#another ten minutes crying about how soft he looked and how if i was there and he and Gauri were standing next to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

haeryna · 9 months ago

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in my dreams you love me back (i still love you) ↪ gojo satoru x reader x geto suguru ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

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summary: soft moments with shoko keep your heart soft as well, but suguru finds something that he wasn't supposed to.

tw: sfw but vague mentions of losing your virginity. your mother MEDDLES but let's be real, we'd do the same. allusions to the bible for the aesthetic but also because i like the imagery of the themes. not proofread.

notes: title taken from red velvet's "in my dreams." the second half of "i would give up heaven if i had to." another short chapter because i split it in two originally! banner from @/cafekitsune

"You look like shit."

You can't stop the huff that escapes your mouth as Shoko peers at you from your phone, propped up against your rice cooker. She's somewhere in the United States right now, attending a medical conference. She isn't wrong; your ten minute break in the bathroom had turned into a full-blown half hour breakdown. Thankfully, none of your coworkers pointed out the redness of your eyes and the sallow tint to your skin. Your manager had practically forced you to go home early. They all assumed that you had broken down about how the Gojo Satoru had demanded you be the one to make his drink. At this point, you were too tired to correct them.

"I just got back from the cafe, leave me alone." Yawning, you reach for a bowl. "I'm starving and exhausted, and now you're going to yell at me, Sho?"

You can hear the heavy exhale, and the camera blurs as she lets out a cloud of cigarette smoke. "I never said that. Did you see them today?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Nobody else can make you cry that hard, and I know it wasn't me."

You hesitate for a moment. "Mom thinks I should hear them out."

"Personally, I would tell them I'll speak to them after a down payment of 5k."

"Shoko!"

But your laughter fills the air, and you can catch Shoko's self-satisfied smirk from the other end. "There she is." A soft haze fills your screen as her voice softens. "Do I need to fly back and tell the two of them to fuck off?"

"I can tell them to leave myself," you protest, but Shoko gives you a deadpan stare. "Okay, well, maybe it'll be hard."

As the silence falls, warm and comfortable, you bustle around the kitchen, spooning rice into your bowl of leftovers. The air is warm, and despite your exhaustion, you can't help but appreciate the dreaminess of the evening. Shoko watches you, dark eyes unreadable. "What?" you finally ask, curiosity lacing your voice.

"Just be careful," she sighs. "Satoru and Suguru will probably do some crazy shit to get you to notice them. I just don't want those idiots to scare you."

"They don't care enough to do that," is your sardonic reply, and this time, it's her turn to laugh.

"If you really think that, then you're blinder than I thought."

He is breaking me down on every side, and now it's too late for me; he has uprooted my hopes like a tree.

When the number of your old landline rings on Suguru's cellphone, he almost blocks it out of habit before he registers the last four digits. Panicking, he immediately accepts the call.

"Hey, is everything okay? I-"

Your mother's voice chirps back at him, a bit staticky from the old phone that he knows she'd insisted on keeping installed in the kitchen. "Suguru, dear, could you do me a favor?"

Ingrained instinct forces a "yes ma'am," from his mouth before he can even process the request. He can practically hear the smile in your mother's voice. "It won't take too long, don't worry. My back has been aching an awful amount after my last surgery, but I've been meaning to wear some of my old church clothes to Bingo Night. Would you mind grabbing it for me?"

The attic is cluttered and old, and the dust stings his eyes, but Suguru can't bring himself to complain as he begins to rummage through boxes. It feels like seeing you again, like being your Suguru again, as he unearths old photo albums, and stuffed toys. There was the rabbit you used to carry around all the time. A picture frame, of you, Shoko, Satoru, and Suguru one summer afternoon. Carefully, he wipes away the dust, smiling at the memory. You'd lost your front tooth that summer; now, it was forever memorialized.

Finally, he reaches a small collection of boxes in the back. The dress lays draped over a small stack of boxes, but as he grabs it, one topples over, spilling its contents all over the floor.

Suddenly, selfishly, Suguru is grateful that Satoru stayed behind back in their hotel room, because inside the cardboard box is envelopes. At least thousands of them, crammed into each possible corner, dates written on the front in the same handwriting you've had since high school. He tears open another box, only to find the same. Three whole boxes of letters. Selfish hope and heavier dread sinks into his skin like the dust that is slowly falling to the floor; Suguru has unearthed something that he knows he's not supposed to see.

Was this how Adam felt, holding the forbidden fruit in his hand? Which was stronger; the will of God, or the love of man?

"You will not certainly die,” the serpent said to the woman. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.

He's almost frantic as he searches for the first letter, scattering them around himself until he finds it; labelled a week after Suguru had taken Satoru with him to pursue what they had believed to be an impossible dream. Suguru hesitates only for a moment, until with one decisive swipe, he rips the flap from the waxy paper beneath. This one is addressed to him.

Suguru,

My parents put me in therapy. Remember how we always used to joke that if anyone needed it, it would be you? Why did you leave me? What did I do wrong? It hurts, Sugu, why, why, why My therapist thinks that keeping letters will help, and my parents want me to at least give it a try. Mom won't say anything, but I know she's concerned. Dad's already torn into Toru's parents, so the whole town is fully aware of what they've done. Shoko says that they're practically livid with shame, skulking around the town as that'll fix their reputation. You missed it; there was one night when the fireflies came back, and I swear they filled the entire sky. It was beautiful. It reminded me of the first time we met, do you remember that?

I wish you'd been here to see it. I'm sorry, Suguru. I'm sorry that I wasn't good enough to take along. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you I love you. I hope you're safe. I hope you're taking care of Toru for me.

I love you so much that it's hard to be mad.

Water drips down onto the ink of where you'd signed your name, and with a start, Suguru realizes he's crying. Gently folding the letter, he sets it aside, and reaches for the next one.

Mom and Dad have what Grandma had. I'm scared, Toru. I wish you were here. You'd always say something silly that would make me forget for even a moment.

Another.

I saw you on the television today, Toru. You're so beautiful it hurts.

Another.

I've given up on properly going to college. They're so sick that I'm terrified to leave them alone.

More. More. More.

I try my best not to listen, but the radio in the coffee shop plays the songs you make, Sugu. I hate it, but it's selfish of me. The girl you sing about, does Toru get along with her? Does she make you happy?

He can't stop himself from reading any more than he can stop the tears pouring down his face. They'd missed so much of your life, and yet you'd dutifully written letter after letter, as if you'd planned on them seeing it. Like you hoped they would come back some day. The next letter was only written two years ago, but it turns Suguru's blood to ice.

I saw the scandal on one of the gossip magazines while I was out shopping for groceries, Toru. The Chanel model? Really? I was kind of hoping for the Gucci one, she seems so nice to her assistant.

I say this like you're a celebrity. A celebrity that I can just laugh at, and say "must be nice, having supermodels fall into your lap!" You were mine, once, long before you were hers. I love loved you.

I did something stupid, last night. Remember Kenji, from high school? The one you always hated? I can't even explain it, how furious I was, when I saw you with that model. You looked so happy, like it didn't matter that all your joy and abundance didn't come at my expense.

I ended up sleeping with him for the first time, with anyone for the first time really. I'm not going to write more; it's embarrassing, and it wasn't even good, but I think I'm more upset with myself. It doesn't matter.

It's not like you'll ever find out. Even if you do, it's not like you'll care.

It's not like my love mattered to you to begin with.

Suguru's chest feels as though someone has washed his heart in acid. On paper, the person you were after they left was more jaded. Less optimistic. You no longer spoke of things you wished they were able to experience with you, but rather all the things they'd left behind. You thought they didn't care, and as he forces his useless lungs to take another breath, he knows that he can't leave this town until he convinces you to come with him. As he stumbles down from the attic, dress in hand, your mother gives him a knowing stare.

"Did you find the dress I asked you to grab?"

"Yes ma'am," Suguru says numbly. It's all he says. It's all he can say. Your mother sighs, patting the chair next to her. "Why don't you call Satoru over, hm? Try some of the tea I bought. I remember your mother saying you only drink black. You really should call her more."

Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, and whom God hath hedged in?

"I'm home!" you call out, slipping your shoes off with one hand as you balance the full bag of groceries in the other. "Did you take your medi-"

The carrots drop to the floor as you take in the sight of Gojo and Geto sitting at your kitchen table with your mother of all people. "What the fuck?"

Geto's eyes are rimmed red, like he'd been crying, while Satoru stares at you with a hint of anguish. "What the fuck," you repeat again, dumbfounded. "Why are you in my house right now?"

Geto opens his mouth to speak, but your mother waves it away. "You know how bad my back's been lately, I really wanted to wear that old emerald dress your father got me, do you remember?"

Stunned, you can only nod.

"And, I didn't want to have you come all the way back from the city just to grab a dress for me, so I called over Suguru and Satoru to help me out," your mother finishes. You can't stop the panic from leaking into your voice.

"Where was the dress?"

From the look on their faces, you know that Geto and Gojo have found it. All the letters you were too weak to send, too weak to throw away. How much did they read?

"The attic, dear," is your mother's quiet response, and when you turn her attention to her, you can see the quiet love and encouragement in her eyes.

What's more important? The love for all the things they did do, or all the things they didn't?

White noises rushes into your head, and you can barely process your mother's departure. Something about Bingo Night? The door clicks shut and you're left with silence so profound that your body almost instinctively crumples in on itself. Suguru can't look you in the eyes, absentmindedly tracing the rim of the delicate porcelain teacup that looks comically small next to his calloused hands. Satoru merely watches, but you can see the tension in his neck, in the way his fingers flex around empty air.

So, you do the only thing you can do. You run.

Turning, you all but sprint up the stairs. You lied. You couldn't do this, couldn't face them, see them, hear them-

Toned arms reach around from behind, pulling you decisively to a well-defined chest. The air is forced out of your lungs as you yelp, squirming out of the hold, only to freeze as Satoru places his cheek on your head, nuzzling into your hair.

"I missed you."

Tears spring to your eyes but Satoru keeps going. "You were the only thing that kept us going. Our apartment was so shitty, we had to put cardboard on the floor just to keep warm. I thought of you all the time. I thought of which stage outfit you'd like better, how you would get along so well with the other members of the group. We didn't forget you. We love you too much for that."

"Stop," you choke out, as your legs crumple under you. Satoru catches you, tugging you further into him, as tears trickle down your face. A blurred shape; Suguru, kneeling in front of you, gently taking your hands in his.

"One chance, princess," he breathes. "Give us one chance to explain ourselves. After that, we'll do whatever you want, give you whatever you want. We've only ever been yours."

#haerinwrites #idol!satoru gojo #rockstar!suguru geto #satoru gojo x reader #satosugu x reader #jjk angst #jjk x reader #suguru geto x reader #satoru x suguru x reader #satoru x reader #suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo

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darkbluekies · 11 months ago

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God i want a dark!dr.kry fic soo bad. I read your most recent silas fic and I thought it was so good i ATE IT UP

Things you shouldn't see

Doctor!yandere x reader Summary: you've finally realized what type of man Dr Kry is, and what he is capable of doing. Warnings: murder, bruises, yandere, poison etc. Word count: 2.3k

Your crying hurts him, it really does, but he can’t be soft. Not now. You had tried to escape again. If he hadn’t come back in time to catch you in the door, God knows what could have happened to you.

“Please, please don’t”, you sob as he cuffs your wrists to the bed’s railing with belt-looking leather. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Spare your voice, Y/N”, he tells you sharply. “Begging and pleading won’t work — you're not a child. You put yourself in this situation, didn’t you? How about we take some adult consequences?” He fixes the last buckle. “Too tight?”

You don't answer, you only cry. Dr Kry grabs your chin softly to direct your attention back to him.

“Y/N, listen to me”, he says sternly. “Are the restraints too tight? Yes or no? Don’t lie.”

“No”, you sob.

“Good. You know why I’m doing this, right? I don’t think it’s funny.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Stop with the bullshit, Y/N. I caught you in the damn door, Y/N.” He sighs frustratedly and runs a hand through his blonde hair. “I can’t let this slip. You almost escaped from me once, remember? I’m not letting that happen again. I’m going to go get you dinner and you are going to get yourself together until I’m back, okay?”

You nod slightly. When he's exited the room, you break out into sobs again. Have to get them out of your system before he returns. You hate him. Hate him so much.

He's back ten minutes later with two cardboard boxes filled with food. He looks somewhat pleased that you're not crying anymore. He stands by his desk.

“You don't understand that I want what's best for you”, Dr Kry says while opening the plastic lids. “If you did, you wouldn't try to do stupid stuff like this.”

“Turn it off”, you say through gritted teeth.

He glances at the air purifier, already knowing what you’re talking about.

“No, I will not”, he says simply.

“You're killing me!”

Dr Kry scoffs and dumps your foodbox on your legs.

“If I wanted you dead, Y/N, you'd already be in the mortuary”, he says and rolls over to you on his stool. “But as you can tell by your current status in your room, I don't.”

He picks up the fork and holds a bite of potato to your lips. You refuse to open your mouth.

“Are we doing this?” he asks with raised eyebrows. “Do I need to be mean?”

“Please don’t”, you whisper, scared.

“You don’t want me to be mean?”

You shake your head quickly.

“Good, me neither”, Dr Kry says. “Glad that we can agree on something. Open your mouth now.”

You open your mouth enough for him to put in the fork in your mouth. Dr Kry notices how you fight back the tears and sighs in defeat.

“If you really want to cry, then do it”, he says quietly.

It’s a trick. He actually doesn’t want you to cry, and you know that. But the tear that runs down your cheek can’t be brought back. You flinch when his hand brushes against your cheek to wipe it softly. He holds another fork of potato and meat to your mouth. You grimace slightly.

“Just eat and you’ll get to sleep”, Dr Kry promises you.

“Turn it off”, you whisper. “Please.”

Dr Kry sighs and walks over to the air purifier, turning it off. The soft buzzing finally, finally stopped. Dr Kry can tell that you relax in your restraints.

“Thank you”, you whisper without looking at him.

“I’ll have to turn it on again”, he says.

“Why?”

“Because it keeps you where I want you. It’s much easier than keeping you cuffed to the bed like this.”

You tug at the restraints, as if you suddenly remember that you’re wearing them. Dr Kry’s hand shoots out over your right wrist.

“Stop”, he says. “Don’t do that. I don’t like to see bruises on you. Just let it be. Give in, alright?”

You glance down at his large hand and grow cold. Could he break your wrist? Could he actually hurt you if he really wanted to? Without tools, without medicine and drugs?

“Open your mouth”, Dr Kry and removes his hand to give you the fork full of food.

This time, you open your mouth without fuss. He smiles, pleased.

“Have I fucked up for myself now?” you mumble without looking at him.

“Just a tad bit”, Dr Kry smiles and wipes some sauce of your lips with his thumb. “But it's nothing that we can't restore.”

She had seen it, and although she tried to convince herself that she was overthinking, she couldn't bring herself to admit that everything was okay with Dr Kry’s patient — or Dr Kry for that matter. There has always been something with him that has rubbed her the wrong way. He's always been polite and helpful, but she thinks that it's a facade. There is something he's hiding, she can tell that there's a certain darkness in his eyes. And the fact that they never see, hear or get any reports about his patient — despite being here for so long — worries her.

One day, she decides to sneak inside. You’re lying in the hospital bed, sleeping soundly. But other than that, the room is empty. The woman notices how your wrists are … cuffed to the side of the bed. She sneaks over to you and carefully shakes your shoulder. You open your eyes slowly, and then dart them open. In pure fear, you start to tug at the restraints.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” the woman shrieks. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“Who are you?!” you gasp. “Where’s Dr Kry?!”

“I don’t know, please be quiet, I’m not going to hurt you.”

You eventually start to calm down.

“Why are you cuffed to the bed?” the woman asks carefully, feeling a shiver run down her spine. “What has he done to you?”

“Please help me”, you beg.

“I saw that you tried to leave the room before … and that he snatched you back.”

“I-I will.”

“Please help me, I’m begging you, he’s killing me!” you nod at the air purifier. “He’s poisoned it! You have to help me!”

She is just about to unbuckle the leather strands keeping you to the bed when the door opens. You meet eyes with Dr Kry and feel how your entire body goes numb.

Shit.

His eyes glare at the woman as he slowly closes the door behind him, locking it shut.

“Can I help you?” he asks coldly. “What are you doing with my patient?”

The woman spins around and stutters in fear.

“Who allowed you to come in here?” Dr Kry asks, sounding suspicious — and extremely angry, although he tries to hide it. “Speak up!”

“I-I …”, the woman stutters.

Dr Kry walks closer. You’ve never seen his body language this … territorial before. It’s almost animalistic.

“What have they told you?” he asks the woman.

“Nothing!” the woman shrieks.

With one quick glance at you, he scoffs with a small, cold smile on his face.

“I wouldn’t believe anything they say, ma’am”, he says amusedly, although you’re sure that he’s angry like a bee. “They’re sick, they’re not thinking clearly. Seems like we have to talk after this.”

“Don’t be angry at them”, the woman says, finally collecting herself. “You are the one abusing your position. You should be the one who’s getting yelled at!”

“Oh, I’m not mad at my patient. How could I? If they don’t know what’s good for themselves, how could I ever expect them to know when to speak …” He gave you a warning look, “... and when to shut up?” He looked back at the woman. “They’re sick, after all.”

“Why are you keeping them prisoner?”

