pass."

She nodded, then smirked as she looked past you at the car on your driveway. "Fuckin' rich people."

===+++===

AAAAAND THAT'S CASUAL BABYYYYY! Finished at like 2 am. anyways, i'm tired and a little bit sleepy

#nat scatorccio x you #nat scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x y/n #natalie scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio #yellowjackets

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sea-lanterns · 1 year ago

Note

I love walking around in my underwear when no one's around, just to feel free, so imagine Arlecchino coming home to see her lover in her underwear and decides to claim what's hers when its been presented to her so nicely 😳🤭

oh that’s bold, anon. I like it!

tbh, i’ve never walked around in my underwear before bc i’m just too shy and feel so exposed. but, i can picture doing it with arlecchino when she’s out, and she’d do the most unspeakable things to you the moment she sees you in nothing but a bra and panties.

nsfw under the cut—————————

arlecchino who comes home to see you walking around in nothing but your underwear. unfazed in the slightest when you see her come in, as you just casually wave at her from the doorway and keep doing what you’ve been doing before.

“hey arle!”

“…hello.”

she had no idea you did these kinds of things when you were home alone and part of her is upset she didn’t get home sooner. either way, she was home now, and that means she gets to have you all to herself…

“seems like you got busy while i was gone…” arlecchino chuckles, walking over to you and wrapping her arms around your waist from behind, caging you into the kitchen counter where you worked, so you had no choice but to stay put. “did you touch yourself without me? you know how i feel about that.”

your skin shivered as she trailed a pointed finger down your hips and over your waistband, snapping the elastic into your skin and riveting eager shocks throughout your nerves. “i didn’t touch myself. i just like walking around like this, you know? it feels nice…” you murmured softly.

“it certainly looks nice.” your girlfriend husks, scooping you up from your thighs and placing you on the counter. “like a walking present, all for me…”

she drinks in the sight of you, having saw it multiple times, it still never gets old as she moves forward to claim your lips as hers. dark hands grabbing every inch of skin she could possibly reach and squeezing it roughly with her palms and nails. “you picked out a good set, but even then, your body is the true centerpiece of it all.” arlecchino groans and makes quick haste to tug off your top whilst sliding her tongue into your mouth, wanting nothing more than to devour you where you sat.

“arle, we’ll ruin the counters again. i just cleaned them…” you laughed, playfully pushing her away.

“then let me clean them this time,” arlecchino chuckles, tugging your underwear down and letting your cunt hit the cold, bare, countertop. “after all, it is your fault for walking around so temptingly…”

and as you squealed from the cold marble hitting your most sensitive area, arlecchino quickly warmed you up again as she dove her rough tongue into your hole, imagining you in all the different underwear sets she could buy as she wanted this to happen more often…

#🫧hydration station #arlecchino smut #arlecchino x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin women x reader #genshin imagines #genshin women smut

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bat-mom-writer · 23 days ago

Text

Rage and Redemption Part 6

Bruce Wayne X adapted reader

Summery: you get in a fight with Damian

Rating: angst, curing, you and Damian getting a lecture

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7 Part 8

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"Damian," Bruce greets, his voice a mix of affection and greeting.

The younger boy, Damian, stops short, his eyes flickering between the two of you, the jar of pickles, and the plate with the ketchup. His expression is unreadable, a mask that seems to be a part of his very being.

"I see," he says, his voice clipped and precise, "that we're having a picnic in the kitchen." You narrow your eyes at him, the sudden hostility in his tone a stark contrast to the light-hearted banter that had been filling the room just moments ago.

Dick's smile never falters, "Hey, Dame," he says casually, using the nickname that feels like a shield. "You haven't actually met our newest addition to the family, have you?"

Damian's gaze shifts to you, his eyes cold and assessing. You feel the weight of his stare, like a knife pressing against the soft underbelly of your vulnerability. "I am very aware of the newest addition," he says, his voice devoid of emotion. "I've heard her…expressive habits."

You clench your teeth, the anger flaring up again. "What's your problem?" you challenge him, the words cutting through the air like a shard of glass.

Damian's gaze never leaves yours. "I don't have a problem," he says, his tone flat. "I'm just surprised to see Father playing nanny."

"Damian." Bruce's voice is firm, the warning clear. But the younger boy doesn't budge, his eyes locked on you.

You stand up, the chair scraping against the floor, the sound echoing through the kitchen. "I didn't think a few broken vases would scare you off," you say, your voice laced with defiance.

Damian's eyes narrow, the challenge in your voice not lost on him. "I'm not one to hide away from a few shards of glass," he says, his tone even. "I just know when to avoid unnecessary mess."

Bruce's hand lands on your shoulder, his grip firm but gentle. "Damian," he repeats, "that's enough."

You shrug him off, the anger in your veins pulsing with every beat of your heart. "Why don't you go back to whatever hole you crawled out of, you no good piece of shit?" you spit out, the words coming before you can think better of it.

Damian's eyes flare with something that might be anger, but it's quickly masked by his usual apathy. "Careful," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "You don't know who you're speaking to."

"I know who," you start, your voice trembling with anger as you stand up, ready to leap at Damian, "a no good piece of-"

But before you can leap at Damian, Bruce's arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back into the solid wall of his chest. You struggle against him, but his grip is firm, his body unyielding. "That's enough," he says, his voice a low rumble that resonates through you. His eyes are on Damian, his expression stern, but there's a softness in his gaze that's directed at you.

"Let me go," you hiss, your fists clenched. You can feel the tension in his arms, the tightness of his grip, but he doesn't release you.

"Not until you calm down," Bruce says, his breath warm against your neck.

