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baby-yongbok · 6 days ago

Text

Simp

Hwang Hyunjin x Afab!Reader

✦ Genre - Smut [MDNI] - Friends to Lovers

✦ Word Count - 3.5k

✦ Summary - What started as a new tattoo and playful teasing unravels into breathless confessions and desperate touches. All because of a haircut. ✦ CW - amateur tattooing (please get inked safely), dry humping ✦A/N - I'm late to the 'blonde buzzcut Hyunjin' fic party ... please accept this as an offering. No but seriously, I meant to post this weeks ago...

✦ Masterlist✦

“Are we seriously doing this?” There's a moment of silence and you giggle. “Hyunjin, seriously?”

Your best friend turns to you, his face lit up with a mischievous grin, the newly purchased cheap tattoo gun gleaming in his hand.

“Yeah, we're doing this. Unless you secretly hate me and don't want a reminder of our friendship etched onto your skin for eternity,” He teases, feigning disappointment with a dramatic sigh as he settles onto the stool behind you

You roll your eyes with playful exasperation, leaning over the small sink of his modest bathroom and catch his eye in the mirror.

“Shut up, don't fuck it up.” You retort, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. He chuckles, gently pushing your shorts up a bit to reveal the bare skin of your thigh to get a better look at the spot you want the ink to go.

“On your upper thigh, right?” He confirms, his voice steady and focused. You hum in agreement, watching him carefully through the mirror

“Gonna need…” He murmurs, his voice a mix of mischief and focus as he slips two fingers into the diamond of your fishnets, carefully ripping a hole. “More space. That should do it.”

“Hyunjin! What the hell.” You gasp, a mix of annoyance and amusement in your tone as you kick your foot back at him. “I just bought these.”

“They would've gotten ripped in a week anyway, don't cry about it, baby. Bend over,” He coaxes, a playful glint in his eyes. You roll your eyes with a reluctant smile but comply. “Now stay still.”

He slips on some gloves, his fingers brushing against your skin for just a second before he turns on the gun, and dips it into the black ink. Hyunjin has drawn portraits of you, painted your body, and adorned your skin with beautiful temporary prints for months, but this is different. This is forever.

Hyunjin positions himself, his gaze meeting yours through the mirror, a silent exchange of trust before he begins. The pen touches your skin, and you inhale sharply at the sharp sting of the needle, a thrill running down your spine.

“Fuck.” You hiss and Hyunjin chuckles.

“Feels good doesn't it? Fucking freak.” He taunts in a low concentrated tone as he moves the pen over your skin.

You bite back a smile, refusing to admit he's right, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you close your eyes, trying to keep as still as possible as the minutes roll by.

“It's almost done,” Hyunjin murmurs, dipping the needle in more ink. “I think this is becoming my favorite pastime.”

“Yeah? Gonna be a tattoo artist now? Quit your day job at Arby's?” You tease and Hyunjin laughs, pulling the pen away before it touches your skin again, his head thrown back in amusement.

“Oh, fuck you.” He chuckles, smiling so wide his eyes turn into glimmering crescents. “I don't want to be a tattoo artist. I just like tattooing you.”

He returns the pen to your skin, and you take a steadying breath.

“Why me?” You watch him through the mirror.

“I enjoy seeing my art on you. Hearing your breath catch under the needle. You know, typical best friend stuff.”

“Simp.” He lays a playful smack on your ass. “Rude” You scoff.

“I'm a simp because I call my best friend pretty?” He wipes away the excess ink. “Isn't that something you should like?”

“Nuh uh,” You hum, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “You're a simp because you want me so much it almost hurts, doesn't it?”

Hyunjin chuckles, turning off the tattoo gun.

“Oh yes, I want my hand down your pants right now.” He mocks, spraying the area with saline and wiping it. “Look at it.”

You chuckle and stand straight. He watches as you turn to the side, rising on your tiptoes to admire the ink.

“Okay, that's beautiful.” You admit, studying the fine line rose tattoo. It's simple, a bit messy, and absolutely perfect. “I want another one.”

“Are you getting off on this?” He raises a playful eyebrow from where he's seated and you push his shoulder.

“Whatever… Let me give you one now. The same rose.” His eyebrow raise turns from playful to questioning.

“I'm not so sure about that.” You scoff and step closer to him while he’s distracted with cleaning up all that he used. You run your hand over his fresh blonde cut, aggressively grazing the pads of your fingers along his scalp.

“Let me, c’mon. It can be the way you pay me back for chopping off all of your hair last night and not calling me.” You obnoxiously run your fingers over his scalp and he groans.