Dr Kry puts his hands into his pockets, shrugging. “I’m not keeping anyone prisoner. Did they tell you that?”

“You’ve poisoned the air purifier.”

“Why would I ever do that?” he laughs. “That’s absurd! You don’t think I have other things to do? A real job?” He takes a step closer. He’s almost reaching her by now. “Listen, my patient has been reading a lot of fantasy stories while being emitted here, and they must have spun their head out of control. Being in a hospital for as long as they have, all alone, must mess with ones head a bit. Don’t worry about it.”

He has slammed it over the nurse’s head, striking her to the floor. You fight against the restraints, but they’re as stuck as stone. Dr Kry continues to hit the poor nurse with the metal pipe, causing blood to splatter over the walls — and you. You can’t breathe when the red liquid lands on your face, too horrified to even move. The screams from the woman turns into moans of pain, then sobs, then silence. Dr Kry huffs and gets up from the ground, letting go of the metal pipe that clinks against the floor. His white coat and blue overalls are drenched in blood, and his face is covered in red. You’re shivering in your bed and meet his eyes with wide open eyes.

Dr Kry walks over to his desk. You can tell how he picks up a metal pipe used for the IV-stand you use every now and then.

“No!” you scream, but it’s too late.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t want you to see that”, he pants lowly.

Sobs start to exit your body. Dr Kry hurries over to you, sinking down on his knees by the bed, almost lying his upper body into yours.

“I’m sorry, little one”, he whispers and cups your cheeks.

“Don’t touch me!” you try to scream while doing your best to turn your head away, but his strong grip is forcing you to stay still, forces you to look at him.

“I didn’t want you to see that”, he repeats. “Why did she have to come and but into our business, hm? Oh, please don’t blame yourself for her death. It’s not your fault.”

He notices how you’re trying to rip your head away from him.

“I know that you’re afraid”, he says. “It was not your fault, okay? I don’t blame you, I could never blame you, you know that.” He wipes your tears. “Please, don’t cry. I’m not going to do it again.”

You’re unsure if you’ve ever sobbed this harshly before in your life. The cries ripple through your body, forcing your chest to lift with every sob. It hurts, like an unwelcomed workout. Dr Kry holds your face against his chest, hushing as he hugs your head close to him. You can feel how fast his heart is beating, and it makes you nauseous.

“Let’s get you cleaned up”, Dr Kry says and unbuckles you.

You hesitate getting out of bed, glancing careful down at the dead body bleeding out on the floor. Dr Kry hurries to pick you up in his arms and walk into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him and places you down in the tub. Carefully, he removes your hospital gown and turns on the shower. You refuse to look his way.

“Listen, Y/N”, he says and sinks down outside the tub. “There are things you shouldn’t see … and this was one of them. I don’t want you to think of me as a monster. I’m a realist, okay?”

“Is that what you’re going to do to me if I try to leave again?” you cry.

“No! Don’t even say such nonsense. That’s absurd. How could you ever think that?”

You find it ironic that he grows offended. He starts to wash off the blood from your face with the gentle stream of the shower.

He takes one of your wrists in hand and lets his thumb run over the deep mark from the leather.

“I told you not to fight against it”, he whispers with a sigh. “We’ll have to put bandage on that.”

Dr Kry continues to wash the blood off of you and his own hands. You follow the red water down the drain.

He puts the shower head back on the hanger and tells you to wait there until he comes back. You hug your knees close to your chest and watch how he disappears out of the bathroom. You can hear how he starts to clean up the body outside the closed door. This is what happens to the people who believe you. Those that trust Dr Kry’s words about you being too sick to function, and start to hallucinate, are no help … but those that are never get far enough.

You shiver from cold air hitting your wet, naked body and bring your knees even closer to you. There’s a new form of silence in the room, a silence that eats you up from the inside … and yet, silence had never been this loud before. You would be able to hear a needle drop to the floor on the other side of the hospital.

It had taken wells to gather the courage to try to run away again, and it had been shattered in the moment of two seconds. Your hope had been sparked again when you saw the nurse, and knew that she was one of the few that actually believed you.

You turn your face down into your knees and cry in realization that you’ll never get to leave the hospital as long as Dr Kry is around. In time, the poisoned air purifier will have killed you … but you’re unsure that you’ll get to leave the hospital even then.

I’m going to die.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere fics #yandere oc x reader #yandere stories #yandere female #female yandere

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blindmagdalena · 10 months ago

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Guilty Pleasures

18+ 3.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation, lite humiliation kink, sublander flavored. nebulously takes place post s1. part 1/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander is on top of the world. He can say or do whatever the fuck he wants, and the sycophants around him will bend over backwards to make his word law, with few notable exceptions.

He never expected you to be one of them. When you put him in his place after a workplace incident, he becomes fixated on the promise of a firm hand alongside a soft body.

It’s Thursday, which means Homelander is currently bored to tears less than ten minutes into Vought’s weekly digital marketing meeting. These monotonous discussions of percentages and trending graphics gradually begin to feel like a drill pushing slowly into each of his ears, but they’re a necessary evil if he wants to have input when it comes to his image.

He taps his fingers impatiently on the armrest of his chair. The tapping pauses, however, at the appearance of a new presenter.

You.

You’re a far cry from the dime a dozen jackass in a suit that had been presenting before you. He’s sure he hasn’t seen you before, which means you’re new. His gaze drifts from your round face to the sensible cut of your blouse, the garment buttoned nearly to your throat. Anything less would be considered lewd given the size of your breasts. He wets his lips absently, adjusting himself to sit a little straighter.

He’s completely lost track of what you’re talking about in favor of watching the way your hips sway each time you walk from one end of the board to the other, tactfully engaging each observer. You have a resonant voice, commanding attention without sounding harsh. With a rack like that, you must have to fight to have a word you say heard by anyone with even a passing interest in a good pair of tits.

Not that the cheap fabric of your bra is doing them any favors. Silk would be better. He’s always liked the shine of it. Softer, too. It wouldn’t scrape against your shirt the way he can hear that cotton blend you’re wearing is doing.

Curious, he focuses his vision to peer through your blouse. Your undergarments are plain and sensible. Boring. Still, it elicits a distinct pang between his legs. His mouth waters slightly. Even from where he is, he can smell you, fresh and clean, slightly sweet smelling–like vanilla. Your clothes may be pedestrian but at least your perfume is nice.

Letting his gaze slide lower, he admires how the curves of your body flow into one another. He can tell just by looking at you how soft you would feel against him, under him. How good you would feel to grip and hold in place, sink into and lose himself in. Your voice has a soothing quality to it that lets him easily imagine you’re breathlessly singing his praises instead of rattling off bullet points in a presentation.

Fuck, he’s getting hard, his cock throbbing lightly against the cup of his suit. It’s the only thing that allows him to fantasize as freely as he does. The best part of it is that he’s fairly certain he can sense something warm and wet throbbing between your thick thighs.

He suspects he’s not the only one fantasizing.

The room is quiet for a second too long, and Homelander abruptly tunes back in to realize you’re staring directly at him, expectancy in your gaze. He pulls a blank, realizing he hasn’t processed anything you’ve said. “Say again?”

There’s a flicker of irritation in your eyes before you tightly school your expression back into polite professionalism. His lips slowly split into a devious smile that he consciously fine-tunes to be more neutral. How close you came to some sort of heated response was kind of… cute. It makes him want to give your proverbial pigtails another tug just to see what else he can evoke.

The thought of pulling your hair is good. The thought of you pulling his hair is better, though.

“I asked if you have any feedback for our campaign leading up to the premiere,” you say, though Homelander finds himself more interested in the flash of your tongue he gets as you run it along your teeth afterwards. Your temperature is up a notch, too. You must not be used to such direct attention from someone like him.

“Nope,” he says glibly, turning on one of his patented knock-out smiles. “Looks good to me.” At that, he pointedly looks you up and down, meeting your gaze with a quick wink.

Judging by the slight tic at the corner of your mouth, you aren’t charmed by his response. Still, he waits in preemptive satisfaction for you to appease him by returning his smile.

You don’t.

Instead, you say nothing more than a terse “Wonderful,” the singular word barely passing for civil, let alone professional. You move on, and Homelander finds himself taken aback. You don’t meet his eye for the remainder of the presentation, and while that gives him plenty of opportunity to ogle you, it bothers him.

Towards the end of your time, he clears his throat. Everyone looks at him.

Everyone but you.

“Thanks so much for your time,” you say to the committee, smiling, finishing your piece with a small incline of your head. You go sit, and there’s a slightly awkward pause before the next presenter takes center stage.

Homelander sits in stunned silence. The idea that you, some fresh faced nobody, think you’re in any position to blow him off is laughable at best. Who cares if he didn’t pay attention to your little presentation? That’s not his job. You’re lucky he’s even here, lucky that someone like him would think to give you time out of his day.

By the time the meeting concludes, you haven’t spared him so much as a glance. Indignation builds hotly in his chest. He’s had more than enough of being snubbed lately. He’s not going to tolerate it from the likes of you.

You should be on your hands and knees begging for his attention.

He watches a handful of your peers congratulate you on your first presentation, though plenty of others cast him wary glances and decide not to approach you. They know better. They know who’s really in charge around here. Naturally, they all skitter away like roaches when he strides towards you.

“Not bad for your first presentation,” he tells you, his smile toned down into a thin, lopsided smirk.

You look around yourself, no doubt taking note of how the other little insects around you have scattered. Maybe now you’ll realize your mistake.

“Thank you, sir,” you say, your body angled slightly away from him, as if you’re ready to bolt at any second.

“Got a lot on my mind, though, so I don’t think I absorbed as much as I could have,” he says, laying on that boyish charm a little thicker than usual. “Would really appreciate it if you could stick around and run that by me one more time.”

Your gaze flickers away from him–he wishes you would stop doing that–to the others who’re filtering out of the room, slowly leaving the two of you behind. “As I said during the presentation, all the documents will be available online,” you say, finally looking back at him. You actually have the audacity to look annoyed that he’s talking to you.

“I don’t have a computer,” he replies, his own voice beginning to flatten.

“I’m sure someone in IT can help you with that,” you say, undeterred by his attempts to corner you.

His smile tightens minutely. “Do you have some kind of problem with me?”

Your heart jumps. He finds satisfaction in that, at least.

“No, sir,” you say sharply, a barely discernible hitch in your voice. “What I have are deadlines. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to meet them.” With that, you manage to squeeze by him. Despite the steady confident tap of your shoes against the floor, your heart races rabbit-like in his ears.

He contemplates you as you go, momentarily stupefied by your flagrant disregard for him. You weren’t entirely unaffected by his presence, though. If you’d had less of an avenue for escape, would you have been so flippant? He continues to focus on the beat of your heart as your steps carry you further from him. It doesn’t slow. You’re still full of adrenaline, the scent of it lingering alongside your perfume. He inhales a slow, deep breath, the leather of his gloves creaking as he curls and uncurls his fist.

Homelander finds himself wondering what your agenda is, what makes you so desperate to break from the norm and catch his attention. It’s clear to him that’s what you want. Why else would you be so stubborn where anyone else would yield? He scoffs to himself.

God, it’s so obvious in hindsight.

He has no doubt that your brazen attitude would shatter if he pressed in closer, if you felt the heat of his breath on your lips. He could part your soft thighs and paint the face of God on the ceiling above you with his tongue inside you. You couldn’t dismiss him so easily then, could you?

You’re so determined to be noticed that it’s almost pathetic. He shouldn’t reward this kind of behavior, and yet he feels strangely inclined to commend it. What you’ve done is brave in a way. Insolence and sycophants he can’t abide, but a touch of bravery? Well… That can be rewarded.

Your heart thunders in your ears as you make a beeline for your office. You can feel a terrible burn crawling up your chest and into your cheeks, the reality of what just happened finally allowed to sink in. You had spent all morning preparing yourself for presenting your work in front of not only your new peers at Vought, but in front of the world’s most prolific superhero. You were solid, you were ready.

Until you felt the gravity of his gaze on you. The weight of it made you stutter where you shouldn’t have, lose your train of thought mid-sentence. Every time you dared to look at him, he was looking at you like he was going to swallow you whole. Never have you felt more acutely aware of yourself than you did beneath his stare, feeling the way he was picking you apart as keenly as you would feel his hands undressing you.

It left you as furious as you are flustered.

That arrogant bastard!

You close the door behind you with a rough breath, closing your eyes. You can’t even sit, you have to pace your office instead, shaking your hands out as you walk. You know you weren’t imagining it. He confirmed as much for you when it took a solid eight seconds of silence for him to tear his gaze up from your chest, smiling as wickedly as any devil and caught elbow-deep in the cookie jar.

You couldn’t look him in the eye after that. It was humiliating to be reduced so thoroughly and obviously in front of your peers. Worst of all, he seemed damn pleased by it.

Though that isn’t the only reason your heart is still racing. You’re not quite ready to address that yet. You’re fairly certain if you’d been forced to speak to him any more than you had, you would have said something that would cause you to lose your job. You just need space to breathe, to collect yourself, to–

There’s a brisk knock at your door. Great. What now?

“Just a m–” You’re stopped dead in your tracks by a familiar flash of red, white and blue as Homelander lets himself into your office, closing the door securely behind him.

“Howdy,” he greets. He looks cartoonishly wide and brightly colored against the neutral colors of your office, even more larger than life than he’d seemed in the conference room. He has a smile that looks like it belongs in the mouth of a shark about to take a bite of you. It sets you off kilter completely–not that you’d been much on it to begin with.

You gawk a moment before managing to close your mouth. “Homelander,” you say, your voice curt in your own ears. You have no idea how to address him, still frazzled from not only the presentation, but your interaction that followed it. You should ask him what he needs.

“What’re you doing here?” That came out ruder than you meant it to. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. Still, you’re trying to keep this job.

“Are you always this pleasant?” He asks, cocking his head slightly as he comes to a stop in front of you, his arms held behind his back beneath his swaying cape. “Or did I catch you on a bad day?”

Is he serious?

“Your conduct today was inappropriate,” you say flatly, settling your hands on your hips.

Homelander scoffs lightly. “Oh, relax. You gonna ‘#Metoo’ me over a wink? Christ, you’re done up tighter than that blouse of yours,” he says, his gaze dipping. A chill rolls up your spine as you watch his tongue roll along his teeth. He’s like an animal anticipating a meal.

Your jaw drops, cold shock settling in your gut alongside that blistering heat. Of all the things you had prepared yourself for before coming to Vought, Homelander being a misogynistic sex-pest hadn’t been on your list.

Well. Not the sex-pest part, anyways.

You point to your office door. “Get out.”

He blinks, zero comprehension in those deceptively charming baby blues. His smile turns incredulous. “I’m starting to think you don’t understand what’s happening here,” he says, his tone taking on a precarious edge. He lets out a breathy, mirthless laugh. “You know, most people in your position would be begging for my attention.”

There it is.

You suck a noise through your teeth, nodding slowly. "Oh, I understand exactly what’s happening here,” you say, shifting your weight like you’re winding up for a pitch. “I know you think you're special because you're famous, or a supe, or both. I know you think I should be grateful that you’d even look at someone like me, but you’re not special, and I’m not grateful. The reality of the matter is I can get dick whenever I want it–good dick–and I can get it without being humiliated at my job.”

The silence in the room is deafening. Homelander looks stupefied, but you decide that you’re not done.

“You're not blessing me by making entitled passes and crude remarks while I'm trying to work. You’re being a nuisance,” you say, your heart beating in your throat. “So please, would you kindly leave?” You ask, voice firm despite the friendlier nature of your phrasing.

Finally, Homelander is the one left gawking. He looks like a fish with the way his mouth keeps opening and closing, but it’s the dismissive, aborted little scoffs he makes in between that really sell his wounded bewilderment. You can see tension lurking just beneath the surface, an anger that skulks in the creak of his leather gloves.

Fear begins to creep up the back of your throat, burning like bile, but you hold steady as he seems to be deciding what he’s going to do with you. The longer the quiet stretches on, your focus entirely on the subtle spasms in his expression, the more sweat begins to prickle at the back of your neck. You refuse to fill the space, you refuse to back down.

For all his power, he’s still just a man.

Eventually, he swallows. “Okie-dokie,” he says, his tone unlike anything you expected. He sounds confused–a little dazed, even. He walks to the door, and after one hesitant look back at you, he leaves.

The door closes with a soft click that still makes you flinch, the sound of it loud in the silence of the room. You blink several times, the abruptness of his departure making the whole encounter feel like some sort of fever dream.

What the fuck just happened?

You’re not special.

The impact of those words struck Homelander’s ears like a loud, painful ringing that follows him as he walks out of your office. He feels off balance, each step leaning slightly to the right.

It’s a ludicrous statement. Objectively wrong. Who in the fucking world could be more special than him? He’s a literal god, and you’re no one. A faceless, nameless cog in Vought’s mechanism that hoists him to the top of it all. That’s your job. To elevate him. Worship him.

Instead you spoke to him as if he were nothing. He could have cut you down where you stood for that. He could have put your head through your office window, snapped your neck, held your skull and burned your eyes out of–

He shakes his head sharply, swaying. He all but stumbles into the bathroom, surprising one of the worker drones washing their hands. “Get out,” Homelander says gruffly.