You jerk away, pointing a finger at Damian. "He started it!" you yell, the words echoing off the kitchen tiles.

Damian raises an eyebrow, his gaze unflinching. "I merely made an observation," he says, his voice as cold as the marble countertops. "You started it with the first vase you threw."

"And I'll finish it with throwing you!" you shout, the anger in your voice a physical force.

But Bruce's grip on you doesn't falter. "That's enough," he says firmly, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. He guides you back to the chair, his hand on your shoulderuntil you're sitting again. "Damian," he says, turning his gaze to his son, "to your room. We'll talk later."

Damian's jaw clenches his eyes never leaving yours. He turns and leaves the kitchen, the door swinging behind him. The sound echoes through the room, the final note in the symphony of your anger.

The room is quiet again, the only sound the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. You look down at your plate, the pickles and ketchup a sad reminder of the fragility of the moment. Dick's smile fades, the tension in the air thickening like the sauce on your plate.

"Dick," Bruce says, his voice a low rumble that you feel more than hear. Dick's eyes flicker from you to Bruce, understanding crossing his face. He nods once, the sound of his footsteps retreating down the hall.

The kitchen feels smaller now, the warmth from the oven no match for the sudden chill left in the wake of the argument. You're left with just Bruce, his eyes still on you, filled with a mix of concern and something else.

Crouching in front of you, "Look at me," he says, his voice low and steady. His hands come up to frame your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears you didn't realize had started to fall. His eyes bore into yours, the intensity of his gaze making you feel like he's trying to see right into your soul.

You swipe at your face with the back of your hand, your eyes burning with defiance. "You finally going to punish me?" you ask, your voice thick with unshed tears and anger. "Or are you just going to pretend like this is all okay?"

Bruce's eyes never leave yours as he shakes his head. "This isn't about punishment," he says, his voice soothing despite the firmness of his grip. "It's about understanding. And learning how to handle our emotions in a way that doesn't hurt ourselves or others."

You want to scream at him, tell him he doesn't understand, that it's all his fault. "He started it!" you blurt out again, the words a childish defense that feels both right and wrong.

Bruce's gaze doesn't waver. "I know," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "But you have to decide when to end it." He lets go of your shoulders, his hands moving to rest on the countertop, his knuckles white. "You can't let anger control you. It'll eat you up from the inside out."

You cross your arms over your chest, the action a barrier against his words. "I'm not supposed to not get mad when he was the one being an ass," you argue, the fire in your eyes not dimming.

Bruce's gaze softens, his arms coming to his sides. "You're right, Damian can be… difficult. But lashing out won't solve anything," he says, his tone measured. "And calling names doesn't make you any better than him."

You grit your teeth, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Why shouldn't I get mad?" you ask, your voice rising. "If he starts it, I'm only making it fair."

Bruce's eyes never leave yours as he takes a deep, measured breath. "Because you're not him," he says, his voice steady. "You're better than that. You don't have to respond to anger with anger. It's a cycle that doesn't end well for anyone."

You huff, looking away from him. You don't want to hear it. You don't want to be the bigger person. You just want to be mad. You want to scream and throw more vases, to let the anger out like a pressure valve on a boiling pot. But the kitchen remains silent, the only sound the tick of the clock in the hallway, a reminder that time is passing, that the world is moving on even if you're not ready to.

"When you see… Batman," he says slowly, his eyes searching yours, "does he solve his problems with violence?"

You scoff, the question hitting too close to home. "That's different."

Bruce's eyes stay on yours, unwavering. "Is it?" he asks, his voice calm. "Because like you, he also has a reason to be angry. Criminals do terrible things to him, they hurt the people he cares about, and they make fun of him. But he chooses to respond differently. He fights for justice without letting his anger control him."

You look away, the truth of his words stinging. You know he's right, but it's hard to accept. You've been holding onto the anger like it's all you have left of your parents, a piece of them that keeps them with you, somehow. "But he's Batman," you murmur, the words a whisper. "He's not just some orphan kid. He's… he's Batman."

Bruce sighs, his hands falling away. "No," he says, his voice gentle. "He's just a man who's been through a lot of pain, too. And he's found a way to use that pain to help others."

You lean back in the chair, the wood cool against your back. You're not ready to let go of the anger, not yet. It's all you've had to keep you company, a familiar cloak that shields you from the pain of your loss.

"Okay, I'll stop lecturing," Bruce says, his voice a gentle rumble that seems to vibrate through the air. It's like he's trying to soothe a wild animal, and maybe that's not far from the truth. "But I think it's time we talked about where to channel that anger of yours." He stands, his arms folding over his chest.

"I think it's time we explore some new outlets," Bruce says, his tone measured and calm. "You're not the first to experience such loss and anger. There are ways to cope that don't involve destruction."

You bite your lip, considering his words. The anger inside of you is a raging bonfire, but his gentle touch and understanding gaze feel like the first droplets of rain on the scorching embers. "Like what?" you ask, your voice small.

"Well," Bruce says, his eyes searching yours, "you know I train. It's how I deal with my own demons. It's a good way to release anger in a controlled environment." His voice is measured, like he's weighing each word carefully.

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. "I don't like working out," you reply, your tone as stubborn as ever. The very idea of sweating and pushing your body to its limits is about as appealing as a mouthful of dirt.

But Bruce doesn't back down, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's not just about working out," he says, his voice patient. "It's about discipline, about channeling your anger and pain into something positive."

"If I have to," you grumble, not quite ready to admit defeat.

Bruce nods, his expression unreadable. "It's a start," he says, his voice still gentle. "We'll go slow, okay?" he says, "We'll find what works for you."