“It’s called a surprise, if you hate it just tell me.” He sets the tattoo gun aside and turns to look up at you. “Am I ugly or something?”

“Yup, sure are.” You tease and he feigns offense. “You look like a kiwi. A sour kiwi who doesn’t call their best friend when they make drastic changes.” Hyunjin groans and turns his body to face you.

“You are more dramatic than me at this point. I’m sorry, okay? Okay?” He pokes your side, grabbing your hip and tickling you. You gasp a laugh and try to escape but his grip is too strong.

“Nope, nah, can’t run away.” He pulls you closer, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Tell me that you love my haircut.”

You squeal a laugh, fighting against him but he has the upper hand even as he sits on the stool in front of you. “I hate it, it’s ugly!” He laughs when you do, knowing that your insults are baseless. He continues his assault, arguing with you until you concede.

“Fine! It’s nice, it’s hot. You’re hot!” He stops, laughing a bit as you give in, but something shifts.

“Simp.” He teases, pulling you into his lap to sit down and catch your breath. He wraps his arm around your waist, panting a bit himself. Your words settle in his mind. He replays it a couple times per second, trying to decipher if you said it just to get him to stop or if there’s something more to it.

He could be reaching too far. He could be looking too deeply, but something is telling him that he’s not. “Do you mean that?”

The now soft tone of his voice catches you more than the question does. “Huh?” Your gazes meet and you blink at him, caught off guard. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he asks again, slower this time.

“Do you mean that? Do you think I’m hot?” Hyunjin’s curious gaze has you locked, feeling almost pinned or exposed by the question. Your mind kicks into high gear, trying to figure out why that matters to him.

“Why are you asking me that? I compliment you all the time.”

“You never call me hot. Never.”

His tone is soft but firm and there’s something about the way he says it, like he’s realizing something in real time. He licks over his lips again as his eyes search yours with that look. You know that look. It’s the same one he gives when he’s figured something out.

“Is that a big deal?” You feign nonchalance and shrug but Hyunjin can see right through you. He’s known you for too long, studied your every expression and move. He can see through the act.

“The haircut looks good… that’s all.”

“Don’t play coy.” His voice drops, softer now, and the shift is instant. His gaze is intense, unwavering, so you look away - but he won’t let you. His thumb presses gently against your chin, guiding your gaze back to his.

“You’re delusional.” You joke, forcing out a dry chuckle. But Hyunjin only smiles. “You’re my friend and yeah, you’re hot. You think I’m hot too.”

“I do,” He agrees easily “But that’s hardly friendly. You just haven’t noticed it yet.” There’s a pause, The air shifts into something thick and heavy and for a moment neither of you say a word. You share a gaze, trying to detect any discomfort or dishonesty. Regret or hesitation, anything.

“Fuck you,” Your voice is softer now, uncertain. “Don’t fuck around like that.”

“I’m not fucking around, baby.”

That nickname shouldn’t do anything - it never has before - or maybe that’s a lie. Maybe you’ve gotten good at controlling the way it makes you feel when it slips from his lips like he made the word just for you. Like you’re the only person who comes to mind when he puts the letters together in his head. You’re not supposed to feel anything but this time, it sends a shiver down your spine. You can’t stop it.

His fingers flex slightly on your thigh, the warmth of his touch making your inhale stutter. “How do you mean it?” His voice is impossibly low now, but somehow not a whisper. “Do you mean that I’m hot in a friendly way?”

“I just mean it.” He tsks, tilting his head with a small smile.

“That is not an answer.” His thumb starts tracing slow, lazy circles into your thigh and it’s almost distracting enough to make you forget to hold your guard. Almost.

“You can either give me an answer,” He murmurs, “or I can test my theory… you pick.”

You meet his eyes again - really meet them - and for the first time, his gaze isn’t sharp, it isn’t teasing. It’s soft, searching, like he’s waiting for you to show yourself to him. Waiting for you to give him something. Something real.

It’s genuine. It’s Hyunjin.

“What’s your theory?”

Hyunjin inhales slowly, like he’s choosing his next words carefully. His gaze doesn’t waver. “My theory is that you mean it in more than a friendly way.” His tone is sure, confident. “Cause if you didn’t, you would’ve gotten up and left. You would’ve hit me, you would’ve teased me, you would do something to prove me wrong, but you didn’t.”

His fingers dig into the skin of your thigh just a bit. “You’re still here, sitting on my lap and I think…”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his eyes flicker to yours - just for a second, but long enough that you feel the heat of his attention. “I think that if I kissed you right now, you’d let me. I think that you’d want me to… because you do think I’m hot in the same way that I find you hot.”