“Uh, sir–”

“Get the fuck out!” He snaps, startling the man so badly he immediately rushes off, fumbling with the door on his way out. Homelander slams it shut and lets out a ragged breath, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, then his temples as he paces the bathroom. His reflection taunts him from his peripheral vision.

He hasn’t been able to look himself in the eye since he snapped his Doppelganger’s neck while he knelt before him.

That’s what he wants from you, isn’t it? Mindless desperate praise and worship. Why, then, does the thought od it make his stomach churn so violently he can taste the burn of bile? He tugs compulsively at his suit collar, the press of it against his skin uncharacteristically hot and itchy.

“I can get dick whenever I want it–good dick.”

He shamefully palms himself through his suit, confusingly hard amidst a swirling turbulence of contradicting thoughts and feelings. He could be good for you, too, if you’d fucking let him. He knows he could make you crumble, take apart that carefully constructed demeanor of professionalism and make you see him for what he is. He can prove himself to you. He will prove that you’re wrong about him, and then you’ll show him the love respect he deserves.

Hurriedly, he unzips his pants. His eyelashes flutter as he shoves his hand into them, roughly grabbing hold of his cock. He braces his forearm against the bathroom door and lets his head drop forward, watching his crimson glove pump the leaking head of his dick. His mind bounces between scenarios. He imagines himself in your place, fully on display for you to ogle. He imagines you’re watching him even now, staring him down with that unaffected look of indifference, of irritation, of disgust.

He bites back a whine, gritting his teeth. He wants so badly to imagine his face buried in your soft tits while he fucks the plush space between your thighs, but he knows you won’t let him. Not right away. You’d make him earn it, wouldn’t you? You’d make him watch you please yourself before he ever got so much as a taste.

The glassiness in his eyes begins to sizzle, the moisture burning away as crimson light flares up in them. Would you laugh if you could see him now, or would you scold him for touching himself without your permission?

Homelander comes hard, tipping his head back with a loud moan as he paints the bathroom door with ribbon after ribbon of come. He barely manages not to blow a hole through the ceiling, the light of his eyes flaring and softening in time with each euphoric wave of release. He pants through it, head falling forward and thunking lightly against the door, resting there while he catches his breath.

“Fuck,” he exhales eventually, sighing. He wipes his hand on the wall and then carefully tucks himself back into his pants, his mind swirling hazily on the best high he’s had since…

Clearing his throat, he puts himself back together before leaving the bathroom. Clearly, the thing that he’s been missing is a challenge.

Luckily for him, you’ve kindly volunteered yourself.

( chapter two )

#part two of this fic is mostly finished. i'll probably post it next week!#homelander x reader #homelander #homelander x you #my writing #homelander fanfiction #plus size reader #i've had this in my wips since early december and i just really wanted to get something posted

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wintrwinchestr · 1 year ago

Text

obedience | part 1

summary: you decide to act out after feeling neglected by joel for over a week. it doesn’t go quite according to plan, but his punishment does help you unlock a new kink or two.

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, daddy kink, d/s and ddlg relationship dynamics, brat tamer joel, degradation/humiliation (use of slut, whore, 1 use of bitch), orgasm denial/edging, boot riding, pet names (baby, babygirl, darlin’, sugar, sweetheart, honey, puppy), entering petplay territory??, finger sucking, one face slap but she likes it (and so do i), taking/sending nudes at work, subspace, hair pulling, joel cums on reader’s face, cum eating, two idiots who finally communicate and apologize to each other, gets soft at the end bc i’m a woman of many interests, reader can be carried by joel but no other physical descriptions, winter’s limited knowledge of what contractors do, pic of girl in the moodboard is for bra imagery only, reader looks just like you!! :)

word count: 4.1k

a/n: this is extremely self indulgent so please don’t look at me!!! lil shoutout to @pascalisbaby for inspiring me to write something just so i can use “puppy” bc their love’s gonna get you killed series has fucked me up extremely bad.

divider by @saradika

(read part 2 here)

It’s coming up on nearly a week and a half of Joel working long days and late nights at the latest suburban McMansion he’s been contracted out to. Each and every time he creeps into his side of the bed after you’ve already gone to sleep, never failing to wake you up in the process, he always has a different excuse. “My concrete guy was out sick today”, “the vendor gave us the wrong size rebar”, “the landscapers were in our way all damn day”, and other similar eye roll-inducing anecdotes that were followed up with sleepy apologies.

Tonight, you’re almost certain, will be just the same.

Slogging through yet another slow and uneventful day at your corporate nine-to-five, you’re practically counting down the seconds until you’ll be able to escape your drab little cubicle for the day. You aren’t exactly looking forward to going home, though, either. You know that all you have waiting for you will be another lonely night of heating up a frozen dinner, watching reality TV reruns until the ten o’clock news comes on, and then tucking yourself into a cold bed.

While you’re waiting around for a coworker to message you back about something painfully unimportant, you decide to get up to kill some time in the bathroom on your phone and stretch your legs a bit. You stand up from your rolling chair, grabbing your phone in the process, and head down the hall to the one single-person bathroom in the building that you know of.

You step inside and click the lock shut behind you, looking forward to having a rare few minutes to yourself without the threat of your manager lurking over your shoulder. You inspect your makeup in the mirror and address some flyaway hairs before leaning back against the sink and swiping your home screen into view. Your heart soars at the discovery of a text notification from Joel, but settles just as quickly when you read the words across your screen.

A couple of my dumbass guys fucked up some measurements again. Gonna be another late one. Sorry baby.

You let out an exasperated sigh and turn around to face your reflection again, bracing yourself on the edge of the sink and trying not to cry. How much fucking longer are you going to have to put up with this? You'd been getting through it alright so far, but his sterile text had ignited a raging fire deep in your stomach that made a scorching heat climb its way up the back of your neck.

You’re determined to get his attention tonight, one way or another. Even if it means pushing some of his buttons, riling him up, making him feel a few licks of that very same inferno. You’re feeling fucking bratty.

You undo the top few buttons of your blouse and shimmy it off your shoulders, exposing the blushing lace of the bra you had chosen when you were getting dressed this morning. Using one arm to hold your phone up to the mirror with the camera app open, you use the other one to prop yourself up against the sink and assist in pushing your tits together. As a final touch, you pull down one of the delicate cups along with its accompanying strap, exposing an already peaked nipple. Meeting your own eyes in the reflection and forming your glossy lips into a faux pout, you snap the picture and attach it to your text conversation with Joel. You type out a coy little message to go along with it and send it off.

that’s okay daddy. just sad i wore a rly cute bra today for nothing :(

While you anxiously wait for his response, you take a few more lewd photos to tease him with later, and make your way back to your desk after you button yourself up again and smooth out your skirt.

Sitting back down at your cubicle, you check your notifications to find a response from Joel, sent just a few seconds ago.

What’d I tell you about sendin me shit like that when I’m at work? Put your fuckin tits away babygirl. Not in the mood today.

Despite his harsh words, you know your plan is already working in your favor. You can’t help but giggle to yourself as you attach another one of the photos you had taken in the bathroom, this one of your matching lace panties pulled aside to expose your bare pussy to the front camera. You type out another flirtatious message and tap the button to send it.

idk what u mean daddy :( just miss u is all. she misses u too :((

You promptly turn off your phone and place it screen-down next to your mousepad, resigning yourself to a mere ten minutes of work before you can’t resist temptation anymore and pick it back up again to check for a reply.

Last warning babygirl. I got enough shit to deal with today, don’t need your slutty pictures distractin me. I’ll see ya tonight.

whatever. u don’t pay attention to me anymore anyway :/

You begin to regret your message as soon as you send it, worrying you might have taken things too far. But it was true; you’re upset, in a bratty mood, and feeling neglected. And, maybe you did want to work him up enough for him to take it all out on you, to fuck the attitude out of you the way you know he likes to do every so often.

A few seconds after you power off your screen to do a few more minutes of work, it illuminates again.

Oh I don't? When I get home tonight you better be kneelin in front of the door waitin for me undressed like a good girl. Not like the fuckin brat you’re actin like. And we’ll see about payin you some attention. Now pull your fuckin panties up and get back to work.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you read his text, now feeling exhilarated that your plan is officially in motion. After you’ve read his words through a couple of times, squeezing your thighs together and stifling a whimper as you did so, your trembling fingers type out a simple reply:

yes daddy <3

The remainder of your work day seems to pass by in slow motion, every minute feeling more like five. You can hardly bring yourself to focus on any of your mundane tasks, your mind constantly drifting to what you might be in for tonight. Will he spank you and leave red handprints on your ass for days? Will he fuck your face while you sputter and gasp around him? Will he work you over with his tongue until all you know how to say is “I’m sorry, Daddy”? As you shake yourself from your trance and try to focus your eyes again, you wonder why you hadn’t thought to act up like this earlier in the week. You keep your eye on the little digital clock in the corner of your monitor for the last five consecutive minutes of your work day, and as soon as 4:59 flashes to 5:00, you practically sprint out to your car in your hurry to get home.

–

You’re cuddled up on the couch underneath your favorite fleece blanket, already stripped down to your peony-colored underwear set like Joel had requested. The past couple of hours have been spent cycling between all of your streaming services and social media apps, trying desperately to find something to occupy yourself with until he gets home. You’re half-tempted to get up and walk some laps around the house, but around 10:30, you finally see the scanning headlights of Joel’s pickup as it turns into the driveway.

You immediately spring up from your little nest on the couch and prance over to the front door, kneeling a few feet in front of it just like he ordered.

In your excited anticipation to see him, you tune your ears to pick up every little sound you hear as he makes his way to you: the slam of the truck’s driver’s side door, the dull thud of his work boots heading up the walkway, the prolonged jingling of his keys as he fumbles with them to unlock the door. You’re sure he’s fidgeting with them for a few seconds longer than usual, just to tease you and keep you waiting. A shiver runs up your spine and you can feel your heart pounding against the walls of your chest as he finally turns the lock.

He calmly steps inside and closes the door behind him, dropping his dusty work bag onto the floor and stripping himself of his canvas tool belt. He stalks over to where you’re knelt on the hardwood, wrapped in your dainty lace for him like a little doll. There’s something arousing about the contrast between your barely-there feminine attire and his dark, practical clothing.

“Well, whaddya know, she can be good after all… Waitin’ for me all nice and pretty just like I asked. All it takes is an order from your Daddy to get you actin’ right again, ain’t that right, babygirl? Obedient lil’ thing…” He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger as he speaks, keeping your eyes trained on his. You nod up at him, doe-eyed and dazed, already feeling yourself beginning to slip into that familiar saccharine headspace.

Every time you had previously tried your hand at bratting, it never lasted very long, and tonight was already proving to be no different. He was right, after all, it doesn’t take more than a command, a look, a gentle grasp of your chin, to remind you of your desire to be good for him.

“What, Daddy doesn’t get a proper greetin’ after a long day o’ work? You already that far gone f’ me, can’t use your words proper like a big girl?”

“H-hi, Daddy… Missed you today,” you half-whisper, your voice sounding a little higher and further away than it did earlier in the day.

“Yeah, I know y’ did… I’ll bet your lil’ panties are ‘bout soaked through already, bet you left a wet spot on your fuckin’ desk chair just from daydreamin’ about what I was gonna do to you tonight, hm?”

Another silent nod accompanied by a pitiful little whimper. The blazing fire in your gut from this afternoon is quickly being replaced by something much more easily tamed, something more akin to a flickering candle flame than a wildfire. You struggle to keep your eyelids open as they begin to feel heavier with submission.

A stern look and a ticked jaw is enough for you to correct your wordless response.

“Y-yes, Daddy…”

“And what is it that you think I’m gonna do with you tonight, babygirl? Speak up, now…”

You rack your brain for a moment, suddenly unable to remember any of the depraved fantasies you had been conjuring up all day instead of replying to emails. You eventually land on a relatively straightforward answer.

“I th-think you’re gonna… gonna fuck the attitude outta me, t-teach me a lesson… right, Daddy?”

He lets out a dark chuckle, releasing your chin from his hold to give your cheek a couple of condescending pats instead.

“Aww, dumb lil’ thing… you thought Daddy was gonna touch you at all tonight, make that pathetic lil’ pussy cum after the stunts you were pullin’ today? Nah, I don’t think so… Open that slutty fuckin’ mouth.”

You’re reeling, taken aback by his harsh words, words that were certainly not in any of the countless scenarios you had been imagining at work. There’s a long beat of silence as you struggle to process his command.

You hear the smack across your face before you feel the heated sting of it, and it prompts a debauched mewl to spill from your parted lips.

“I said open your fuckin’ mouth…”

Your jaw falls slack in an instant, your pulsing cunt releasing an ashamed wave of wetness at the degrading slap. Joel shoves his thumb inside your waiting mouth, and you wrap your lips around it obediently as you swirl your tongue along its calloused landscape. It tastes salty, a little dirty, and you like it.

“Good girl, suck on Daddy’s thumb, tha’s it… dumb whore’ll suck on anything Daddy puts in her mouth, won’t she? Desperate lil’ thing… Bet you wish it was this fat cock instead, don’t you baby?”

You whine and nod around him, your hole squeezing around nothing as you look up at him with pleading eyes.

“Well… that’s just too fuckin’ bad, ain’t it? Tonight’s not about what you want, you can gimme that sad puppy look all you like, sugar, not gonna change anythin’...”

He pulls his thumb out of your mouth, and your slick lips try to chase after it until he wipes it clean on the side of your face. His hands make quick work of opening his stained work jeans and freeing his stiff cock from his briefs, taking it into one hand and beginning to pump it with languid strokes. He grabs a fistful of hair at the base of your skull with his free hand and taps the leaking head of his length against your cheek, adding to the dampness there from your own saliva.

“This what you want?” Tap tap tap. “You want Daddy’s cock? Hm? This what you been thinkin’ about all day, dirty girl?” He rocks his hips back and forth as he speaks, smearing his arousal along your skin.

You can’t help but squirm as a humiliated heat begins to pool in your tummy.

“Yes, Daddy, please let me have it, wan’ it so bad…” you beg.

He releases your hair and pulls his cock away from your face, making a show of massaging it and taunting you with what he won’t let you have.

“Nah, you ain’t gettin’ any of Daddy’s cock tonight, baby… In fact, I’m gonna stand right here and take care of m’self, and you’re gonna find somethin’ to rub that soakin’ cunt on while I watch…”

As the last of his words leave his lips, he steps one foot forward and nudges it between your thighs, looking at you expectantly. You lower your head to face his steel-toed work boot, covered in dust and dirt from his day at the construction site. Your mind still too deep in the clouds to understand what he’s asking of you, you lift your eyes back up to him for guidance. He juts his chin out in a silent “go on, then”, and you return your confused gaze back to his boot, the toe of which is positioned just in front of your aching heat. Your breath hitches and your eyes go wide as you finally realize: he wants to pleasure himself to the sight of you getting yourself off on his boot.

All at once, it falls into place how he wants the night to unfold. He wants to deny you. Deny you of his touch, his cock, even the privilege of making him feel good yourself… all because you acted out, disobeyed him, tested his limits.

“We understand each other, darlin’?”

“Y-yes, Daddy…” You meet his eyes as you speak, voice coming out a little unsteady. Any confidence you had while you were teasing him this afternoon is long gone, fully submitting to him now and completely at his mercy. He didn’t need to fuck you in order to put you in your place, he knew plenty of other much more degrading ways to rid you of your bratty attitude, to remind you of who you belong to.

You position your cunt over the filthy toe of his boot, the gusset of your lacy panties now completely saturated with your wetness. Your hands planted on either side of his leg, you try an experimental grind onto the leather-covered steel. A bolt of electricity shoots from your swollen clit to your fevered cheeks, burning with the eroticism of being made to humiliate yourself like this. He allows you to wrap your arms around his calf, using his sturdy form as leverage to rub yourself harder and faster against the solid material.

“Look at you, humpin’ my boot like a fuckin’ dog… that’s just what y’ are, ain’t it? Daddy’s lil’ puppy…” he teases, spurring you on with his words and the indecent sounds of his wet fist working along his thick cock.

You let out an involuntary yelp at the new pet name, which he’s quick to catch with a huff through his nose.

“Oh, she likes that, don’t she? Y’ like that, sweetheart, bein’ Daddy’s good girl, his obedient lil’ puppy? Yeah, I know y’ do… I got you trained good, don’t I? Do just about anything I want, won’t you? Got you rubbin’ that slutty pussy on my fuckin’ boot, for Christ’s sake, barely even had to ask… fuckin’ pathetic.”

The degradation makes your stomach swirl with a cocktail of embarrassment and pleasure. Your cunt flutters as you continue your frantic movements, releasing broken whimpers that sound something like uh huh and yes, Daddy. You’re sure that your slick has to be dripping down his boot by now, soaking straight through the leather and pooling onto the hardwood. You wonder if he might punish you for that, too, for making a mess of him and your freshly mopped floors. Just the thought of it has your hips picking up the pace, desperate to reach your high.

Your eyes are shut tightly as you pursue your orgasm, but you can still hear the shallow pumps of Joel’s fist and his stuttering breaths that indicate he’s close to his own release.

“Yeah, grind that sloppy fuckin’ puppy cunt on Daddy’s boot, there ya go… lookin’ like a goddamn bitch in heat… desperate whore… c’mon, puppy, make a fuckin’ mess for me…”

“I’m gonna cum, Daddy, gonna–”

Just as you feel yourself about to crest the wave of your climax, he pulls his foot out from under you and yanks your head back by another fistful of hair.