You grumble but don't protest further. The idea of doing something productive with your anger is strange, but the thought of having someone, anyone, understand what you're going through is even stranger. You've been so lost in your own pain that you forgot people could relate, could empathize.

"Whatever." You mumble, slumping deeper into the chair, the leather cool and unforgiving against your back. The kitchen feels too quiet without Dick's laughter, too serious without the distraction of his antics.

But Bruce doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn't let it phase him. He returns to the pickle jar, grabbing another slice and holding it out to you. "First," he says, his voice firm but kind, "let's get more food into you."

You eye the pickle, the anger still simmering in your veins. You don't want his pity, his charity, but your stomach betrays you with a loud growl. You snatch the pickle from his hand, the sourness a surprising comfort. You chew, the sound of your teeth grinding the cucumber echoing through the kitchen.

Bruce doesn't say anything, just watches you with a knowing look. You know he's waiting for you to crack, to give him the opening he needs to get through to you. But you're not ready to be fixed. You're not even sure you can be fixed.

"Anything else you'd like to eat?" he asks, holding up the jar of pickles.

You shake your head, the anger inside of you a simmering pot ready to boil over at the slightest provocation. "No," you say, taking the jar from him. You don't wait for his reaction, you just turn and stalk out of the kitchen, the cold glass feeling good in your hand.

Bruce sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. He watches you go, his expression a mix of disappointment and understanding.

Once he heard the door to your bedroom slam shut, Bruce took a moment to collect himself. He took a deep breath, then headed up the stairs to Damian's room, the same stairs you'd both descended just minutes ago.

He reached the door and paused, his hand hovering over the knob. He knew that Damian was probably seething, that his words had hit a nerve. But he also knew that this was a critical moment, one that could either push his son further away or draw him closer to understanding the gravity of the situation.

"Damian," he called out, his voice firm but not unkind. The door to the room creaked open, and Damian stood in the threshold, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes narrowed in challenge.

"Father," Damian's voice was cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the kitchen moments ago.

Bruce nodded, his gaze holding Damian's. "Walk with me," he said, his voice gentle but firm. He didn't wait for Damian response, just turned and started walking down the hallway, the light from the chandelier casting a soft glow on the polished floors.

Damian hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking from Bruce to the floor, then he followed, his footsteps echoing down the long corridor. "Need I say anything?" Bruce asked, not looking at him.

Damian felt the weight of his father's gaze even though it wasn't directed at him. "If you are meaning to lecture me about manners, I already know," he said, his voice clipped. "You would say I must be more welcoming to guests."

Bruce stopped and turned to face him, his eyes filled with a gentle reprimand. "Then why weren't you?" he asked, his voice echoing through the hallway.

Damian's eyes flashed with something like anger, his jaw tightening. "Because she's not just a guest," he snapped back, his words sharp as knives. "She's a wild card, a disruption to our lives."

Bruce sighed, his eyes on the floor as he started down the stairs. "That's where you're wrong," he said, his voice carrying the weight of years of experience. "She's a child who's lost everything, just like we have. She's hurt and she's scared."

Damian's steps followed, his eyes narrowed. "And she takes it out on everything and everyone around her," he shot back, his voice filled with accusation. "Including you, Father."

Bruce's eyes remained on the stairs, his jaw clenched. "And that's exactly why we need to be patient with her," he said, each word deliberate. "Because she's lost everything she's ever known, and she's feeling helpless. Anger is her shield."

Damian's frustration was palpable, his voice tight as he followed Bruce through the mansion. "She's mouthy, a brat," he spat out, "And you expect me to be patient?"

Bruce's eyes never left the floor as they entered his office, the heavy oak door closing behind them with a muffled thud. The room was a bastion of calm amidst the storm of their words, the moonlight filtering through the tall windows and casting a soft, silver glow on the mahogany desk and the bookshelves that lined the walls. The air was thick with the scent of aged leather and the faint tang of ink from the countless tomes that contained the knowledge Bruce had gathered over the years.

Bruce turns to face Damian, his eyes a stark reminder of the authority he holds. "I expect you not to start fights," he corrects, his voice a low rumble that seems to resonate through the very air. His gaze is unyielding, "There's a difference between defending yourself and looking for trouble."

Damian opens his mouth to protest, but something in Bruce's expression silences him. "We all have our demons, Damian," he says, his voice softer now, "And she's no different." Bruce took a moment to look at Damian, his gaze searching the depths of his son's soul."

"You're more like her than you care to realize," he says, his voice carrying a hint of sadness. "Both of you have lost your way, and it's my job to guide you back."

Damian's eyes narrowed, his arms still crossed in defiance. "I'm nothing like her," he spits out, the words tinged with anger.

Ignoring the comment, Bruce walks over to the Shakespeare bust on the desk, his steps measured and deliberate. He pulls the head down, revealing a hidden button. The bust clicks back into place, a silent acknowledgment of the secret it guards. The tension in the room seems to thicken as the bookshelf slides aside, revealing the elevator to the Batcave.

Damian doesn't even look at the elevator; he's seen it many times, the silent sentinel that whispers of their nocturnal battles against the darkness of Gotham. He focuses instead on his father's back, his eyes tracing the line of Bruce's shoulders as he moves with the grace of a predator. The elevator doors open with a soft hiss, the cold, metallic scent of the cave wafting into the warmth of the office.

Bruce turns to him, his eyes piercing through the shadows. "Damian," he says, his voice low and serious. "You both have a lot to learn from each other. You just need to be willing to see it."

Without waiting for a reply, Bruce steps into the elevator, and after a brief hesitation, Damian follows. The doors close with a finality that seems to echo the unspoken words hanging between them. As the elevator descends, the tension in the small space is palpable, the only sound the soft hum of machinery beneath their feet.