You don’t move. You don’t speak.

Because he’s right.

Hyunjin takes his time as he reaches for you, fingers catching your chin between his thumb and pointer, keeping you still. His eyes are searching yours, he’s gauging your reaction as he gets closer, reading every tiny shift.

The space between you disappears slowly, intentionally. The only sound in the room is the uneven rhythm of your breaths mixing with his own.

And for a brief moment, he thinks about how perfect you sound together. You always have.

“So…” He whispers, voice trailing off as his lips hover just inches from yours. You sigh softly, and his eyes flicker down to catch the way your breath fans over his lips. “Can I kiss you?”

It’s still. Silent.

He doesn’t take it back. Doesn’t rush you. He waits - waits for you like this moment is worth everything. And then, finally, he hears it - your breath hitching, your lips parting just slightly before you give him an answer.

“Please kiss me.”

Hyunjin exhales sharply, his breath catching in his chest. And then he smiles - just barely, just enough to make you think he’s being smug. But in reality, he’s relieved.

“Thank god.”

The words barely leave his lips before he closes the gap, pressing into you with a tenderness you didn’t expect. His lips move against yours slowly, deliberately, like he’s been waiting for this - savoring it, memorizing it.

And the truth is, he has.

Hyunjin hums against your lips, the sound vibrating between you, sending a shiver down your spine. The hand that had been drawing soothing circles on your thigh is no longer gentle - it grips you now, grounding him just as much as it anchors you. But you’re no better. Your fingers clutch at the fabric of his t-shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you upright, while your other hand smoothes over his soft blonde hair.

His touch shifts, fingertips trailing from your chin to cup your cheek, his thumb brushes over your skin in a way that makes your breath stutter. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss with an ease that makes you wonder how long he’s been thinking about this. Then, his tongue sweeps over your lips - gentle, requesting - and you give in without hesitation, a quiet, dizzy hum escaping you.

He’s everything you ever imagined him to be and more. There’s a tenderness in the way he kisses you, something unhurried and careful, but beneath it, there's heat. A slow, burning kind of hunger that’s been simmering for longer than either of you are willing to admit.

And you meant it. He’s hot. He always has been. You’d say it again if he asked.

His tongue slides against yours with growing urgency, a slow, intoxicating hunger that has been locked away and hidden behind years of calling yourselves best friends. But now, by some miracle, you’re giving in and Hyunjin hums when he realizes he finally has a chance.

He has a chance to have you.

A chance to be more than just your best friend. Because he doesn’t just want to be close to you - he wants to be your everything.

Hyunjin hums again, reluctant as he starts to pull away. It’s an attempt at keeping his control, at being a gentleman. But just as he’s about to break the kiss completely, he indulges in one last, slow lick into your mouth.

And you moan. You fucking moan.

A quiet, breathy sound that you barely register making - but he does.

His eyebrows draw together instantly. His breath hitching, and before he can stop himself, he lets out a sound of his own - a low desperate noise that he didn’t mean to give away.

“Don’t do that.” He murmurs against your lips, voice rough, breathless. “You have no business sounding that pretty. You have no clue… what that just did to me.”

His forehead presses against yours, his chest rising and falling as he struggles to collect himself. But you can feel it, all of it - all of him.

“I can feel exactly what that did to you.” You whisper, shifting just slightly in his lap and his fingers dig into your thigh.

“Baby.” His voice is dangerously low, his half-lidded eyes locking onto yours. “You are asking for more than I planned to give you.”

That should be your warning. That should be enough to tell you to stop.

But it isn’t.

You’ve never been able to resist teasing him, and you’re not about to start now. So you do it again - just the smallest shift of your hips, the subtlest press against him.

And that’s all it takes.

Hyunjin’s grip tightens, his lips parting as he sucks in a sharp breath. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and you can see it now - the way his restraint is slipping. The way his neck flushes, red and hot, betraying just how quickly he’s unraveling.

“I asked you not to, didn’t I?” His voice is softer now, but there’s a rawness underneath it. His fingers are firm on your hips, his control hanging by a thread. “Tell me if you want me to stop right now. Tell me.”

You shake your head before you can even think about it - too fast, too eager - but there’s no room for hesitation anymore.

“Don’t.” You whisper back and that’s all he needs.

Hyunjin exhales sharply, leaning back against the wall, his hands sliding up your spine as he pulls you so close you can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

“I won’t.” He whispers back a promise, his lips brushing over yours before sealing you into another dizzying kiss.