“Open up, puppy,” he groans as he splashes his hot release all over your face, aiming most of it around your mouth as you cry out from the denial of your own pleasure.

“Look at you, filthy girl… So pretty for Daddy, all covered in me,” he coos as the last few milky drops land on your cheek. Before any of it can start to drip, he scoops it up with his thumb and feeds it to you a bit at a time, and you continue to suck his finger into your eager mouth once again.

When your face is fully cleaned of his spend, he pulls his thumb from between your lips for a final time with a pop, and you stick out your tongue to show him you’ve swallowed everything he’s given you.

“Good girl,” he praises, petting the side of your hair in soothing strokes. “What do you say to Daddy, hm?”

“Th-thank you…” you choke out, still trying to steady your voice.

“And what else?” he asks.

You take a deep breath. “And… I’m sorry, Daddy,” you relent.

“For what, sweet girl?”

This was always your least favorite part, the part you struggled with the most: admitting that you were wrong.

“For being a brat today, for not listening and disrespecting you…” Your posture deflates, wondering if you should continue your confession. You remember one of the ground rules that was laid out when you first entered this dynamic with him, the one about how important communication is, and decide to keep going. “I jus’ feel like you’ve hardly paid any attention to me the past few days…” You start to sniffle as you speak, the overwhelm of it all finally catching up with you.

“Oh…” he breathes sympathetically. “Here, can you stand up, babygirl? C’mon, come sit on Daddy’s lap for a minute.”

He offers you his hands, and you use them to push yourself up onto shaky legs, feeling like a newborn foal. You wrap your arms around his neck and he scoops you up, carrying you bridal-style back to your cozy spot on the couch. He situates you in his lap, wrapping you up in your blanket again, and you bury your face in the warm expanse of skin between his shoulder and neck. You inhale through your nose, smiling to yourself and sighing contentedly when your senses are flooded with his natural comforting smell.

“I know I’ve been workin’ some real late nights recently… I’m sorry about that, honey,” he apologizes, rubbing comforting circles around your upper back.

“‘S okay, Daddy, ‘s not your fault,” you say into his skin.

“But I shoulda made more of an effort to give you some lovin’ anyway, I shouldn’t have had to wait for you to brat on me… Look at me, baby.” You lift your head and meet his sincere gaze, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours. “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry too, Daddy.”

“I know y’ are, sweet girl, I know…”

You exchange warm smiles, and he curls his pointer finger under your chin to pull your face toward his, placing a delicate kiss to your lips. He settles both of his large hands on either side of your face before breaking the kiss to press your foreheads together. You close your eyes and try to match his breathing, enjoying this moment with him.

After a minute or so, you break the silence. “So… puppy, huh? That’s a new one,” you giggle.

He laughs and releases your face from his hold, meeting your eyes again. “Jus’ wanted to try somethin’ new, I guess…” He snakes a hand under the blanket, thumbing over the damp crotch of your panties. “And judgin’ by this lil’ mess down here, I take it you liked it. Hm, pretty girl?”

Still sensitive from your earlier denial, you let out a high pitched little whine and an involuntary buck of your hips into his hand.

“See? Even sound like a lil’ puppy… Daddy’s good girl. You want Daddy to train you, babygirl, you wanna be his pretty lil’ pet?”

“Uh huh, yes, Daddy, please…” Your face is buried in his chest as you rut into his hand, squeezing it between your thighs, back to the same place you were just before he pulled his boot out from underneath you.

“Daddy was so mean earlier, wasn’t he? Not lettin’ you cum, punishin’ you for actin’ up… But I think you’ve learned your lesson now, huh puppy? C’mon, sweet girl, let go, soak Daddy’s hand…”

And you do. With his permission, you cry out, muscles spasming and cunt twitching as you finally ride out the climax you’ve been chasing all night. You’re panting by the time you start to come down after what feels like several minutes, exhaustion hitting you hard all at once. When some of your awareness has come back to you, you realize that Joel is gently rocking you back and forth on his lap, petting the back of your head and gently shushing in your ear.

“Shh, shh, you’re alright, babygirl, I gotcha, Daddy’s gotcha… So good for me, baby, my precious girl…”

When your breathing evens out once more, you muster the strength to lift your head from its place against his heart, and he chuckles at the sleepy and sated look on your face as you blink slowly at him.

“My lil’ puppy’s all tuckered out, huh? Let’s get you up to bed, darlin’, Daddy’ll tuck you in.”

He stands up with a groan, cradling you in his muscled arms, and carries you into the bedroom. You’re already drifting off to sleep when he sits you on the bed, carefully stripping you of your ruined underwear and helping you into a clean, sensible pair of cotton undies. He retrieves one of his oversized “Miller Contracting” shirts from his drawer and slips it over your head, helping your weak arms through the sleeves. Brushing your hair away from your face, he places a scruffy kiss to your hairline and helps you lay down onto the cool sheets. He pulls the covers up all the way over your shoulders, the way he knows you like, and smiles to himself when you burrow yourself into the sheets.

He takes a quick shower to rid himself of the grime and grit he collected on his skin during the day, and slips into bed beside you. Another private smile and a small shake of his head when you instinctually turn to face him and snuggle into his warm body, wrapping your arms around the breadth of his upper arm and inhaling the masculine cologne of his body wash.

He reaches across his chest to gently scratch at the top of your head, prompting a dreamy little noise from you. “Just like I said,” he whispers to himself, “a lil’ puppy.”

He wouldn’t have you any other way.

not really sure who to tag for this one, gonna use the same list from my last fic if that's okay!! anyone else please let me know if you'd like to be tagged on my future fics!!

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @gracieispunk @iamasaddie @rebel-held

#my writing #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #daddy!joel miller #joel miller smut

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penkura · 5 months ago

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No One Better

Note: Ahh I didn't know how to go about this, but here it is! It's another in the OP Men as Dads series, but this one is ONLY Zoro and his son. I just had this idea after seeing this OC template on Pinterest, and I had to do it, I couldn't not. I have thoughts floating around for other characters in this same vein of calming down their children, and I will post them separately like this most likely! For now, please enjoy Zoro being a wonderful, soft dad to his little boy. 🥹 I want to have his babies so bad, where is my irl Zoro omg

Your son may be Zoro’s child too, but he’s a big crybaby when either of you are missing from his sight. He could be happily sitting in your lap or on Zoro’s chest, but when Keitaro notices one of you isn’t around, he immediately pouts and begins to cry. At first it’s legitimate tears, until he learns that he can get you with crocodile tears because that’s your baby boy, of course you’re going to run to him when he cries! You figured it out quickly when he instantly started to smile and coo at you the first time he cried crocodile tears to get your attention, Zoro didn’t believe you for a few weeks until your ten-month-old did it to him too. He just loves you and Zoro so much, he wants you both around him all the time.

Zoro is able to calm him down very easily, just by talking to Keitaro gently. An older woman on an island you stopped at was surprised to see how easily Keitaro calmed down and went from nearly sobbing to happy little giggles when Zoro just took him from you and started asking him what was wrong, why was he so upset all of a sudden (he couldn’t see Zoro standing nearby, that was the problem). The woman was highly impressed and said her own husband hadn’t been that good with their children, it made you smile and thank her for the compliment, since you knew Zoro would never.

Keitaro is big enough to sit up on your lap during a party between your crew, the Heart Pirates, and the Kid Pirates when the three of you run into each other. Members of your (now permanently) allied crews coo and fawn over your son, the youngest of all the crews, and he adores the attention he receives from all these new people. Once everyone goes back to drinking and playing games, you choose to stay to the side with Keitaro, keeping him from the alcohol and making sure he stays happy while everything goes on, and he does, looking around at everyone and giggling when he sees Luffy do something funny.

Keitaro is happy and calm until he realizes he doesn’t see Zoro anywhere, making your nearly year old son start to pout and fuss. You try your hardest to calm him down when he really starts to cry and kick his legs because he’s frustrated, quietly speaking to him and placing kisses on his little head to help.

“Hey, little guy,” you feel beyond relived when Zoro comes over, resting his arms on your thighs and getting nose to nose with your son, which starts to calm him down, “What’re you crying for?”

Keitaro slowly calms down, looking at Zoro cross-eyed at first before his eyes fully focus on him, starting to smile and coo again as he puts his tiny hands on Zoro’s face. It makes Zoro smile in return as he takes your son from you, intending to give you a small break.

“Let’s give mama a few minutes to enjoy the party too, yeah?” Zoro gently tosses your son in the air a few times, Keitaro letting out squeals and giggles in response.

You slip away to the girls for a while, Ikkaku giving you a smile and telling you how lucky you are with Zoro, causing you to look back at them with your own smile. Keitaro has his thumb in his mouth as he lays against Zoro’s chest where he can see you, content and slowly falling asleep, while your husband rubs his back to help him relax.

“He’s really the best dad to Keitaro, I couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

#one piece x reader #reader insert #zoro x reader #op men as dads #fem!reader #roronoa zoro x reader #good dad zoro

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hyunebunx · 2 months ago

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saw the soft thoughts post and i hope i’m not late >.< please forgive my typos or grammatical errors love i just woke up 🥹

soooo imagine a lazy saturday morning with hyunjin where you both just wanted to sleep in and cuddle on your shared bet until late in the morning. apparently you had to force yourself to get up because you were getting hungry and hyunjin—being a clingy boyfriend—is sticking to you like glue, and be like “noooooo don’t go!!!” because he doesn’t want to get out of bed but you had to drag him up. he became a pouty baby while being clingyyyy maybe a backhug when you were cooking, a stolen kiss when you were about to eat, helping you wash the dishes but he put some soap bubbles on the tip of your nose, asked you to go out and the spend the rest of the day with him outside maybe stroll around the city, an art museum date, go to a café and watch him sketch/paint you~

ughh to be loved by an artist bro i’m still half asleep so i hope i’m making sense... anyway have a good one deni ! 😽🩷

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff and a loooot of kissing, you've been warned lol

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: my love <3 this is the cutest idea ever!! thank you so so much for trusting me to write it hehe <3 listen, this got quite steamy in the middle, idk what happened i blacked out fgsdgkj can't help myself when it comes to this man apparently. anywayss, hope you'll enjoy it <333

Mornings spent sleeping in with the love of your life, all cuddle up and intertwined, were truly your absolute favorite, a blessing you didn’t take for granted. You were both busy people, with busy lives that accommodated one another like it was the most natural thing in the world, fitting together like the last two pieces needed to complete the puzzle which revealed your love story.

Hyunjin was a heavy sleeper, clinging to every thread, no matter how thin, that transported him to dreamland to rest a little more. Just five more minutes, that turned into ten, fifteen, which ended up stretching into half an hour on good days. On the bad ones, when he was more tired than usual, nothing could get Hyunjin out of bed before the afternoon rolled around. You understood – he needed his rest – but it didn’t make missing him and his bright smile any easier.

You never knew you could miss someone even while they were dozing off next to you, blissfully unaware of how your heart almost jumped out of your chest to slip under his shirt just to feel his beating, desperately searching for confirmation he felt the same. And he did, of course he did, how could he not when your name and sweet face were constantly spinning around in his mind like some sort of live wallpaper, making him unable to concentrate even on simple tasks?

Though right now, neither of you was sleeping, cuddling to Hyunjin’s chest with one leg over his lap as you caught him up on the latest work gossip. You’ve been awake for almost two hours now and for once, the universe seemed to be on your side as no sunray managed to peek through the small crack left in the curtains, allowing you to continue lying around in peace.

“Anyway, so the printer caught on fire and that was Kim’s last straw. She threw all the papers on the floor and then proceeded to plop down on them and cry. I felt so bad.”

Despite his empathetic nature, Hyunjin lets out a short laugh, voice still husky and laced with sleep as his fingers tangled in your hair. “How did she even manage to do that?”

“It wasn’t her fault.” You yawn, hiding your face in his chest briefly. “Jay used the printer last to scan pictures of his cat’s toe beans and I guess some fur got stuck in there and ruined everything.”

He slowly shakes his head, whistling. “See, that’s why I’m a dog person.”

Prompting your chin on his chest, you look at him with raised eyebrows. “Ok Mr. meows at cats because he wants to get into their good graces.”

“That was one time!”

You giggle and he joins soon after, staring deeply into your eyes until the laughter dies down and every thought leaves your mind like it wasn’t even there to begin with. Dark eyes dart between yours and your lips, subconsciously licking his plush bottom one and telling you exactly where his train of thought has stopped. Patience was not one of Hyunjin’s virtues, so the hand in your hair moves lower to cup the back of your neck, bringing you closer as you quickly adjust, both hands sprawling on his chest to help you lean down and finally connect your lips.

The kiss is slow, lips merging perfectly as neither of you is in any rush, content to take the time to taste each other. However, it quickly gets messy, tongues meeting and complicating the familiar dance, making it hot and breathy but oh so delicious. You’d be lying if you didn’t admit you’ve been waiting for this ever since he woke up, constantly thinking about his rosy lips and driving yourself crazy as whatever he was saying faded in and out of hazy memory.

Hyunjin kissed you like no other, like kissing was an art he invented just to practice on you. One he managed to master throughout the years of your relationship but couldn’t get enough of, obsessed with the idea of improving and finding another unexplored corner he could take over and claim as his own.

A cold hand slides easily under your top, gripping at your waist in an effort to bring you closer, almost causing your arms to give out. You break away from the kiss and Hyunjin whines, displeased but still helps you settle on top of him more comfortably, guiding your body as you straddle his hips.

This new position allows for better access to what you’re both desiring, with Hyunjin wasting no more time in bringing you back down again, capturing your lips. With both hands on exposed thighs, the shirt he gave you to sleep in barely covering anything, Hyunjin loses himself in the taste of you, licking into your mouth and lightly biting on your bottom lip as your hands move lower over his stomach, needing to discard him of the annoying clothing.

You make to pull away but his lips follow, causing him to sit up and move one of his hands on the small of your back for support, not allowing you to slip away from him. With a mind of their own, your hands quickly abandon his shirt and move around his shoulders, meeting at his nape to deepen the kiss and lick at his bottom lip which he appreciates by the groan he lets out.

You feel him everywhere, hands groping and squeezing every bit of your body in the exact way he knew you loved, turning you to putty into his hold. By now, his dark hair is a mess from all the pulling – your fingers needed something to anchor onto.

“Hyun.” You inhale deeply, his lips moving down your jaw, restless.

“Yeah, baby?” He mumbles, barely hearing you.

“Breakfast.” You gasp out as he lightly bites the skin, quick to soothe it with his tongue. “I’m hungry.” Mostly true, you’ve been lying here for hours after all, who wouldn’t be hungry? But also because you knew if you didn’t stop him now, neither of you would get to eat anything before dinner time rolls around.

Hyunjin pauses, hot breath fanning your neck as he slowly tilts his head to look at you, his wet and swollen lips distracting. He’s speechless for a moment, almost like he can’t believe you interrupted him, like a child whose favorite toy is abruptly taken away. When it clicks in his head you are actually serious, Hyunjin barely registers the way you peck his lips as he rolls his eyes.

“Wow, ok connoisseur of romance. What a way to ruin the moment.”

You giggle as he gently lays you down on your back, knowing he could never be truly upset, no matter what kind of stunt you pull. He was most likely thankful you said something, surely hungry himself.

Scooting towards the end of the bed, your feet barely get to touch the hardwood floor before Hyunjin’s arms circle your middle once again, pulling you to his warm chest without a word.

“No, don’t go!” He whines, burring his head in your shoulder in protest.

Your heart squeezes in your chest, pounding from all the love you carried for your other half, the man you couldn’t imagine life without.

“Baby.” You coo, softly running your fingers over his hands on your stomach in a way to coax him. “How am I supposed to cook us breakfast otherwise?”

Hyunjin sighs, squeezing you to his chest for two more heartbeats before releasing his hold and allowing you to stand up. When you turn to face him, one of his big hands has already brought yours to his lips to plant a feather like kiss on your knuckles.

“Don’t go without me.” He mumbles, pouting slightly, and you almost explode like a piñata, staining him with your love and adoration that will surely trap him in this apartment for days trying to get it out. Not like he’d ever mind if that were possible, proudly showing off and talking about your feelings for him to anyone who’d listen, right after talking their ear off about the love he holds for you.

So, that morning, you waddle together to the kitchen like two penguins with Hyunjin refusing to stop hugging you from behind even when you started cooking. And after that, spoon feeding you on the counter and forgetting all about his needs until you threatened to take away his cuddles.

He caved in immediately.

#stray kids #skz #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids headcanons #skz headcanons #stray kids soft thoughts #stray kids soft hours #stray kids fanfic #skz soft thoughts #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #skz soft hours #skz fluff #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin soft hours #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin soft thoughts

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wooziorgans · 2 months ago

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How will ji take care of his pregnant female wife ll pregnant male omega hubby

— pregnancy w jihoon

…. i am not an omega verse kind of guy so this is just how jihoon takes care of his pregnant partner. w some texts bcs yeah.

warnings: childbirth. suggestive. pregnancy. all that fun stuff. dilf jihoon. girl dad jihoon.

definitely super overwhelmed the SECOND you find out your expecting but so so sooo happy and excited to start a family with you.

it was definitely unexpected.

after your honeymoon, you started to feel a bit sick, and jihoon just thought it was the food not sitting well with you, or the different germs from traveling catching up. but then you were late and the hot flashes started and you had a suspicion.

while he was at work, you went to the store and bought one of each kind of pregnancy test, just to make sure. all of them came back positive.

when jihoon gets home, he finds you curled up on the couch with a mountain of blankets, which isn’t unusual.

but then he sees tear tracks on your face and he’s immediately worried. he sits beside you and you reach for his hand, but he sees you smiling softly and then it’s just pure confusion.