"You know what makes us different, Father," Damian finally says, his voice tight.

Bruce meets Damian's gaze in the elevator's reflection, the steel walls framing their tense silhouettes.

"She's no Robin." Damian's voice, his eyes never leaving Bruce's reflection. The words hang in the air, a stark reminder of the chasm between you and the rest of the Wayne family.

Bruce's expression doesn't change as he continues to look at him through the reflection. "No," he agrees, "she's not. But she's someone who needs help, someone who deserves a chance to find their place in this world."

The elevator jolts to a stop, the cables groaning in protest before the doors open with a smooth whoosh. The Batcave, a sprawling underground complex filled with the tools of their nightly vigil, stretches out before them, the stark contrast of light and shadow playing over the gleaming surfaces of high-tech gadgets and the rough, organic lines of the cave walls. The air is cool and damp, the scent of earth and oil mingling with the faint electrical hum of the machinery.

"And you think you can help her here?" Damian asks, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. "Have you even told her of… of what you do?"

Bruce turns to face him fully, the gravity of his gaze weighing heavily. "Not yet," he admits, "but when the time is right, I will. For now, she's just a lost girl who needs guidance, not the burden of our world."

Damian's eyes narrow, the unspoken question hanging in the air like a storm cloud. "What if she's not worth it?" he finally asks, his voice echoing off the cold, stone walls. "What if she's just going to cause more trouble?"

Bruce sighs, his hand resting on the elevator's railing. "We don't get to decide who's worth it," he says, turning to face his son. "We just do our best to help those who are in need of our help. And if you can't see that, then maybe it's time for you to take a step back and remember why we do this."

Damian's eyes flash with a mix of anger and understanding as he looks at his father. He knows Bruce is right, but the idea of opening their lives to someone else, especially someone so volatile and unpredictable, is unsettling. The Batcave is their sanctuary, their fortress against the chaos of the world, and he doesn't want to see it compromised.

"Fine," he says through gritted teeth, his arms uncrossing to let out a sigh. "But if she messes up, if she doesn't learn to control herself…" His voice trails off, the threat hanging in the air.

Bruce's gaze is unwavering. "I will handle it," he says firmly, his eyes speaking volumes of trust and belief in the your potential. "But for now, let's focus on making her feel welcome and supported."

The two of them continue to walk through the Batcave, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the cold, damp walls. The lights flicker on as they pass, illuminating the various vehicles and weapons that stand sentinel around them. Weight of their conversation lingering in the air, a palpable presence that seems to cling to every shadow.

Damian's eyes dart around the cavernous space, taking in the various pieces of technology and weaponry that have been meticulously designed and crafted for their nightly battles. His mind is racing with doubt and frustration, but he knows better than to argue with his father.

As they round the corner, the sight of Dick emerging from the shadows in his Nightwing gear stops him in his tracks. Dick's eyes, shimmering with excitement behind the mask, meet his. "We heading out?" Dick asks, his voice filled with anticipation.

Bruce nods, his expression unreadable. "Yes, we are," he confirms, turning to Damian. "Get suited up, we have work to do."

Part 7

#batman #bat family #dc universe #bat boys #dc fandom #batfamily #dick grayson #bruce wayne #damian wayne #bruce wayne x daughter #batman x daughter #bruce wayne x reader #orphan reader #bruce wayne x orphan reader

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amethystwrytes · 2 months ago

Text

Safe. (Part Five)

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin X Fem. Reader X Lee Minho

Summary: A broke ER Nurse offers up her services to a large crime organization in exchange for much higher pay and benefits that are unconventional, but lucrative. The life proves to be questionable at best, and downright isolating at worst which leaves her feeling unsure, unstable and dangerous.

Warnings: Explicit language. Explicit depictions of sex (some chapters will be more explicit than others sexually). Violence. Blood. Trauma injuries. (Organized) Crime. Emotional manipulation. Discussion of murder and physical assault. Medical inaccuracy galore. Smoking. Past addiction. 18+ Only MDNI.

Chapter WC: 5K

AN: (1) Two chapters in one week feels excessive - but it's finished, and it’s Minho's BIRTHDAY after all, and also I think I’d like to start posting on Fridays anyway. (2) I don’t want to talk about the unspeakably preposterous and unbelievable practicality/mechanics of one of these smut scenes. You will know it when you see it and you will shush. *Suspension of disbelief rabble rabble*. Thank you, that is all.

~ PART FIVE ~ [Series M. List Here]

You’re setting the table for supper when you hear the key to the front door twist in the lock. Your stomach hardens and you eye Christopher sitting in the living room. You wonder when someone will be able to open your front door without you thinking that they’re going to come barreling through to hurt you, but it’s only Minho.

“You can go,” Minho casually instructs Chris, who instantly stands and gives you a nod.

“Here,” you call Christopher over, and hand him a to-go box. You made way too much and even though you’re still sore at him for spilling your secrets, you want the man to eat. He takes it with a smile and a thank you, then heads out.

Minho waits for him to shut it completely before joining you in the kitchen.

“God that smells amazing, what did you make?” he wraps his hands around you from behind, his head dipping into the small of your neck and shoulder.

“Spicy chicken, fried rice, and a cucumber salad because I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of you eat a fucking vegetable,” you smile.

He chuckles, “You take such good care of us,” he smiles against your face before kissing your cheek.

You briefly eye the front door, “Where’s Hyunjin?”

Minhos cheerful expression fades for a split second, but he plucks a cucumber slice out of the bowl and corrects himself, “He went home to clean up a bit. He’s coming.”