“I won’t stop,” He breathes, voice warm and sure. “Just ask, and I’ll do anything. Anything at all.”

Hyunjin’s hips jerk up instinctively the moment his lips crash against yours, and you both let out matching, breathless moans. The friction sends a shockwave through you, making your body act on its own accord - your hips chasing his, rolling down to meet every movement with one of equal desperation.

His fingers dig into your thighs and your hands brace against his chest. Before you can blink the two of you are rutting like horny teenagers. You’re moving together in a frantic rhythm - needy, messy, shameless.

The small space is filled with the sound of your moans, gasps, the wet slide of your lips against each other. You kiss him like he’s never just been your friend, licking into his mouth with abandon then pulling back only to pant over him - watching the way he looks up at you, dazed and wrecked.

Hyunjin stares at you like you’re a work of fucking art, a masterpiece. He admires every dip and curve of you like he’s trying to commit it to memory. His eyes rake over the curve of your neck, the way your hair falls over your shoulder and your hips roll. His tongue peeks out to wet his lips, teeth sinking into the plump flesh in a desperate attempt to keep himself together. But he knows that his attempts are futile.

“You have no idea how sexy you are.” He groans, voice rough with need. His praise sends a shiver through you, making your cunt clench around nothing. “Beautiful. So pretty, so hot.”

His fingers curl into your fishnets and on the next swirl of your hips he rips them with a simple tug. His fingers pop the diamonds like they were silk spun spider webs and the pop against your skin makes you moan out louder than intended.

“Hyunjin…”

“Don’t.” He’s barely holding it together. “Do not moan my name. I will fucking cum.”

His hands find your hips again and he grinds up against you in hopes that he can guide you towards your high before he falls over the edge first. “Is that what you want? Want me to cum in my pants, baby?”

Your head falls back, hands pushing under the hem of his shirt, fingers greedily mapping the firm muscles of his abdomen. He moans at the contact, his muscles tense under your touch.

“Yes,” You breathe, voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, I want that. Want it so fucking badly, Hyune…” Your nails sink into his taunt muscle, your hips grind over the head of his cock and Hyunjin tenses beneath you.

His grip is bruising, his cock twitching against your core before he spills into his sweats with a choked moan. His head falls back, exposing the pretty line of his throat, his jaw slack as you ride him through his orgasm in order to work towards your own.

“Holy shit, oh my god, yeah. Keep going, keep going.” His words tumble out in a desperate string as he keeps one hand on your hip, the other palming your ass while your hips meet his wild bucking.

“Yes, yes, gonna…” It only took one more roll of your hips. One more needy grind against his leaking cock beneath you and you crash. Your orgasm takes you right then and there.

It’s blinding. Paralyzing. Intoxicating.

Hyunjin sits up instantly, wrapping you in his arms, holding you to his chest as he feels your body shudder. His hips are still bucking up subtly, trying to help you ride out your orgasm while he peppers soft kisses over your temple, your cheek, whatever he can reach.

“You’re so pretty when you cum, baby, god.” He whispers, his breath still ragged from his climax as you ride the aftershocks of yours. You hug him, holding onto him like he’s your life line and he holds you right back.

Hyunjin runs his fingers lazily through your hair while you run your fingers over his. He melts into your touch, resting his chin on your shoulder. Neither of you say anything - not yet. There’s nothing that needs to be said.

A couple of minutes of your shared settling breaths being the only sound in the room passes before Hyunjin breaks the silence.

“I’m afraid that you were right… I am a simp.” You scoff a laugh, pulling back to meet his playful gaze. “But so are you.”

“I am not,” You protest, feigning offense. Instead of arguing with you he simply leans in, stealing a kiss from your lips.

“I am still not-” Another kiss. “Hyunjin!”

“Admit it.” He grins, kissing you again. “C’mon.”

“I am not-” He kisses you again, deeper. Longer. He takes his time and savors the way you melt into him all over again.

And then you moan.

Hyunjin pulls back just enough to smile at you. “You fucking moaned.”

You groan, rolling your eyes and accepting defeat. “Fine!” You scoff, feigning annoyance. “I am a simp for you.”

Hyunjin’s smile softens, his hand slips to the back of your head and pulls you into another kiss. It’s slow. Soft and sweet.

“Yeah,” He murmurs against your lips “I know.”