“baby, what’s going on? you were crying. are you okay?” he wipes at your the remnants of your tears with his thumbs. his brows are furrowed and he looks so worried about you that it makes you suddenly super emotional. god damn hormones.

“ji, i’m pregnant.” is all you say to him, and he feels like he’s going to pass out.

he starts crying almost instantaneously, and the tears don’t stop for a good ten minutes.

you haven’t seen him this choked up since he read his vows at your wedding, and this might be worse in terms of intensity. it makes you emotional, and so you both just cry in each other’s arms

when he calms down, he’s peppering your face with kisses, holding you close as he tells you he loves you over and over and over.

you’ve talked about having kids before, ands it’s always just been a kind of “if it happens, it happens” thing, even if jihoon started dreaming about having a family with you a year into your relationship.

okay maybe jihoon has wanted this more than he let on.

every preventative measure to make sure you didn’t get pregnant wasn’t one hundred percent, and it’s not like you stopped them. but you did spend days of your honeymoon going at it. and the time difference fucked both of you up, and then the pure need for each other lasted another week after your honeymoon.

so it was quite likely that you would’ve gotten pregnant, given the circumstances.

jihoon all but carried you to bed that night, cuddling with you all night long as you discuss your worries for the next chapter of your life together. his hand rubs soft circles on your stomach the whole time.

jihoon sits with you the next morning as you call the make a doctors appointment.

he’s with you at every appointment, wanting to make sure both you and the baby are healthy.

jihoon is no stranger to cooking; he cooks often and he’s quite good at it. but now he’s cooking every meal for you, making sure you eat well. he says it’s because you need to rest and stay off your feet, but really, he just wants to take care of you.

it eases his anxiety around being a dad if you let him control certain things like meals, so you let him.

pregnancy is weird though. you can’t eat certain foods that you used to love, and crave combinations you would’ve never imagined eating together before.

jihoon just indulges you; he’ll pick up your weird food combinations for you and when you suddenly feel queasy after he sets a plate of food in front of you, he’ll just kiss your forehead and make you something you can eat.

as you get further along, he checks in with you more often. he’ll call you when he has free time and starts to work from home more often.

as soon as you start to show, it’s like his hand never leaves your stomach. he rubs it, puts his head on it, kisses it.

the first time he feels the baby kick, he’s over the moon. so so so happy. it makes you cry a little.

he gives you massages all the time, even on days where you’re not that sore. definitely the kind of partner to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible.

neither of you were bothered by knowing the gender of your baby, but when it’s time for the appointment, jihoon’s practically vibrating in his seat.

you get the ultrasound and learn you’re having a girl, and jihoon immediately spends hours learning how to braid hair.

he’s so knowledgeable on pregnancy. he spends so much time researching the best ways to support you and the baby. he calls his mom at least once a week to ask questions.

pregnancy sex goes so fucking crazy with this man. he’ll spend all evening making you feel good out of pure appreciation for all that you’re doing. if the position you’re in isn’t working, he’s putting more pillows under your back to make sure you’re comfortable.

decorating the nursery with you is his favourite thing ever. you both decided it would be better to put crib in your room for the first little bit just so the baby is close. he buys a spare crib and changing table for his studio aswell.

he stocks up on all the things you need months in advance.

he’ll lift your bump up to give your back a few minutes of relief. he’s strong, so it’s nothing for him.

a month before your due date, he goes on hiatus to make sure you’re absolutely taken care of. he never leaves your side, opting to order things you need instead of going outside for them.

the second your water breaks and the contractions start, he’s dialling every single member until one of them picks up so they can give you a ride to the hospital. even thought it’s four in the morning, he does not care.

eventually seungcheol picks up, and rushes over. jihoon swears he’s not panicking, but he hates seeing you in pain, even if the result of that pain is something you’ve both been waiting for.

in the hospital, he’s holding your hand, letting you squeeze the hell out of it with each contraction. once you’re in the hospital, his anxiety eases up because you’re surrounded by professionals. now he can focus on you and relieving your anxiety.

after hours and hours of contractions, you finally go into labour. jihoon is right there with you, holding your hand as he tells you that you’re doing so good. just a little bit more.

when your daughter is finally here, jihoon cries. seungcheol comes back with the bag jihoon left in the midst of the chaos, at a more reasonable time after getting a few more hours of sleep. seungcheol gets to witness jihoon holding his daughter for the first time, shirt discarded for some skin to skin contact.

jihoon had read that skin to skin contact was important for bonding, and the second he’s able to hold your daughter, his shirt is gone. once he knows you’re doing okay, all he feels is joy.

postpartum, he does everything he can to make sure you’re okay. the first few days spent in the hospital, jihoon doesn’t leave you for a single moment. your emotions are quite strewn, mostly joy, but there’s some issues adjusting to no longer being pregnant.

jihoon takes most of the load, though you still need to care for your daughter. one by one, the members visit you in the hospital to make sure both of you are doing okay.

jihoon’s parents come to help you out when it’s finally time to take the baby home. it gives you a little bit of time to relax with each other and recover. the way his mom coos at your daughter is so heart warming. his father just looks proud of both of you.

jihoon is surprisingly good at being a dad right out of the gate. it takes him a while to figure out what your daughter needs but once he has a solid list to go through, he’s efficient. he takes care of her when she cries in the night, whispering to you softly. “i’ve got it, baby. go back to sleep.” you can’t fall back asleep until he’s back in bed, baby peacefully back in her crib.

fatherhood looks good on jihoon. you often find him passed out on the couch, shirt somewhere else with your daughter on his chest. his hands are always so carefully holding her, supporting her neck. he’s started wearing his glasses more often. even though you just gave birth, the prospect of another child isn’t off the table when your husband looks like that.

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cheesecakethots · 1 year ago

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Part 2

Your mother had described meeting her soulmate, your father, as the most influential moment of her entire life, despite the fact it had been so ordinary.

They had simply been passing each other in a busy marketplace, and happened to brush hands. The static and pull they both felt only meant one thing, and the rest was history.

Your siblings met their soulmates before you, your older brother even having met his as a young child. Maybe that’s why you were chosen, and not them. Maybe that’s why they didn’t fight for you, after all.

The village you live in had a harsh winter, with no crops being able to grow and people starting to freeze to death in their own homes. You had known the village leaders were the superstitious type, but you almost scoffed aloud when they declared the hardships faced must’ve been the work of a vengeful spirit or yokai.

You had been woken up when some of them dragged you out of bed, still in your flimsy old nightgown that did nothing to protect you from the frosty bite to the wind. Your father didn’t intervene, didn’t cry, didn’t do anything as he watched them carry you away. Your mother had broken into sobs when you screamed at her to save you, but still did nothing. Your siblings didn’t even bother to leave their rooms to watch you be hauled off like some livestock on route to a chopping block.

The woods were long and hard to traverse, but it wasn’t long before they had taken you to the centre, using old and frayed rope to tie you by the waist to a thick tree trunk. They didn’t turn back when leaving, didn’t so much as spare you a glance while you screamed and screamed and screamed.

You stopped after ten minutes, instead allowing yourself to cry silently, hoping that you would wake up soon with your parents ready to comfort you, your siblings waiting to laugh off your silly nightmare. No such thing happened.

It’s been about half an hour now. Maybe less. Maybe more. You’re certain at this point that no hungry spirit is going to find you, and instead you’re going to die a slow, cold death, all alone. Well, maybe not slow.

You don’t hear the soft crunches of snow in front of you, too busy staring at your own feet that are starting to go blue.

“Hm, what do we have here?”

Your eyes glance up. For a second you believe that you’re hallucinating, taking note of the clearly wealthy man in a large hat before you, as well as the men in armour situated behind him.

The man raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

Mouth opening and closing, you attempt to splutter out something, but what comes out is a shaky, unsure breath.

He scoffs, moving closer, “Speak up, will you? Or is your throat frozen?”

A cough leaves you, your throat feeling scratchy and dry, but you spit something out nonetheless.

“Th-They l-l-left me h-here,” you stammer, your voice shaking and teeth chattering wildly. Every breath you take feels as though the ropes around your torso are tightening and tightening.

“Who left you here?” He asks, despite the fact that he sounds rather uninterested.

“Th-The village. M-My fa-family. They left me h-here to die,” you whisper, and you’re surprised by the bitterness you somehow have the strength left to conjure. You look up at him, tears still streaming down your face, “H-How cou-could they throw me a-away like that?”

Something in his expression shifts, and he takes another step towards you, head tilting to the side as he considers something.

“Why did they leave you here, then?”

“Sa-Sacrifice to a yokai. T-They thought it w-would s-stop the wi-winter and help the cr-crops grow.”

He chuckles, but there seems to be little amusement in his tone. “How ridiculous.”

You cough again, your body shivering all the more. You’re going to die soon, you know it.

“What would you offer me if I were to save you?”

Hope doesn’t crawl into your veins at his words, instead a dry sob leaves you, “I have n-nothing left to give. Nothing.”

“Not even your gratitude?”

His eyes meet yours once again, and you can’t help but note how very pretty they are, despite the fact you’re on the verge of death.

“I-If you save m-me, I’ll forever be indebted to you.”

“Hm. It’ll have to do.”

The ropes holding you up fall before you can even realise what’s happened, and in turn so do you, landing on your hands and knees, your body quaking violently.

“Up. Otherwise you’ll freeze to death here. Stand up.”

But you can’t. Any apologies you have die on your tongue when he tuts, kneeling in front of you.

He reaches a hand out to roughly pull you up by the wrist, “Archons, I have to do everything aroun-“

His grip on you leaves as fast as it came, and he stumbles back on his feet a little, watching as you peer up at him, eyes wide.

You don’t have much time to consider the consequences of what has just happened, as your body finally gives way, and you collapse into the snow in front of your soulmate.

#will do a part 2 at some point probably #for that one anon that asked me to write for him #yandere scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #tw yandere #tw.yandere #yandere #yanderecore #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere scara #tw close death #tw near death #scaramouche x y/n

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lovecla · 2 months ago

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TAKE YOUR PAIN AWAY | quinn hughes.

00.1. the first time you saw quinn hughes.

➴ chapter warnings: mentions of shitty family.

➴ word count: 1.08k

💌 from me to you: this has been sitting on my drafts for days because i wasn’t brave enough to post it. but this story is very important to me and i promised myself i’d stop doubting what i write and just go for it. i hope with all my heart u guys like this ♡

౨ৎ

2013, SEPTEMBER.

THE first time you saw Quinn Hughes you were eleven years old.

Your family had just bought the house next to his, a beautiful four bedroom house with lots of space and a beautiful backyard— the perfect house for a family of four.

It was a week after you all settled in, your Dad as a Sports Medicine Physician working for a Hockey Canadian team, the Toronto Maple Leafs— the whole reason why you moved in the first place— your Mom as a Editor-in-Chief for the Fashion magazine, one of Canada's leading fashion publications, featuring content related to fashion, beauty, culture, and modeling and your brother, Peter, in High School as a freshman.

You were sitting on your porch, while you waited for Peter to be back so you could convince him to play football with you. He always said no, but you didn't give up. A few minutes later, Peter got out of your neighbor’s house, alongside another boy, who was slightly shorter than Peter.

You watched as they both walked towards your house, talking about something you couldn’t hear. You remember being so enamored with the sight of the boy that you couldn’t stop fidgeting your hands.

They stopped right in front of you, and while Peter was ready to ignore you and move on with his day— he’d been doing that more and more since he started High School— the other boy stopped and looked right at you.

“You didn’t tell me you have a sister.” The boy said, looking at your brother for a second before turning back at you.

“Oh, yeah,” Peter shrugged. “That’s Madison. She’s ten.”

“I’m eleven,” you corrected, voice soft and quiet.

“Whatever,” he scoffed, grabbing his keys so he could open the front door.

“Can you play with me now?” You asked, getting up from your seat, finally noticing how tall this other boy was. “I have the ball with me already.” You pointed at the ball that sat on the same couch you were also sitting not a minute ago.

“No, Madison. I’m with Quinn now.” Peter said, pointing at the boy beside him, who was now frowning at your brother.

Quinn. That’s a funny name, you remember thinking.

“We can play with her, I don’t mind—” the boy, Quinn, said, already reaching for the ball.

“Nah, bro. She’s annoying as hell. Once you pick that ball up, you won’t be able to let it go for like, three hours.” Peter replied, already opening the door.

You felt yourself tearing up and even though you hated crying in front of your brother, you couldn’t help it. Growing up, he was your best friend. Your hero even, when your parents decided that arguing during dinner, in front of their children, was a nice thing to do and he would make funny faces at you across the table just so you could laugh. When he pretended to yell at the monster under your bed or when he let you paint his nails with your pink nail polish.

But somewhere between turning fifteen and entering High School, he changed. And you hated every inch of this new Peter Carter.

He entered the house, shouting something, probably announcing to your mom that he was home. And you stood there, looking at your hands.

“Next time, I’ll play with you, okay?” Quinn, who was still standing in front of you, hesitated, looking as devastated as ever.

You felt embarrassed and you got out of there as fast as you could, running back inside and nestling yourself between your covers and plushies.

౨ৎ

YOU didn’t think Quinn had meant what he had said the other day, so you were surprised to see that he showed up the next morning, when both of your parents were at work and Peter was asleep in his bedroom upstairs.

“Hey,” he greeted you, stepping on your backyard patio and looking around. “Nice place you got here. We can play for a long time without risking throwing the ball in Mrs. Wright window.”

You giggled, remembering Mrs. Wright's funny wig.

“I’m Quinn Hughes.” He introduced himself after a while.

“I know that,” you whispered, watching as he laughed. “How old are you?”

“I’m thirteen, but I turn fourteen on October 14th,” he said. “You’re eleven, right?”

“Yes. My birthday was in February. I got this ball,” you raised the ball you were holding so he could see it better. It had your name on it. “And I also got new clothes for my plushies.”

“That sounds nice,” he nodded. “I’ll probably get a new stick on my birthday.”

“Why would you need a stick?” You asked, not sure what he could do with a stick. A tree’s stick. At least that’s what you thought a stick was.

Maybe he wants to put it on his fireplace.

“I play Hockey,” he answered and you still didn’t understand. The only thing you knew about Hockey was that it was the reason you and your family moved to Toronto. So it probably wasn’t a good thing. “And I need a new one.”

“Well, if it makes you happy, then I guess it’s fine,” you shrugged, poking your ball. “But that will probably be boring. You should ask for something cooler.”

He laughed again, sitting on the grass beside you. “I’ll think about that. Thank you for your advice.”

You puffed your chest a little, happy to feel useful for once.

That morning, you and Quinn didn’t end up playing; instead, you talked for hours, with you both asking each other questions about literally everything. From what’s your favorite color to what you wanna be when you grow up.

You could feel your heart racing in your chest every time you stared into his blue eyes that sometimes morphed into a light green shade, but you didn’t understand why. Quinn was being nice, he was treating you just like Peter did before you moved to Toronto and it felt so, so nice.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” You asked, right before he left for lunch at his house.

“I think so.” He smiled, quickly patting you on the head. He gave you a short wave before moving back to his home.

And you just stood there, counting the seconds so that maybe tomorrow would come faster, and you’d finally have a friend again.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x fem!reader #quinn hughes x model!fmc #nhl hockey #nhl players #nhl x reader #quinn hughes smut #TYPA

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year ago

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7:28

this post by @footburn inspired me in that 'you must type this out before you can do anything else' way so here. this was literally from brain to computer in about 20 minutes.

rated m this is literally just the softest and sweetest fluff, with some implied sexual content discussed

------------------

"Eds."

"Hm?"

Eddie's sleepy voice whispered against Steve's ear, his breath sending a shiver down his spine.

Steve turned his head as his hand reached over to cup the back of Eddie's head, his fingers gently gripping the frizzy strands of hair sticking out.

"Gotta get up," Steve mumbled.

The alarm clock would be going off in two minutes, a stark reminder that the real world was just outside of their bedroom and unfortunately required putting on clothes and going to work.

If he could, he'd stay like this all day, every day, for the rest of their lives.

Next to Eddie, on top of Eddie, under Eddie, any way he could possibly have him. As long as the sunlight kept streaming through the window and the warmth of Eddie's soft, sleepy smile was in view, Steve would be happy.

"Mm-mm," Eddie shook his head once, nuzzling closer so his next exhale made Steve's eyes flutter closed.

"I have to open today."

Eddie's hand settled on his shoulder, squeezing once before falling away again.

"Stupid."

"What is, baby?" Steve smirked as he watched Eddie's brows furrow as he finally started to wake up.

"Work."

Eddie's eyes fluttered open.

The alarm clock switched to 7:29.

"Call out," Eddie's eyes blinked slowly.

"I can't. It's just me today. Robs would kill me."

"But it'll kill me to watch you get out of bed," Eddie pouted.

Steve sat up, leaning on his elbow, and looked down at Eddie.

Eddie looked back up at him with those wide eyes, bottom lip out like it would actually convince Steve to stay.