“You didn’t clean up?” you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Love, I’ve been doing this a long time, trust me when I say I’m clean as a whistle,” he explains.

You shrug, “Okay, but it’s not polite to eat before everyone arrives, so put that salad in the refrigerator to keep it cool please,” you instruct as you slide the chicken and rice into the oven to keep warm.

Minho does as he’s told, surprisingly, then looks at you, “I’m sorry.”

Your brows furrow, “Sorry?”

He nods, “I’m sorry for what I said to you in your room that day, I’m sorry for threatening to frame you for selling drugs out of the house, I’m sorry for ever giving you a reason to think I would hurt you.”

You’d been thinking all afternoon of how you want to talk, of what you want to say to both of them this evening, but this you were not expecting.

You let out a steady breath and nod, “I guess what I wonder then, is why? Why would you say those things? If you truly never intended to hurt me, then why would you say such awful things?”

He presses his lips into a line and traces the streaks in the marble countertop.

“Well?” you urge.

“I’ve acted the way I’ve acted because I wanted you to hate me. You can’t lose people you love if you love no one and no one loves you. My feelings would be easier to resolve and manage if you hated me,” he smiles sadly, “but when you said you weren’t comfortable being seen with me, I realized having you hate me was exceptionally painful, so I did what I do when I get hurt or angry and acted like a fucking asshole. When you looked at me that day, scared and sad…I realized that I’d fucked up.”

“You are so…” you sigh, “Unstable. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” he chuckles, “I’m aware.”

You think of his wife and your heart aches for him again, “Were you ever going to tell me about her?” you wonder.

His eyes widen a bit, he doesn’t need any clarification to know who you’re asking about.

“Seola? I don’t know,” he answers honestly, “Probably…eventually. I don’t talk about her often, I don’t…I don’t like to. How did you find out about her?”

“Jisoo did my hair and makeup for the Casino night,” you tell him, you can’t quite measure if he’s upset about you knowing or not, and you don’t want to throw Christopher under the bus, despite his loose lips. Jisoo feels like a safer option.

He sighs, “Seola…I loved her with my whole heart. I told her early on that she should stay as far away from me as possible, but she wouldn’t,” he smiles. “When she was taken from me, I never thought I’d ever be able to have feelings for anyone else, I didn’t want to. Then you and I met, and at first I thought I could treat you like the other people I’ve slept with over the past few years, use you the way you were using me - for human contact, to feel good, but…” he trails off, unsure of how to explain it.

“...but it feels like more,” you finish for him.

“Yes,” he nods, stepping closer to you, taking your face gently between his hands, “it does.”

He leans down slowly, gently, and kisses your lips.

“Please don’t leave us,” he whispers, “don’t leave me.”

“Then don’t ever make me feel like I need to be afraid of you,” you whisper back.

“I won’t,” he answers.

“Don’t let them hurt me again,” you add.

“No one will ever lay a hand on you again baby, not as long as I’m breathing,” he promises.

You press your lips against his, pull his shirt with your fingertips, drawing him into you. His tongue traces the lines of your bottom lip and you greet it with your own. You melt as his hands roam your body, under your shirt to squeeze and caress the warm skin. You moan into his mouth and he pushes you against the countertops.

You feel him falter and he pulls away, the two of you staring at each other; you wondering why he stopped, and him looking hindered by something unseen.

“Do you have feelings for Hyunjin?” he asks. You were expecting this question from one or both of them at some point this evening, but it still hits you abrasively. You’re not willing to lie though. If you’re doing this, all of it, then there is no room for a growing pile of lies between you.

“Yes.”

“Do you have feelings for me?”

“Yes, I do,” you nod, lifting your fingers to his hair to play with the dark strands.

“That’s going to get extremely messy,” he warns.

“Then it will fit right in, because all of this is a mess,” you say, looking hard at the floor. He lifts your chin up so your gaze finds his.

“Is that really what you want? Both of us? I need to know.”

You think for a moment, think about how you should answer, think about what his response is going to be.

“I want you both.”

“Is it because I’m not enough? Or because he’s not enough?” he asks, and you hear the defense in his voice, the blow to his pride and it pains you.

You shake your head, lace your fingers with his, “It’s not that. Not at all. You are both more than enough. It’s because you both make me feel things that I crave, because you are two polar opposite men, who make me feel so strongly, and so good when I’m with you but in such very different ways, and maybe I’m just being selfish, I know I am actually, but I don’t want to give up the way I feel when I’m with either of you.”

Minho is about to respond when the knock on the door drags both your attentions away from the conversation.

“It’s me, Hyunjin,” a muffled voice calls out from behind the door.

You squeeze Minhos arm and he lays his hand over yours, giving you a halfhearted smile, but a smile, and that’s better than nothing.

You cross the space and open the front door to Hyunjins sweet smile, the top half of his jet black hair tied up into a wet bun, the scent of his shampoo still fragrant.

“Hi,” you smile.

“Hi beautiful.”

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

Dinner starts out dreadfully silent. So silent in fact that you can barely touch your food. Minho and Hyunjin dig in though, stuffing chicken, rice and cucumbers in at an alarming pace that makes you smile. They’re used to silence, to awkwardness. They’ve learned to navigate it, thrive in it, and carry on regardless of the tension.

“Well, I’d ask you both how your day was but I suppose I know,” you finally attempt a joke, but it doesn’t come out like you intended it to and no one laughs, including you. You grab the cold beer you served with the chicken and take a very long swig.

Minho wipes his mouth with a napkin and gives you a soft, understanding look, “You wanted us here Love, it’s your meeting so to speak,” he says.

Hyunjin looks between the two of you as he chews his food, he seems to understand he’s missed part of the conversation, the conversation you started with Minho but this is all ass backwards and not how you wanted to start your ‘meeting.’

“Alright, yes,” you clear your throat, “I do have things I want to discuss with both of you.”

Both men take a break from eating and sit a little straighter, giving you their full attention. You realize now that your hope at a more casual conversation over food was a fruitless endeavor, these men are too serious for casual.

“I realized something today,” you begin, “I’ve realized that despite what I’ve told myself the past several months, that I am part of this organization. I’ve helped all of you at one point or another, and maybe I’ve just helped in the least criminal of ways, but I have committed crimes with you whether I like it or not. I’ve heard things, I know names, I know what you’ve done, and the things you intend to do, I am an accomplice,” you say it out loud and although it makes it real, there is a part of you that’s relieved to say it to just get it out there.

Neither Hyunjin or Minho say anything so you continue, “I was going to run, but I think that running away would just mean that I’m running straight into more trouble for myself, for one. But also…” you trail off, “but also, I don’t want to run away from either of you.”

Hyunjin looks at Minho so quickly that you think it could give him whiplash, but Minho doesn’t react to any of it.

“But before we talk about that, or what that means, or how to even navigate it, I have terms I’d like to lay out,” you look at both of them.

“What are your terms Love?” Minho asks, all business, and you wonder if he’s about to produce a pen and notebook to take notes in.

“First, I don’t like the way some of your guys speak to me as if I’m your personal fuck toy,” you say.

“Seungmin.”

Hyunjin and Minho say his name simultaneously.

“Okay yes, Seungmin, but I don’t want him punished or whatever. I would just like it made clear that while we don’t have to like each other, we don’t need to speak so disrespectfully to one another, and not to sound like a child but he always starts it,” you take another swig of beer. Minho looks as though he’s holding in a chuckle and this puts you at ease a bit.

“It will be made clear to him and to all my employees that you are to be treated and spoken to with absolutely nothing but respect,” Minho nods with a smile, “What else?”

“I don’t want to know everything, I don’t need to know everything, but I also don’t want to be treated like Christopher - as just an employee who does as she’s told and is only told the bare minimum. I want to be trusted, and I want you to talk to me freely about things that you need to get off your mind, or things that impact me in any way,” you say.

“Trust is earned,” Minho says, “but after everything you’ve been through, I believe you’ve more than earned it, so done.”

“Finally,” you take a breath, “it’s been hard for me since the night I got attacked to be alone here, or anywhere for that matter, and I know you both have things that need done, that you can’t be here all the time, and I appreciate Christopher, and Jisung, and the others…but I want you two - not necessarily at the same time - but I want the two of you.”

The room sinks back into that familiar silence again and you wait impatiently for someone to say something, you fork some chicken and stuff it in your mouth for something to do.

“Fine, I’ll be the one to say it,” Hyunjin half laughs, “Are we talking about fucking each other or protection detail?”

It’s Minhos turn to take an uncomfortably large swig of beer and you have to force the small bite of chicken down your throat roughly.

“I…well…” you stutter, “In this specific moment I’m talking about who is here in the house with me,” you clarify.

“And what about outside this specific moment?” Minho asks for more clarification and you realize that the time has come, whether you were ready for it or not, to tell them both what you actually want. Is it what you want? You’ve never attempted a relationship that had more than two people in it, but none of those relationships turned out very well so you can’t really cite them as reliable sources, can you?

“Honestly?” you inhale deeply and let it go, “Honestly, I wouldn’t be opposed to having you both in the other way at the same time, I’ve never done that before, it would be my first time - but the thought of it makes me wet just imagining it.”

Hyunjin bites his bottom lip and sits back in his seat. To say you’re suddenly feeling warm is an understatement, so you chug the rest of your beer then get up for another.

“What do you think about that?” Minho asks Hyunjin.

Hyunjin licks his lips and you think you might combust, “Well, it wouldn’t be my first time,” he says with a smile that might be a little too proud, “it could be lots of fun,” he says avoiding eye contact with Minho and only looking at you. You swallow hard.

“How many times have the two of you…” Minho starts, but you answer before he can finish.

“Hyunjin and I have never had sex,” you tell him, trying to keep any emotion from your voice like how it’s a bit disappointing that you’ve not slept with Hyunjin, or how you’re scared that Minho will be upset if you’d said you had, or how excited you are that you might actually get fucked by both of the men sitting with you at this table.

“Hmm,” Minho nods, “I see.”

“What do you think about it, boss?” Hyunjin finally looks at him, “We both said we didn’t want to share after all.”

Only Hwang Hyunjin could look at Lee Minho and say that without it sounding like a challenge, like a threat.

Minho exhales slowly and shrugs, “It may be a shock to some, but I’m not a closed minded man, however, I am a possessive one,” he looks at you and chews on the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowing with consideration, “so the answer to your question is that I’m not sure.”

Your heart sinks a little, and you’re unsure of what to say.

“We can work with possessive,” Hyunjin says, the corners of his mouth slipping into a coy smile, as if he’s flirting with Minho and your clit throbs, you can feel the way you’re soaked and you press your thighs together.

“Oh?” is all Minho responds with.

“Mm,” Hyunjin nods, “I’m not a power player, I don’t have to be a top, I don’t have to be a bottom, I’m not picky, and you should know by now I’m very good at being told what to do.”

You watch as Minhos expression changes, he looks at Hyunjin in a way you’ve never seen him look at any of his guys before, and then he looks at you, “You’re being awfully quiet now darling.”

It takes you a solid three seconds to realize he’s talking to you, you’re gripping the neck of your beer so hard it might bust.

“I’m just, thoroughly enjoying this conversation,” you grin.