The alarm clock showed 7:30.

Steve reached over to shut off the alarm as soon as it started beeping.

He leaned down to kiss his head, then his heart tattoo, then the scar on his side.

"Pleeeease?" Eddie whined. "I have today off. We could sleep and not sleep."

Steve rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but want to give in.

They had so few days like this: where one of them didn't wake up screaming or crying from a nightmare, where they weren't in pain the moment their eyes opened, where someone wasn't needing them the moment the sun rose.

It was tempting to take advantage of this moment, of this day, see where it would lead if Steve just settled back down in bed, see if they were able to sleep for another couple of hours.

Maybe wake up with lips against skin, or hands against chests or thighs.

Maybe eat breakfast in bed and make more than one type of mess.

Maybe only get up to take a shower together, scrub off the stickiness of syrup and body fluids.

Or maybe they'd get a call in 15 minutes from Dustin, who should know better than to call before ten in the morning on weekends, but does anyway because he won't admit that he misses them.

Maybe Robin would show up to shove Steve out the door for the shift he's supposed to work, pissed that he'd even try to get out of it.

Maybe Wayne would finally remember to bring that cake recipe he found in an old family cookbook and insist on helping him make it since he knows the secret.

Or maybe Steve would kiss Eddie's lips once before getting up and doing the thing he doesn't want to do today so they can enjoy their peace tomorrow.

Maybe Steve can look at the alarm clock that now reads 7:31 and think about how sometimes love is getting out of a cozy bed and going to work so you have money to pay for those concert tickets that are gonna be the best birthday present he's ever gotten.

"Love you so much, Eds," Steve whispers as he pulls away from Eddie's mouth, already longing for another kiss.

"Love you too, sweetheart. Bring ya lunch?" Eddie's eyes were getting heavy again as he turned his head into the sheets, breathing in the scent of Steve, of them.

"See you then."

At 7:32, Steve managed to go into the bathroom to shower and get ready for his day.

At 7:56, Steve kissed Eddie's forehead as he slept, careful not to wake him.

At 8:02, Steve left a note for Eddie on his way out the door, the same note he wrote for him every morning, left on his favorite mug so he wouldn't miss it when he made his coffee.

Love you, miss you, want you - your Stevie

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #this art has me feral #clearly #i stopped mid assignment to do this

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cyborg-franky · 8 months ago

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Comforting their partner

I think I needed this myself, who knows.

MODERN AU - SFW Ace x GN Reader Marco x GN Reader Rosi/Corazon x GN Reader

Ace

You’d been exchanging texts with Ace all day, and he knew you weren’t in a good place—stressed, tired, and burnt out. He spent most of his day sending you pictures of Stefan, his father's dog, and a large selection of dumb selfies and memes he’d collected.

It made you smile, made everything just a little less heavy to know he was right there for you even if you couldn't see him. You were so swamped with your chores and work that free time slipped through your fingers, leaving you further fatigued.

You lay in bed, staring at your TV, feeling so sorry for yourself. Things just kept piling up, and you were about to burst from how much you stuffed down and pushed aside. Tears prick the corner of your eyes. You bit your lip, not wanting to just burst into tears. You looked at your phone and saw nothing. Ace hadn’t replied in over ten minutes.

Maybe he’d finally passed out or was playing another game with his brothers.

You could feel the sadness creeping in until there was a tapping on your window. You opened your eyes and stared at your curtains. The same tapping happened again, and you sat up, pulling them open and almost jumping.

Ace was outside your window, having climbed the tree. He was waving with a huge grin on his face.

“The fuck, Ace?” you huffed at him when you opened the window, and he slid in, getting his foot stuck and falling onto the bed below with a laugh and looking up at you. “Well, sounded like you needed a shoulder to cry on,” he shrugged from where he was making himself comfortable on your bed, kicking off his boots. Both of you wincing when they thudded to the floor.

You sighed, your anger melting away as he held his arms up. He made grabby hands as you slowly leaned in, letting Ace grab you and pull you down against him. He cuddled you up to his side, your head against his chest, and you heard the rumble of his voice and his heartbeat. You closed your eyes when you felt fingers running through your hair.

“You wanna talk about it some more?” he asked, and you shook your head, draping an arm over his waist and sighing, breathing in his smell. It was always comforting, like a warm fire on a cold night.

“Alright, wanna watch funny videos?” he suggested, and you nodded. He got comfy, arm around you, and phone in a position you could both watch.

The night ended up in your boyfriend's arms, just the two of you, silly videos to entertain you and take you away from your troubled thoughts.

Marco

He’d been texting you when he got a spare moment at work and worried about how you felt. He felt bad he couldn’t duck out of work to come, scoop you up in his arms, and kiss the bad thoughts away.

But he listened to you, let you vent, and even gave advice when you asked for it.

Thanks to Marco, you were currently watching a comfort show, curled up on the sofa and cuddled up in blankets as you tried to let the show distract you enough. Every so often, you’d message him. He checked in on his breaks, and although Marco wasn’t here with you, you felt connected and cared for anyway. He spoke so soothingly and calmly, like a soft breeze.

It was evening by the time he came over, knocking on the door andamiling at you, his half-lidded eyes full of love as he leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“Come on, let's go for a ride,” he said, his car still running on the drive. You could hear his music faintly from the open window.

“Okay, where?” you asked as you grabbed your phone and keys and locked up. “Just around.”

The wind ran through your hair, his hand on your thigh, and you both listened to your music as you cruised through the peaceful evening. You were just happy in one another's company, letting the night and his comforting aura chase away the sadness.

He knew how much you needed to get away from the noise of the world around you, driving a little ways from the city, where the stars twinkled in the sky brighter than you were used to.

You soon pulled up to a late-night food place. Marco killed the engine, the music shutting off as he nodded for you to get out. “Let's get something to eat, or at least a coffee, yoi.” Marco smiled at you before getting out of the car.

Sitting in a quiet corner of the cafe, you both shared a plate of fries, not feeling super hungry. You sipped your drink of choice as he drank his coffee.

“So, want to tell me about what happened today?” he asked, his hand reaching across the table to find yours. The weight of his larger hand on yours calmed your jumbled mind enough to pick through the mental clutter. “Well… so this happened today, and I just am struggling with it… It’s silly though.” You said with a dry chuckle, thinking he would judge you for how dumb it was, how it didn’t feel like a real problem.

“Hey,” he squeezed your hand. “If it upset you, it’s not silly, okay?” You paused, thinking his words over, seeing the warmth of his smile. “Okay,” you nodded and talked it out with him.

Rosinante

He knew you’d had a rough time at work today; everything that could go wrong had. You were tired, exhausted, and struggling to deal with it. You messaged him on your lunch break, not wanting to vocalize what was wrong, just taking comfort in his messages.

All the heart emojis and silly selfies of him making a half-heart with his fingers, his big charming grin filling the screen as he beamed brightly. You sent one back, completing the heart he was sweet.

When you got home, feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders, the bad feelings dragging you down, making your feet feel heavier. You opened the door and took a deep breath, trying to feel better about just being home and away from the job that stressed you out,

“Hey!” Rosi said, a smile on his handsome face as he stood up, towering over you. He pulled you into a hug, keeping you close and not letting go. He didn’t want to pull away first. He wanted to give you the hug you needed.

When you managed to fight the urge to cry, you peered up at him and got a kiss on the forehead.

“I have something to cheer you up…” He said with a wink. Pulling away, he nodded to the basket on the table.

You looked through it: comfort snacks you loved, a movie you wanted to see for ages, and other little bits and pieces that he knew you loved, including a plushie you held to your chest and smiled back at him. “Thank you so much, Rosi. I love you.” I love you too, and I hope it helps even a little!

You spent the evening cuddled on the sofa, happily eating your snacks, wrapped in a blanket, watching the movie he’d bought. Rosi gently rubbed your leg, trailing fingertips up and down your skin to keep you relaxed and calm.

He knew you’d talk about it when you were ready. He was never the type to push or ask, knowing that when you felt up to it, you’d talk it out with him, and when you were ready to share, he was ready to help you. He took your hand and brought it to his face, kissing your knuckles. “How do you feel?”

“Much better, thank you.”

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slytherinboysappreciation · 8 months ago

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Adoration - T. R. x fem!Reader

A/N: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while so I figured I’d post it. It’s unedited and my first time writing a sex scene so please be nice 💛 No use of Y/N. Reader is Dumbledore’s daughter. Tom is in his seventh year for this fic

Infatuation, the second part, is here

CW: Angst, so much angst; religious trauma, I guess?; Dumbledore bashing; mentions of devils; mentions of past physical abuse; trauma related to masturbation; crying, nausea, shame, and self-hatred related to masturbation; hurt/comfort kinda; praise kink; uhhh I think that’s it. Please let me know if I missed anything!!!

Does contain mature content so NO MINORS PLEASE!!! Just keep scrolling!!

999 words

Tom hated Dumbledore. The professor reminded him too much of the priests at the orphanage. The ones who smile and pretend to be your friend, but are never there when you truly need it.

Tom hated Dumbledore. The way he so obviously played favorites while blatantly denying doing so. Slughorn was an annoying professor, but at least he admitted to his favorites.

Tom hated Dumbledore. The way the man looked as if he knew something Tom didn’t. It got under his skin; made him itch with discomfort.

But no matter how much Tom hated Dumbledore, he hated his daughter more.

You’d been his first true connection to the wizarding world. You’d been there that first day, when Dumbledore had come to visit Tom in the orphanage.

You’d stood quiet and docile as Dumbledore told Tom about his magic. Tom had listened, of course. But it wasn’t until he was alone with you later that he truly believed.

You’d sat on the edge of his rickety bed, while your father had gone to discuss things with the orphanage nuns.

“They call me a freak,” Tom had said quietly. “They say I’m possessed by the devil.”

You’d looked at him. You, with your lovely wide eyes and sweet trusting smile. “What’s a devil?” You’d asked, so earnestly. “Your magic is special. See? I can do it too.”

You’d held out your hand, concentrating. A small flower had bloomed in your palm, sprouting from nowhere. And Tom had finally believed.

Believed you and your stupid smile. Your darling sweet manner. Your soft-spoken words.

All the things he despised about you now.

Despised… and adored.

Tom could not get you out of his head. You haunted him. Hounded him. It was maddening.

Every morning you’d smile so sweetly at him. You’d laugh or say something silly and inconsequential. And it would stick in Tom’s head all day long.

He couldn’t stand it!

You were nothing compared to him. He was Tom Riddle, the newly discovered Heir of Slytherin! The future ruler of the wizarding world! Voldemort!

You were the daughter of a half-witted buffoon who’d abandoned Tom as soon as he’d gotten to Hogwarts.

And yet, he could not get you out of his head.

Like now.

He’d been in the library, trying to study peacefully when you’d approached him with that smile of yours. You’d needed his help getting a book down.

Of course he helped; he could never truly end up saying no to your smile. Just another fact he hated.

But he’d stood too close to you while getting down the book, and he’d accidentally brushed up against you.

And now he was in his room, angrily trying to will the erection you’d unknowingly given him away.

It doesn’t work. Not after five minutes, not after ten. The memory of your blush and sweet smile was too much.

Tom can’t stand this. He has a meeting with one of his teachers in an hour!

So there’s only one thing to do.

Tom settles back into his bed, exhaling heavily. This has rarely been a pleasurable experience for him. The nuns at Wool’s were strict in their devotion to chastity. Even with the boys.

Tom’s been beaten more times than he can count after being caught trying to get some relief. So he avoids it until absolutely necessary.

And now he’s having to do it, all because of your horrendous smile.

Tom unbuckles his pants, glancing at the door to double check it’s locked. It is.

Tom takes his time pulling out his cock. Rushing feels too much like being back at the orphanage.

He grimaces at the sight. Too many bad memories are associated with what he’s about to do.

With a deep breath, Tom closes his eyes and clears his mind and wraps a hand around his cock.

The self-loathing hits after the first few moments. It’s strong enough that he falters, wanting to vomit.

But the need for release is stronger than his hatred. He continues on, swallowing down his nausea.

Every moment is like torture. His mind conjuring hateful words about himself, while his body aches with pleasure.

He starts to cry; silent tears pooling in his eyes. It’s too much. The hatred. The disgust and shame.

Just as he’s about to let go and give up, a new thought enters his mind. A smile…

His frenzied mind attaches itself to the thought like a rabid dog. Before he can even comprehend the switch, Tom’s breath is taken away.

There you are, in his mind. Sitting at the edge of his bed, smiling.

He stills immediately, but your smile isn’t mocking. It’s… peaceful.

“Silly boy,” you murmur, in his mind. “What are you so worked up about?”

Tom swallows, shaking. “You,” he whispers.

You laugh, soft and teasing. The sound makes Tom ache.

In his mind, you reach out, fingers feather soft. You grasp his cock, that ever-infuriating smile on your face.

“Silly boy,” you coo. “It’s as easy as this.”

As your imaginary hand glides along his cock, his own hand does the same. Tom whimpers. It feels incredible.

He starts to speed up, panting as your imagined self murmurs encouragements to him.

“That’s it,” you whisper to him. “That’s my good boy.”

“Your good boy,” he repeats, breathless.

You laugh again, your voice so achingly soft. And Tom cums so hard his ears ring.

He hunches over, gasping for breath. You’re gone now. His thoughts flit around aimlessly. What had just happened?

He lies back, gazing up at the ceiling in shock. He’d just— You’d— You.

He’s made a mess of his pants and bedsheets. But this time, the shame and self-hatred are overshadowed by a sudden rush of annoyance.

Of course it would be you. You, with your smile and laughter. You, who he cannot rid from his brain as much as he tries.

You.

He cleans himself up, too busy plotting how he can get his revenge to feel ashamed at the mess.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle smut #reader is from an unspecified hogwarts house #please don’t be mean to me over this #divider by cafekitsune

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goblinontour · 4 days ago

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Sting

he can’t always be the man

warnings: sub!alex, smut, anal fingering (m receiving), handjob, piv, overstimulation, subspace, crying, two slaps

word count: 6.5k

He’d watched you slide out of the taxi first, caught the way you shifted your weight as you stood. It was then that he saw it: the faint, almost imperceptible tear at the side of your left thigh, just above your knee. You hadn’t noticed. He could tell that by the easy way you moved, so blissfully unaware of that tiny betrayal of fabric. But he noticed. And all night, that threadbare little mark was all he could look at, all he could think about, as you both moved through the evening like actors on an unwritten stage.

It was funny, really — the way something so small could hold such power over him. That barely-there hole in your tights became a quiet obsession in that small amount of time, a tug at the edge of his mind every time his gaze wandered in your direction. There were moments when his attention should have been elsewhere, on the faces you both half-smiled at, the clinking glasses, the fractured conversations weaving around you both. But he’d find himself drawn back to that tear, imagining his fingertips grazing over the rough edge, feeling the vulnerability of the fabric giving way to your skin beneath it.

Now, the two of you sat side by side in the back seat of another taxi, heading home, silent and suspended in the soft yellow glow of passing streetlights. You were close enough that he could smell the faint trace of your perfume — something sweet and lingering, fading as the night wore on. He thought about reaching over, his hand brushing just above your knee, where that rip teased him from beneath the hem of your coat. Maybe if he let his hand rest there for a moment, his fingers could wander to that tiny flaw, catching on the nylon and teasing it wider. But there was still time on the clock, a stretch of ten more minutes that felt impossibly long with the weight of that simple, forbidden urge pressing at him.

He almost laughed at himself. All this over a barely-there tear in your tights, a glimpse of skin. But it was more than that. It was what it suggested — a chance to touch something you didn’t even know he was looking at, to reach into that intimate, secret place where you’d let something small and imperfect slip through the cracks. It was everything unspoken between you, condensed into a stray thread he couldn’t bring himself to ignore.

The traffic slowed, the taxi lurching to a soft halt at a red light. He thought about reaching over, again. Just for a second, just to feel the roughened edge beneath his fingertips, to let his touch travel that forbidden path. But he didn’t. Not yet.

The leather seat beneath you groaned as he shifted closer, and he settled his head on your shoulder, pressing his cheek into you with a softness that felt almost vulnerable. Usually, it was your head that found its way to his shoulder — your quiet way of grounding him when words felt thin and hollow. But now it was him, nestling into you, like he wanted to bury himself in the warmth of your skin and hide there for a little while, away from everything that wasn’t the two of you in this dark, intimate slice of the night.

The driver might as well have been invisible, a shadow behind the wheel, guiding you both through empty streets that blurred under the passing streetlights. He didn’t matter. None of it did. There was only the warmth between you, the quiet hum of the engine, and the sound of his breath shifting against your coat.

“You okay, baby?” you asked, tilting your head to look down at him, breaking the silence as your fingers grazed his cheek. His leather jacket made a soft, almost comical squeak as he adjusted his weight, a reminder of how close he was, how each tiny movement stirred up a new layer of something between you.

“Huh?” He looked up, eyes a little dazed, as if pulled from some hidden place you couldn’t quite see. “I think so, yeah…yeah.”

You brushed your knuckles softly over his cheek, tracing the edge of his jaw in a way that made his eyes close, just briefly. “You sure? You seem off.” You kept your voice low, gentle.

He nestled in closer, his breath fanning against your neck, hot and unsteady. You felt the faint prickle of his gelled hair against your skin, an imperfect contrast to the softness of his breathing. And God, you’d love to feel it beneath your fingers, feel that wildness just barely tamed, slipping through your hands. If he’d only let you.