“How much?” he asks.

Well. That was an invitation if you’ve ever heard one. You swallow your sip of beer and stand, shuffling out the wrinkles of your cotton skirt and step closer to him, “Would you like to see?” you ask, bunching up the skirt in your fists higher and higher until the tops of your thighs are exposed.

Minho chews his lip as his fingertips trace delicate lines up your legs, finally disappearing beneath the fabric, pushing your panties to the side so he can swirl them in your arousal. You gasp, tilting your head back as he moves his fingers against you.

“My, my,” he whispers, voice gravelly with want, and he looks as if he wants to knock everything off the table to fuck you on it. You wouldn’t be opposed.

Hyunjin sits motionless on the other side, watching, and though you’ve never really considered how it would make you feel, you find that having him watch feels very good.

Minho removes his fingers from your cunt and uses them to motion Hyunjin over. Your heart starts pounding. Hyunjin moves slowly, but you can see his erection straining against his pants.

“So Hyunjin has never played with you?” Minho asks, his eyes on Hyunjin.

“We’ve kissed…” you manage to speak between catching your breath.

“But he’s never tasted you? Your pussy that is?”

You shake your head back and forth.

“Go on then,” Minho looks at him darkly, touching Hyunjins mouth with his fingertips, spreading your slick across his bottom lip. Hyunjin sucks Minhos fingers into his mouth hungrily, a groan escaping from somewhere deep in his chest.

“I have to admit, knowing he’s not had you is pretty satisfying to me,” Minho chuckles, yanking his fingers from Hyunjins mouth, “I wonder how far I can push him before he comes undone?” he stands from the table, “Has everyone eaten? No ones starving anymore?” he asks the two of you and finishes off his beer.

“Not for food,” Hyunjin comments and winks at you.

“Then let’s go to the living room, shall we?” Minho grabs your hand and pulls you forward, Hyunjin following close behind.

Minho kisses you deeply, then takes a seat in the armchair, “Why don’t you help our girl out of her pretty clothes?”

“Gladly,” Hyunjin whispers, taking the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head, he tosses it across the room then drops to his knees as you unzip the side of your skirt. He helps you shimmy it down into a pool of fabric around your feet and you step away from it. Hyunjin looks up at you, his eyes scanning your body, and he hooks his fingers into your underwear, pulling them slowly down your legs.

“Don’t even think about putting your lips on her, not yet, I say when,” Minho instructs from the chair. Hyunjin freezes as if that’s exactly what he was about to do.

“Yes sir,” Hyunjin grins.

You want to interject and say that if Minho doesn’t give the go ahead soon, you might be the one coming undone, but you stay silent, you’re not sure what to do anyway, and something in your gut tells you it needs to happen like this, for them, in order for Minho to be right with it.

“Sit on the sofa, Love,” Minho tells you and you sit, like a good girl, on the sofa then look at him for further instruction. He laughs, “You look so eager darling, so fucking turned on, do you want me to be nice for you?”

“Yes,” you nod frantically, “Please.”

“Do you want him to taste your cunt finally?”

“Mmhmm,” you keep nodding, leaning back into the cushions, kneading your breasts.

“Spread your legs for him, so he can see how fucking gorgeous you are,” he instructs.

You nearly go out of your mind watching Hyunjin crawl between your legs, his fingernails raking red lines up your thighs. Hyunjin looks behind at Minho for permission.

“First,” Minho halts him, “take your shirt and pants off, you look dreadfully uncomfortable.”

Hyunjin smiles and tears his shirt over his head, then stands briefly to remove his trousers before resuming his position between your legs.

“Now, make our princess cum,” Minho grins.

Hyunjin does what he’s told, but he also takes his sweet time, licking and sucking kisses on the inside of your thighs and you wonder if he’s savoring the moment like you. This heated, passionate affair that seems to have been building up since the night you sewed stitches into his side.

Finally, he grabs hold of your thighs roughly and drags you to the edge of the sofa, “you ready Doll?”

“God, yes…”

His tongue is eager against your flesh, but in true Hyunjin fashion, is also quick, soft, controlled and deliberate. He was told to make you cum, and he’s honing in on that target like his life depends on it.

“How does it feel, baby?” Minho asks and you manage to turn your head towards him, “let’s hear you.”

“It feels so fucking good, he’s so good at it,” you whimper, looking back down at Hyunjin. His eyes lock with yours and you watch as his tongue appears and disappears between your folds. You rest your head back onto the sofa and moan, your hips beginning to move in time with his mouth, you’re so close.

“She’s about to cum, I can tell by her face,” Minho smiles, and you nod, unable to verbally confirm this, “let go baby, cum for him.”

Minhos deep, gravelly command paired with Hyunjins soft tongue lapping at you pushes you far beyond your capacity to hold yourself back. Your body quakes as your orgasm ripples over and over, your clit becoming so sensitive you have to physically push Hyunjins face away with your hands and plea with a quiet “stop.”

Hyunjin is totally out of breath as he sits back on his ankles, he wipes his mouth with his arm, eyes dark, and looks at Minho.

“How close are you to busting?” Minho chuckles.

“Very.”

Minho licks his lips, then unzips his pants, releasing his own cock from the confines of his clothes. He strokes himself gently then nods his head towards you, “Go on then, she loves getting fucked right after you eat her out, don’t you baby?”

“Yes,” you groan, “Very much.”

Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate a moment before ripping his boxers down and kicking them away, he takes your shoulders and shoves you down onto the sofa, propping one of your legs on the back and sliding between.

“I don’t know how long I’ll last,” Hyunjin warns.

“It’s okay,” you breathe, “you don’t have to make me cum again.”