“Mhm…just-” He let his words fall off as he shifted, letting his thigh rest over yours, claiming this one small corner of you like it was the only thing anchoring him. It was the only other touch he’d allow himself for now, each beat of restraint coiling tighter within him. Waiting for you, maybe, to make it easier, to let him know it was okay to want more, to ask for more.

His hand was warm against your thigh, barely touching, and yet the weight of it — of him, folded into you like this — felt heavy with meaning. There was a certain unspoken desperation in that one small touch, like he’d already mapped out a hundred ways he wanted to hold you tonight, but for now, he was letting himself settle for this.

“Need ya tonight…” he murmured, his voice rough and frayed around the edges, as if he’d given up trying to hold back that lingering ache.

“We’re almost home, baby.” you replied, reassuring, your hand squeezing his thigh just enough to send a shiver through him. You felt him flinch beneath your touch, as though the gentle pressure was too much, too close to that quiet place he hadn’t let himself fully feel until now.

“No, I mean-” he stammered, pulling back just slightly, his eyes searching yours, almost asking you to see through him, past whatever words he couldn’t quite put together.

“I know.” You met his gaze, a knowing softness threading through your voice, and he felt it — felt the quiet promise there, the warmth and understanding that made the rest of the world fall away.

The rest of the ride had blurred by, or maybe he’d just let it blur. Everything outside the taxi faded into smears of city lights and shadows, indistinct and irrelevant. All he knew was the steady heat of your body next to him, the quiet ache of waiting. He’d given in, let himself go bare before you, peeled down to something raw and vulnerable. And now, with nothing else to hold onto, his mind was flooded, full to bursting and yet strangely still. Full of everything and nothing at all, because deep down he knew you’d take him somewhere he couldn’t get to alone. It had already begun.

The bedroom felt thick with anticipation, a quiet heat hanging in the air as he lay back, watching you in the dim light, his eyes drinking in every detail. His jacket lay discarded somewhere near the door, his shirt forgotten as his gaze followed you, taking in the languid way you undressed, unhurried, as if savouring every slow step you took. He swallowed hard, his fingers digging slightly into the sheets at his sides. His skin was already warm from the friction of the night, but there were places on the bed that still felt cold, sharp against his exposed skin, leaving him caught somewhere between comfort and a need that he could barely keep in check.

You stood at the foot of the bed, one hand on your hip, and he noticed again the tear in your tights. His mind buzzed, catching his eye all over again, making his fingers itch with the thought of tracing it. He imagined running his hand along that faint thread, felt the desire to pull it just a bit, to tease it further, to see the fabric stretch and fray. But his thoughts were cut off when he heard his own voice, unexpectedly soft, yet steady.

“Keep your tights on.” he murmured, his voice carrying a dark edge, almost a plea wrapped in a command. The words slipped out before he even had time to think them over, but once he said them, he felt their weight settle over both of you. He saw the way your lips curved slightly in response, a faint glint of mischief sparking in your eyes. His pulse quickened. Saying it aloud made it real, solid, something that could no longer stay confined to his imagination.

You looked at him, holding his gaze for a moment, reading into everything that lay beneath his words, and then you simply nodded, accepting his request with a calm that sent a shiver through him. In that moment, he felt completely exposed, as though with just those four words, he had laid himself bare before you, more than when he’d let himself lay naked on the bed, letting you see the hidden edges of his want.

Without breaking eye contact, you reached behind yourself, unclasping your bra with a smooth motion, letting it fall from your shoulders, the last piece of you — save for those tights — slipping away. He watched, transfixed, feeling a rush of warmth flood his chest. Every movement you made felt deliberate, a kind of unspoken answer to his request, and it only deepened his sense of surrender.

“Don’t speak, okay?” you said, your voice calm but firm, a hint of authority cutting through the intimacy, leaving no room for protest. He caught the way you looked at him, a subtle edge to your gaze, like you were testing his ability to give in completely, to hand over control and let you guide him through this fragile, electric space between you.

He swallowed, his throat dry, and managed a small nod. “Understood.” he whispered, though he could barely hold onto his composure, his voice rough and unsteady, quiet but obedient, already thinning as he let himself submit. He watched you carefully as you climbed onto the bed, your knees pressing into the mattress, your fingers curling over the edge of the bottle of lubricant you’d set down beside him. So close, mere inches from his hand, a silent promise lying between the two of you, but it almost felt like a threat. You hadn’t moved closer, hadn’t yet reached for him, and he felt the tension coil tightly within him, a reminder that he was yours to shape, to hold, to let unravel at your pace.

“Keep your legs down.” you instructed. He felt the weight of the request, the way each word hung over him, and he shifted slightly, pressing his legs into the bed, though every instinct in him wanted to reach out, to pull you closer. The fabric was still warm beneath him, but the cool spots pressed into his skin in sharp contrast, heightening every sensation. He had to fight the urge to reach for you, to pull you down into him, but he resisted, holding himself still, waiting for your touch, for the weight of you to pin him down and erase whatever small amount of control he still had left.

When you settled over him, pressing his thighs down into the bed, a soft sound slipped from him, a breathless half-whimper, caught somewhere between complaint and surrender, involuntary, as your weight pinned his thighs to the bed. He hadn’t realised just how much he wanted that feeling, the quiet restraint of your presence holding him down, in a way he hadn’t felt before. His body was taut beneath you, every nerve alight, the warmth of you so close yet just out of reach, and he couldn’t suppress a breathless murmur. “The bed is cold.” he whispered, an apology almost hidden in his tone.

But you were quick to answer, your gaze sharp and knowing as you pressed your hands firmly against his chest, each palm splayed across the skin of each pec, feeling the way his chest rose and fell under your touch. “What did I say?” you replied, a soft warning lacing your tone, and he felt a flicker of heat shoot through him at the way you held him there.

“Sorry.” he mumbled, his voice barely audible, his lips already pressing tightly shut in response, knowing he’d stepped over some invisible line. He could feel the heat of his own breath on his lips, his heartbeat loud in his ears as he forced himself back into silence. But the apology lingered in the air between you, and he couldn’t help the faint flush that coloured his cheeks as you watched him, studying the way he fought to hold himself back, tinged with exhaustion, and you could see the way he waited, his mouth tense, like he needed to keep himself from asking for something, even now.

You let out a quiet, disapproving tsk, lifting a single finger and pressing it softly to his lips, letting him feel that faint touch — a gentle warning, a reminder. He fell still beneath your touch, exhaling slowly, and he could feel his entire body reacting to that simple, delicate contact. His eyes held yours, and he let himself sink into the warmth of your approval as you murmured, “Good.”

He could feel himself giving in more fully, the restlessness of the evening settling into something deeper, more focused. His lips stayed pressed together, His lips stayed pressed together, and his eyes, though tired, held onto that flicker of trust, of surrender. You leaned in close, the heat of your breath soft against his skin, your voice dropping into that low, intimate tone that made his pulse race all over again.

“Now touch yourself.” you said, each word quiet and unwavering, but carrying a weight that sent a thrill straight through him. He looked at you, his chest rising and falling beneath your hands, and felt the final threads of his restraint slipping.

And with a steadying breath, he obeyed. His hand moved instinctively, reaching for his cock, the heat in him unfurling, restless, urgent. But before he could even make contact, your hand closed around his wrist. He froze, the moment breaking into fragments as he looked up at you, confusion flashing in his eyes.

“What?” he breathed, his voice sharp with impatience, edged with a faint sting of frustration. His mind, so caught in the hazy tension between surrender and need, barely registered what was happening. He was desperate to move, to feel, to give in fully, and the sudden stop had sent a jolt of longing through him, an ache that was both maddening and addictive.

Your response was wordless at first – a swift, deliberate slap across his cheek, the sting blossoming hot and fast against his skin, leaving him momentarily stunned. He felt the air catch in his throat, almost choking on the breath he’d tried to suck in too quickly, his mouth slightly open in surprise. His pulse quickened, the heat pooling deep in his chest, radiating out to his limbs. It wasn’t the pain that surprised him – though he felt it, sharp and electric – it was the calm, steady look in your eyes, a gaze that stripped him down to nothing, made him feel seen in a way that left him dizzy.

And then you leaned in, one hand reaching to gently wipe the single tear that had slipped from his eye. “You look so pretty…” you murmured, and the words hit him with a force he hadn’t expected, a quiet, undeniable warmth that settled over the sharpness. It was a contrast that left him feeling light-headed, the sting on his cheek mingling with your praise, an impossible mix of tenderness and control that tightened his chest, made him ache for you even more.

He took a shaky breath, meeting your gaze, and in that moment, he understood, saw the glint of something unspoken in your eyes. He let out a small, almost bashful laugh, a release of the tension that had built up within him, as he reached for the bottle of lube resting on the bed. Right, he thought, feeling the subtle shift of power between you, letting it wash over him as he squeezed the bottle onto his fingers.

But as he spread the cool gel over his skin, he realised the texture wasn’t quite right – it wasn’t the one he preferred, the one you both knew he’d reach for given the choice. His brows furrowed slightly as he wondered, Did you do it on purpose? He could feel the subtle difference in each movement, the way it created a faint resistance against his fingers, like another layer of your control, present even in this small, unspoken choice.

You shifted back onto your heels, giving him the space to continue, your presence like a shadow hovering just at the edge of his awareness, watching, waiting. He took a slow, steadying breath, positioning himself as he reached down, his hand gliding lower until his fingertips dipped between his legs, cool and slick. His body responded instantly, the anticipation rippling through him as he traced small circles, rubbing, spreading it across his skin in a way that made every nerve hum with awareness.

One knee twitched, almost lifting from the bed, but he fought to keep it down, his breaths coming faster now, deeper, as he gave in to the sensations building within him. It felt like he was teetering on the edge of something delicate, something suspended between pleasure and surrender, and he could feel the quiet weight of your gaze as he moaned softly, his voice breaking the silence, a breathy sound filled with longing.

And then, finally, he let his middle finger slip inside, his breath catching at the sudden fullness, the way his body instinctively responded to the touch. “Fuck…” he whispered, the word spilling out almost involuntarily, a soft, desperate sound as he let himself sink deeper into the moment. The pleasure bloomed through him, raw and overwhelming, as he pressed his eyes shut, letting everything fall away except for the sensation, the quiet, intimate presence of you, watching, guiding him in silence.

“Come on, baby, one more.” Your voice was gentle but insistent, a quiet encouragement that washed over him. His eyes opened briefly, his chest rising and falling with the effort as he added another finger, feeling the stretch and burn as he tried to reach deeper, to push himself further, if only for you.

But he couldn’t quite get there – not in the way he craved, not enough to reach the spots that would undo him completely. He realised then, with a flicker of heat low in his belly, that this wasn’t really about his pleasure. It was yours, a kind of performance, one that left him raw and vulnerable under your gaze. And he was okay with that. More than okay – he was desperate to see the way your eyes would darken, the way your lips would part as you watched him lose himself for you. So he kept going, eyes closed, face taut with concentration as he slowly pumped his fingers into himself, taking on the strain, the surrender.

He hadn’t noticed you move closer, so when he felt the wet warmth of your tongue press against the back of his hand, the sensation jarred him, made him shudder. His fingers slipped from their rhythm, and without a thought, he brought his hand up to your mouth, his breath catching as you took them between your lips, your mouth soft and hot around him. It was instinctive, his need for you overtaking any hesitation. He knew you felt his taste, mingled with the faint salt of the lube, as you drew his fingers in deeper, letting your lips seal around his knuckles. He was helpless, caught in the way you took him, slow and deliberate, like each movement was meant to break him down.

His breath hitched, his lips parting in a silent gasp as he watched you, every nerve in his body focused on the feel of your tongue tracing along his skin, running over each line and ridge of his fingers. He felt like he was floating, like he was slipping somewhere beyond himself, his awareness narrowing down to nothing but the way your mouth wrapped around him, the subtle pressure of your teeth, the soft warmth that made his whole body hum. You looked up at him, your eyes holding him in place, and he let out a shuddering exhale, his mouth open, lost in you.

With a slow, torturous pull, you slid his fingers out of your mouth, leaving them wet and gleaming. He felt the air cool against his skin, the slickness of your saliva clinging to him, a reminder of how thoroughly you’d claimed even this small part of him. It was dizzying, the way you took your time, the way you’d turned his own hands into something for your pleasure. He could barely keep himself still, every muscle tense as he waited, watching, his fingers hovering between you both, uncertain but craving whatever came next.

You leaned forward, letting your breath warm his skin before your tongue traced a deliberate line from the base of his cock to the very tip, slow and unhurried. He sucked in a sharp breath, his body tensing, almost lifting off the bed with the shock of sensation. His mind was hazy, so wrapped in everything you’d done, of everything he’d offered to you, that he hadn’t realised how deep his need had grown. But now, the warmth of your mouth, the wet heat of your tongue against him – it was overwhelming.

“Please-” he whimpered, his voice breaking, betraying the raw edge of his desperation. The word slipped out before he could stop it, before he even knew what he was pleading for. He wasn’t sure if he wanted more or if he simply wanted to survive this feeling without completely losing himself.

“Shhh…” you whispered, your hand wrapping around him, squeezing with just enough force to draw a wince and a gasp, a silent reprimand. The pressure was perfect, grounding, and he felt the heat build and swirl under his skin, a pulse of sharp pleasure that bordered on pain. A thought drifted through his mind, foggy and hesitant – when had he become this willing, this eager for a touch that left him burning? Was this what it meant to be a masochist, or was it something different, something that only existed here with you?

You kept your movements precise, measured, not giving him anything too easily, each stroke and touch intentional. Your tongue traced around him, lingering, savouring, and he did everything he could to keep still, to be good, to stay quiet. Every instinct was telling him to reach for you, to move, to take what he craved – but he held himself back, feeling the delicious tension build inside him, letting it spread through his body like a current, leaving him at your mercy.

His murmured pleas faded into soft, unrestrained moans when your fingers moved to where his had been just moments before, pressing against him in a way that left him dizzy. You didn’t hesitate, didn’t pause, pushing inside him with a force that felt almost punishing, each movement deeper than he’d managed on his own. There was no gentleness in the way you claimed him, and he felt every inch of it, the stretch, the sting, the intensity of each thrust as you filled him completely, taking him apart piece by piece.

The roughness of your touch, the way you didn’t hold back, left him bare. Each time your fingers pulled out, he felt a faint burn, a reminder of the stretch, and he braced himself, his body growing more sensitive with each push, each thrust that felt like it reached into the very core of him. He didn’t even know if he could last. The sensations were blurring together, pulling him to the edge with every motion, every murmur and graze of your fingers.

He bit down on his lip, the pain mingling with pleasure as he tried to keep himself steady, his body shaking under your hand. But all he could focus on was you – your hand, your fingers, your mouth – and the way you consumed him, held him there, where everything felt exquisite and too much and exactly what he needed, all at once.

You leaned over him, your breath warm against his cheek, feeling the tension thrumming through his body, taut as a wire about to snap. “You close?” you asked, voice low, laced with that knowing tone that made his pulse race even harder. He didn’t answer, just let out a broken, desperate gasp, his eyes squeezed shut, hands clenched tight into the sheets as if he could keep himself from losing control.

“You gonna come on my fingers, huh?” you coaxed, leaning in closer, your words a soft demand. “Answer me.”

“Yes…so close…” he whispered, his voice strained, his body shifting restlessly beneath you, caught within the desperate need to hold on, just a bit longer, for you. He squirmed in your grip, barely able to handle the intensity, his gaze flickering open for the briefest moment, his eyes glazed with lust, with that pleading look that told you he was right on the edge.

But then you leaned back, withdrawing your fingers suddenly, and he whimpered at the loss, his body still tingling from the stretch and the way you’d left him feeling so completely undone. “I want you to fuck me.” you murmured, your voice leaving no room for question. The words alone made him shiver, his breath hitching, his body throbbing in response to your command.

You moved to straddle him, and his gaze followed every slight shift. He felt your hands slide down to guide him, positioning him exactly where you wanted him, but just as he braced himself for you to sink down, you paused, fingers reaching between your thighs.

In one quick, decisive movement, you gripped the torn edge of your tights and ripped them further, the nylon giving way under your touch with a sound so sharp and final it almost made him wince. The tear spread up your thigh, and he couldn’t help but stare, a faint ache in his chest at the sight. You’d ripped them so fast, so ruthlessly, and a part of him flinched at the cruelty of it. He wouldn’t have done it like that – he would’ve traced his fingers over that little tear, maybe kissed the skin underneath. But the way you’d just torn them open, effortlessly, almost without thought…it felt like you were unravelling him, too, pulling apart every last defence he’d tried to hold onto.

His breath was shallow as you settled over him, the rough edges of the torn tights brushing against his hips, a reminder of your deliberate destruction, your impatience to feel him without anything in the way. His face was a mixture of panic and need, his breathing ragged. “No- please-” he stammered, his voice laced with desperation. “I can’t…I’ll come…” The protest was weak, barely a whisper, and you ignored it, your hands steady, your resolve unwavering as you slowly sank down onto him.

He gasped, his hands reflexively reaching for you as he felt himself surrounded by your heat, his mind slipping further into that place where thought was lost, where all that mattered was the way your body moved against his, the way you took him in so completely, so thoroughly. His eyes were closed again, a futile attempt to control himself, to hold back from tipping over into oblivion. But you weren’t about to let him get away with that.