“Yes he does,” Minho says coolly from the chair, “yes he fucking does.”

“Heard,” Hyunjin manages to tease.

Hyunjin lines himself up with you as you dig your nails into his shoulders, desperate for it, needing it. He pushes in slowly, and your eyes lock as he fills you to the hilt. Your lips part and you wiggle a bit, urging him to move, he does. He’s going impossibly slow, his brows knitted together in concentration.

“Fuck you’re perfect,” he moans, his hips speeding up just a bit. You can’t help but steal a look at Minho, who watches you both from the same chair he’s been sitting in, slowly stroking himself, lip tucked tightly between his teeth.

You lift your hips a bit to meet Hyunjins thrusts, sliding your hands down his sides, around his thighs to pull him closer, deeper.

“Hyunjin,” you whisper, his name a plea for him to do something, though you’re unsure of what. Feeling his cock drag in and out, hitting some delicious spot within, watching Minho look and hearing his little gasps every time you whimper or moan might actually be your undoing.

Hyunjins movements become more desperate, more erratic, and you’re sure he won’t be able to hold himself back much longer. You take his face in your hands and he looks at you, “Make me cum,” you gently drag his hand down to your neck, his breath stutters as he wraps his long, delicate fingers around your throat to hold you down gently while he fucks into you. You push back with every thrust, causing a rough but welcome collision and you cum so hard around his cock that you can feel it in your very bones. You cry out, hips bucking just a bit off the sofa as you spasm around him.

He thrusts into you only twice more before freezing, his breath escaping in a muffled moan as he buries his face into your neck.

Hyunjin pulls you towards him and captures your lips with his.

“Perfect,” he whispers.

Minho finally makes his way to the couch, Hyunjin moves aside, practically collapsing.

“Feel better?” Minho smiles, rubbing circles on your legs.

You nod, claiming his hand in yours to lace your fingers together.

He looks between your legs, “You’re a mess,” he drags the back of his finger up your slit, swirling Hyunjins leaking fluids around your own. You shudder with a gasp at the stimulation.

“Come, let’s go upstairs,” Minho stands and extends his hand to you; he pauses briefly in front of Hyunjin and stares, then caresses his jawline with his thumb, “you did good, impressive. Come on.”

Minho leads you both into the master bath where he reaches into the walk-in to start a shower. You step close to him and start undoing the buttons of his shirt, looking up at him as he strokes your hair. You continue silently undressing him until the three of you stand totally naked in the middle of your steamy bathroom.

Minho grabs your chin with his fingertips and draws you into him, his mouth desperate for yours and your lips crash together with urgent moans. In your peripheral you can see Hyunjin step into the shower and rinse himself off, he reaches out and tugs on you and Minho, who barely takes his mouth off you to shuffle into the warm water.

“Is this what you wanted?” Minho asks in a grunt as he picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. “Wanted to be our needy little slut, so fucking pretty and sweet, getting fucked out by both of us?” he whispers as your back presses against the cold stone of the shower wall.

You grin like the cheshire cat and nod, “Mmhmm.”

Minho smiles and shakes his head at you before his lips overtake yours again, and you also feel Hyunjins hands roaming as he puts himself between your back and the wall, his body much warmer and less scratchy than the stone. You can feel Minhos hard erection sliding against your soaked pussy and your breath hitches. Hyunjins wet hands slide around your body and he fingers at your nipples, stroking and squeezing. Minho leans in and you watch through the steam as he takes Hyunjins mouth with his own, his cock rubbing against your clit as he positions himself to fuck you against Hyunjin.

This exceeds even your highest expectation of what this experience would be like. Feeling Minho bouncing you on his cock while you listen to the two of them moan into each others mouths, Hyunjins fingers circling your clit gently while the other hand takes turns playing with your breasts and yanking your hair to tilt your head back for neck kisses.

“Fuck,” you whine, the impossible ache inside you is building again, you can’t remember the last time you orgasmed three times in one evening, or if you ever have, but you’re going to.

“Gonna cum for me Love?” Minho presses his forehead against yours, breathless, pumping his hips up into you.

“Yes,” you half laugh in delirium, “Fuck, yes keep going…”

You can feel his fingertips digging into the sides of your ass, feel how desperate he is to finish, you lean your head forward to kiss him, sucking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting as you reach your high. Your orgasm comes out in a choked gasp, your body completely spent, and you feel him pull out a bit and spill himself all over your cunt.

Hyunjin washes you off while Minho catches his breath then the three of you, unbothered to put on clothes or even dry off, collapse on your bed, drops of water everywhere but no one caring.

You’re not surprised that Minho pulls you in immediately, wrapping his arm around you tight - possessive.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you sigh, eyes already shut and sleep getting closer and closer to overtaking you.

“Pleasure isn’t a bad thing people,” Hyunjin yawns, switches off the lamp, then flips to his side to properly sandwich you in. His long, lean arm draped over you while his fingers massage circles on Minhos shoulder. “It’s not this thing that has to be confined in a specific little box, used for one specific purpose at a time like it isn’t supposed to just be this fun, enjoyable thing-,”

“Hyunjin?” Minho grumbles with closed eyes.

“Yes boss?��

“Stop talking and go to sleep.”

“Yes boss,” he laughs.

Endnotes:

I think I'm going to try to tag my taglist besties in the comments this time and see how that goes and where it takes us.

As usual, if you've made it far enough to read this, here's your virtual smooch <3

#skz fanfiction #hyunjin fanfiction #Lee know fanfiction #skz smut #hyunjin smut #lee know smut #skz romance #hyunjin romance #Lee know romance #stray kids #hwang hyunjin x reader #lee know x reader #happy birthday lee know

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