“Watch.” you ordered, your voice cutting through his haze. “Watch your cock fill me up.”

He opened his eyes, his gaze falling to where your bodies met, to the sight of you taking him in, inch by agonising inch, your body settling over him. He watched, helpless to stop the flood of sensation that swept over him. And the moment your hips stilled, pressing down to take him fully, he could feel the tension break within him, his body jerking beneath you as he lost control.

He shuddered, his hands clutching your waist as he felt himself pulse, the pleasure crashing over him, filling you with each desperate, instinctual thrust. He felt the warmth of his release inside you, the way it flooded between you both, and a soft, ragged moan escaped his lips, his body going slack beneath yours. The moment stretched, suspended between you, his head falling back against the pillow, his eyes barely able to stay open as he looked up at you, his breathing heavy, his mind foggy, blissed out from everything you’d just pulled from him.

You stayed there, letting him come down, letting him feel the weight of you, the heat of you surrounding him still, holding him in place even as his body gave way to exhaustion, the thrill and rawness etched into every part of him. And he couldn’t help but smile, that quiet, blissful smile that only you ever seemed to draw from him, his mind left spinning, his heart pounding as you’d taken him apart.

“Baby…” Your voice was soft, deceptively gentle.

He blinked up at you, his gaze dazed, unfocused, and he mumbled, “I’m- I’m sorry.” his voice trembling, cracking at the edges, his eyes glassy with the threat of tears he was trying to swallow back.

You leaned in close, your breath brushing against his cheek. “I thought you were a man, Alex…” you whispered, sharp and unforgiving. Before he could process it, your hand came down again, another slap across the same cheek, the sting spreading like fire. His skin was flushed, reddening under your touch, but this time, he didn’t react, didn’t even flinch, almost as if he’d been expecting it, bracing himself for whatever you’d give him.

You tilted your head, observing him with a look that was equal parts cruel and possessive, taking in his broken expression, his breath shuddering in his chest. “You’re just a little boy, aren’t you?” you murmured, the words laced with a kind of knowing that broke through whatever restraint he had left.

That did it. You saw the flicker of something in his eyes, the way his lips quivered, and finally, he broke, and when he did, it was quiet – a soft, ragged sob that slipped out before he could hold it back. It seemed to come from somewhere deep, a release he hadn’t let himself feel until this very moment. His chest heaved, and a single tear escaped, trailing slowly down his cheek, disappearing into the fabric beneath him. You’d led him here, piece by piece.

“You think you can make me come now?” you murmured, your voice low, challenging, a question that wasn’t really a question at all. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t, and you knew that. You’d already decided – you were in control now, and he had no say, no power left but to surrender to the rhythm you set.

Slowly, you began to move, so subtly he might not have felt it at all. Or maybe he was feeling everything too intensely, his senses overloaded, his body so sensitised that it bordered on numbness. Maybe he’d finally floated somewhere beyond sensation, beyond thought, until there was nothing left but you. Each gentle lift of your hips, every subtle press as you sank back down, was like a tide pulling him deeper. You could feel him, spent but still so sensitive, as your bodies met again and again.

A faint wetness slicked between your thighs, a reminder of his release, of the way he’d given himself up to you. You knew how he normally felt about things like this – the mess, the stickiness, the tangibility of it all. Usually, he’d flinch, squirm, his brows knitting with discomfort if anything lingered too long, if it wasn’t kept neat. But tonight, he didn’t care. He was too far gone, too blissfully adrift to mind. And maybe that was what made it so exquisite, that he’d given even that up, abandoned every control, every wall he’d usually keep so carefully constructed.

He tried to make a sound, his mouth falling open, lips parting, but nothing came out. His breath was shallow, his body pliant under yours, and for once, you didn’t watch him. You leaned forward, letting your lips brush the curve of his neck, tasting the salt of his skin as you pressed soft kisses there, each one a silent promise that you’d guide him back when it was time. But for now, he was good, perfectly, beautifully lost.

With a deep breath, you quickened your pace, the friction building as you moved against him, your own body beginning to crest toward release. He was your anchor and your audience, and as you chased that final, intoxicating high, you could feel the way his body responded to every slight movement, even in this undone state, holding onto each moment, letting himself be taken, without question, without resistance.

The wave of pleasure came slow and steady, sweeping through you, filling the space between you both, a shared warmth that seemed to hold him there as much as it held you. You stayed that way, still connected, feeling him breathe, your own heartbeat slowing as you brought him back, brought yourself back, from the edge you’d gone to together. You felt it, the unexpected pulse, his body giving in to another orgasm that caught him off guard, his expression empty yet vulnerable, completely still under you. His skin felt warm, flushed, somewhere unreachable.

You leaned in close, pressing a soft whisper to his neck. “Hey.” you murmured, voice gentle as you began placing slow, feather-light kisses from his neck, tracing a path up to his cheek, feeling the dampness where his skin was still wet.

As you kissed along his face, down to his eyelashes that glistened with those unshed tears, you saw him begin to come back, bit by bit, returning from the quiet. You shifted, letting your body relax fully on top of his, feeling your weight settle over him as he slipped out of you. You felt your warmth on his lower belly, a reminder of how close you’d been, how deeply entwined you were. And slowly, you sensed his awareness returning, his chest beginning to tremble beneath yours, small shudders building until he drew a sharp, desperate gasp, as if finally realising he needed to breathe again.

You moved instinctively, your hands gentle but firm, one reaching up to tangle in his hair, carefully breaking apart the strands still stiff from gel, while the other traced down the length of his arm. With each stroke, you felt him soften, his defences lowering, until he reached out, wrapping his arms around you with a fierce urgency. His grip was tight, holding you so close it was as though he wanted to fuse your bodies together, as if letting go even slightly would unravel everything you’d shared. He held on until there was barely room to breathe, both of your chests pressed so tightly together that neither of you could take a full breath, but neither of you cared.

He needed this closeness, needed you fully in his embrace, his hands pressing into your back, fingertips digging in just enough to ground him in the reality of your touch. His breathing was erratic, his body warm and trembling, and you could feel his heartbeat beneath yours, the soft, wild thud of it syncing with your own. And you simply stayed there, held within his grip, breathing in unison, letting him feel every inch of you, every quiet promise that you wouldn’t go, that you’d stay right here as long as he needed.

Your fingers traced slow circles into his scalp, soothing, gentle, coaxing him back to a place of calm, and as you felt his breathing begin to steady, he buried his face into your neck, nuzzling closer, his lips brushing faintly against your skin. The silence wrapped around you both, thick and comforting, and you knew that even without words, he understood.

He stayed silent for a long moment, his arms still locked around you. You felt each shaky breath he took, felt his heartbeat slow but still rapid beneath your cheek as you stayed pressed against his chest. Finally, his voice broke the quiet, soft and almost shy.

“Thank you…” he whispered, his voice trembling, barely more than a breath against your skin. His fingers loosened slightly, tracing gentle lines down your back. “You…I don’t know how you do this to me.”

You lifted your head just enough to meet his gaze, your hand cradling his cheek, brushing a stray tear with your thumb. “It’s okay.” you murmured, keeping your voice soft, soothing. “Just let yourself feel it.”

A fresh tear slipped down his cheek, and he turned his face into your hand, his lips brushing your palm in a quiet, grateful kiss. “I’ve never…” he started, but his voice broke off. “Never felt this…open.”

You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the raw emotion that he rarely let anyone else see. Gently, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, then to his lips, delicate and tender. His hand found yours, fingers interlocking as he held on.

“Don’t worry about words.” you said quietly. “Just let me take care of you.”

He nodded, his gaze softening as he took a shaky breath, and you carefully extricated yourself from his hold, moving slowly, not wanting to break the moment. He watched you with a kind of reverence, still lying back, and as you moved off the bed, he kept his eyes on you, silently following every movement, as if he needed that reassurance.

You reached for a warm, damp cloth, returning to sit beside him, gently urging him to relax back onto the pillow. He flinched slightly as the cloth made contact, his body still oversensitized, every gentle press of fabric sending ripples of sensation over his skin.

“Shhh…” you whispered. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

He swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling as he tried to relax under your touch, his gaze following the slow, careful movements as you gently cleaned him, wiping away every trace of what you’d shared. You could see the gratitude in his eyes, the way he’d gone soft.

He let out a shaky breath, his hand finding yours once more, squeezing. “I’m…I’m here.” he whispered, as if saying it aloud would help him believe it.

You leaned down, brushing a soft kiss to his hand. “I know.” you replied, your voice a warm promise. “I’m right here with you.”

a/n: based on some requests, I cba to find them all now but maybe you know which ones I mean. I think I like how it turned out

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #smut #sub!alex #goblinontour

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sexsylexi · 2 months ago

Text

Better late than never

Wally West x reader

It was very likely for him to forget. Wally West had a lot on his plate – superhero duties, training with the Team, and his never-ending thirst for adventure. But when it came to you, you always came first. You were his anchor, his calm in the midst of chaos. Which is why, when he promised to take you out for your anniversary, he swore he wouldn’t be late. Again.

You waited at the restaurant, dressed in your best. The evening light cast soft shadows through the window, and you tapped your fingers against the table, trying to stay calm. Ten minutes turned into twenty, then thirty, and the tiny pinpricks of disappointment began to grow. The server passed by, offering a sympathetic smile that only made things worse. By the time an hour had gone by, you were done.

He was late. Again. Your chest tightened as you gathered your things, leaving a note for the server to send Wally your way when he finally showed up – if he ever did. You could feel the sting of tears in your eyes, but you blinked them away. You were not going to cry over this. Not again.

Wally felt the wind whip past his ears as he ran, each step pounding with urgency. He was late. He knew he was late. And this time, it wasn’t just a few minutes. He skidded to a stop outside the restaurant, breathless but hopeful. But the moment he stepped inside, his heart sank. You weren’t there.

He looked around frantically, searching for your familiar face, but all he found was an empty chair, an untouched glass of water, and a note left with the server. He grabbed it, barely able to focus on the words:

“Went back to my parents' house. I’m done waiting, Wally.”

The words cut deeper than any villain's blow. He cursed under his breath, blaming the latest mission for keeping him so long, but he knew that was only part of it. He always thought he had more time, that he could make it up to you somehow. But time wasn’t something he could race against forever.

Without another thought, he sped off, heading straight for your parents' house. The flowers he had picked up along the way were still clutched tightly in his hand, a small bouquet of wildflowers – your favorite. He could only hope he wasn’t too late.

---

You sat on the porch of your parents’ house, a cup of tea cooling in your hands as you stared out into the fading sunset. The sound of crickets filled the air, but your mind was elsewhere. You felt a familiar ache in your chest, one that came from loving someone who was always just out of reach.

Your mother had offered kind words, telling you that Wally was a good man and that he loved you, but right now, it didn’t feel like enough. You knew Wally’s heart was in the right place. But sometimes, love wasn’t enough to hold on to when you felt like you were always the second choice.

Just as you were about to head inside, a gust of wind blew past you, and there he was – Wally, looking slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed, and a hopeful expression in his eyes. He held a small bouquet of wildflowers in his hands, slightly crushed from his speed but still beautiful.

“Y/N,” he panted, trying to catch his breath. “I…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You stared at him, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. “You’re late,” you said simply, not bothering to hide the disappointment in your voice.

“I know, I know,” he pleaded, taking a step closer, “I tried to make it on time, I swear. But there was a mission and–”

“There’s always a mission, Wally!” you interrupted, the frustration boiling over. “There’s always something that keeps you away. And I understand that you’re a hero, I really do, but…when does it end? When do I get to come first?”

His face fell, and for a moment, you almost felt sorry for him. But then he knelt down, holding out the flowers with a sincerity that made your heart ache. “I don’t know when it ends,” he said quietly, his green eyes filled with regret. “But I know I want you to be the first, always. I’m just…still figuring out how to balance everything.”

You sighed, the anger and hurt still fresh, but the sight of him looking so vulnerable, so earnest, softened you. “It’s not that I don’t understand, Wally. It’s that I’m tired of feeling like I’m always waiting.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I know. And you shouldn’t have to wait. I don’t want you to wait.” He held the flowers out a little further. “I got these for you. I know they’re just flowers, and I know they don’t make up for me being late, but…they’re your favorites.”

You looked at the flowers, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “They’re a little crushed,” you teased.

He laughed, a nervous, relieved sound. “Yeah, well, I was in a bit of a rush.”

You took the flowers from his hand, feeling the soft petals under your fingers. “You always are.”

He reached out, gently taking your hand in his. “I promise I’ll do better. I want to do better. Not just for you, but for us.”

You met his eyes, searching for any sign that he didn’t mean it, but all you saw was the boy you had fallen in love with – the boy who always wanted to do the right thing, even when he messed up. And maybe that was enough for now.

“Alright,” you said softly. “But this is your last chance, Wally. I mean it.”

His face broke into a grin, and he pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in your hair. “I promise, Y/N. I won’t let you down.”

You leaned into his embrace, letting out a sigh. “You better not,” you murmured, closing your eyes as the familiar warmth of his arms wrapped around you.

After a moment, he pulled back just enough to look at you, a playful glint in his eyes. “So, how about we go celebrate our anniversary? I know I’m late, but…better late than never, right?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his persistence. “Alright, speedster. But this time, no more running off. Deal?”

“Deal,” he agreed, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

And as you stood there, under the soft glow of the porch light with Wally by your side, you realized that maybe some things were worth waiting for – especially when they came with flowers, a sincere apology, and a boy who was always trying his best to keep up with you.

The evening had cooled as Wally and you walked side by side through your parents' neighbourhood. The wildflowers were tucked safely in your hand, a gentle reminder of the bond you shared with Wally despite his lateness.

“Where are we headed?” you asked, trying to shift the mood back to a more positive note.

Wally’s eyes lit up. “I figured we could go somewhere that’s special to us. Remember that little ice cream parlor we used to go to? The one with the blue roof and the old-fashioned jukebox?”

You smiled at the memory. “Of course. I haven’t been there in ages. Are you sure it’s still open?”

“Only one way to find out,” he said with a grin. “Come on.”

As you walked together, the silence between you was comfortable, not strained. Wally’s hand brushed against yours, and you let him hold it. The familiar warmth of his touch was soothing, and despite the earlier disappointment, you felt a spark of excitement.

The ice cream parlor came into view, its quaint charm still intact. The blue roof was faded but welcoming, and the flickering neon sign promised a scoop of nostalgia. Wally held the door open for you, a gesture that felt both familiar and reassuring.

Inside, the smell of waffle cones and vanilla greeted you like an old friend. The parlor was as you remembered it: cozy booths, a small counter with a glass display filled with colorful flavors, and the jukebox playing softly in the corner.

You slid into a booth, and Wally joined you, slipping into the opposite side with a playful grin. “So, what’s your flavor tonight? I’m thinking of going wild and ordering the triple chocolate chip.”

You laughed. “Sounds about right. I think I’ll go for something more classic—mint chocolate chip.”

Wally waved to the server, who greeted him with a friendly smile. “Two scoops of mint chocolate chip and one of triple chocolate chip, please.”

As the server went to get your order, Wally leaned back in the booth, his eyes locked on yours. “You know, I was thinking. If I’d been on time, I would have taken you to that fancy restaurant downtown. But honestly, this feels right. This is us.”

You looked around the parlor, taking in its nostalgic charm. “It does feel right. Sometimes it’s not about the fancy places but about the simple moments we share.”

Wally’s smile softened. “I’m really sorry I messed up tonight. I never want to take these moments for granted.”

Before you could respond, the server returned with your ice cream. Wally immediately dove into his triple chocolate chip with gusto. You took your first bite of the mint chocolate chip and closed your eyes, savoring the taste.

“I’ve missed this,” you said, looking at Wally. “And not just the ice cream. I’ve missed us.”

He nodded, his expression serious but tender. “Me too. I’ve been so focused on trying to keep up with everything that I forgot to slow down and appreciate what I have. I don’t want to make that mistake again.”

You reached across the table, placing your hand over his. “We just have to find a balance. I know it’s not easy, but I believe we can make it work.”

Wally’s eyes softened with gratitude. “I’m going to do my best. For us. I promise.”

The rest of the evening passed with lighthearted chatter and laughter. You both indulged in more ice cream than was probably wise, but it didn’t matter. The joy of being together again, of sharing simple pleasures, made everything else fade into the background.

When you finally stepped outside, the night air was crisp, and the stars shone brightly above. Wally walked you back to your parents’ house, his arm around your shoulders, his warmth comforting.

At the doorstep, he paused and took a deep breath, looking at you with an expression of hope and sincerity. “Y/N, I know I’m not perfect. I know I mess up sometimes. But I’m willing to work on it, to be better. Because you’re worth it.”

You smiled, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. “And you’re worth it too, Wally. We just have to keep reminding each other of that.”

He leaned in and kissed you softly, his lips warm and reassuring against yours. “Happy anniversary, Y/N.”

You pulled back, looking up at him with a smile. “Happy anniversary, Wally.”

As you pushed the door open and stepped inside, you felt a renewed sense of hope. The challenges of your relationship were far from over, but for tonight, you allowed yourself to enjoy the peace and happiness that came with simply being together.

#imagine #x reader #dc #dc comics #dc universe #fluff #x you fluff #young justice #wally west #wally west x reader #wallace west #kid flash

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