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709 notes · View notes

adieutristana · 3 months ago

Note

Helloooo can you do a Jinx x femreader where they were dying Isha’s hair? The reader’s kinda just watching everything unfold and realising how much she loves Jinx when she sees her around Isha

of course! thank you for requesting :) i had a lot of fun writing this, honestly needed this after the events of act 3

summary: scenario of fem! reader watching jinx with isha.

characters included: jinx (romantic), isha (platonic/familial)

tags/warnings: fluff, mother/mother/daughter dynamic, spoilers for arcane s2 (act ii specifically).

men dni.

"hey, stop moving!" jinx playfully scolded isha, earning a giggle from the little girl. she shook her head, giving a wide smile to your girlfriend. "come on, i can't do this if you don't stay still."

jinx already has isha in a makeshift, miniature version of her own outfit which she employed your help to make. despite all of jinx's mechanical expertise, she somehow can't sew to save her life. just a few minutes prior, she used various shades of eyeshadow to draw on her tattoos. all the while, she strategically turned isha away from the mirror. the reveal had to be a surprise.

"pass me the hair dye, toots, would ya?" jinx asked, shooting a glance at you over her shoulder. you grabbed the bottle from a box of (stolen) cosmetics, passing it to her. she quickly snatched it up, and shot you a toothy grin as a silent thanks. she sat isha down in a paint-covered bathtub, jinx settling down directly behind her.

she got to work with isha's hair, running a brush through it quickly, then dipping a frayed paintbrush into the bottle to slather blue dye on isha's hair. isha jumped a bit at the cold sensation at first, but quickly relaxed. "yeah.. feels weird, i bet. i'll be done soon, 'kay?" jinx soothed, her hands moving swiftly in the girl's hair. even with a brush, she managed to get blue dye on her hands while making sure each of the strands were evenly coated.

all the while, you sat cross-legged on the floor besides the box of assorted items, watching the spectacle unfold in front of you. you had never seen jinx be so.. gentle with someone aside from yourself. so playful, so free of inhibitions or anxiety. it was endearing, truly.

you weren’t just seeing jinx, you were seeing powder shining through.

you couldn’t help but smile, jinx seemingly oblivious to you at present. she finished coating isha’s hair with dye, and you chuckled to yourself at the sight of isha’s usually fluffy hair suddenly so flat. it was cute. jinx looked over at you quickly, and beamed. she looked so happy.

god, you loved her. this could be something, right here. you, jinx, and isha. a family of sorts.

“i’ll be done soon, babe, okay?”

“okay, jinx. do you want help?”

“hmm…” jinx replied, her nose crinkling and putting her dye-stained hands on her hips. she wracked her brain for a second, pursing her lips, clearly wanting to involve you in this more than you already were. “you can dry her hair off, and help me with the big reveal!” she smiled.

you nodded, giving a mock-salute, much to jinx’s amusement. “oh, cut that out.” she playfully rolled her eyes. jinx gently guided isha out of the bathtub, and instructed her to tilt her head back, so that she could rinse her hair. the water ran blue, the little girl’s eyes slipping shut and a slow exhale escaping her.

you grabbed a towel from a makeshift shelf, and plopped it onto isha’s head. she squealed, suddenly unable to see, and giggled as you hastily dried her hair off. “all dry soon, kid. you’ve got some thick hair!” you observed. isha either didn’t hear you, or didn’t know what that meant. jinx just stood behind the two of you, trying to hold in her laughter. jinx crouched down beside you to braid the girl’s hair, her fingers still moving while she pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek. oh, jinx.

you lead isha to jinx’s mirror by her shoulders, jinx’s slender fingers covering her eyes. when you got to a stool, you lightly grabbed isha by her sides and lifted her, setting her down in front of the mirror. all the while, jinx’s hands were still covering her eyes, giggling.

jinx looked over at you, seemingly waiting for the okay to reveal isha’s makeover. you put your hands atop jinx’s, both obscuring isha’s vision even more. jinx’s hands were cold and calloused, but there wasn’t a feeling you loved more than those hands.

she quirked an eyebrow, those big, pink eyes that you loved so much looking straight at you, and you nodded. “you ready, kid?” you asked, and isha began frantically nodding. she was practically bursting at the seams with excitement.

you and your girlfriend both lifted your hands. “ta-da!” jinx exclaimed, smiling ear-to-ear. the pure surprise and wonder on isha’s face was incredible, examining herself in the shattered glass, toying with the small braids jinx had given her. isha looked back at you, trying to contain her joy.

“you’re lucky. i didn’t get to much of this with my older sis,” jinx began, looking down at the girl imitating her. pretending to shoot her zapper, making little ‘pew’ noises. it was adorable, and your heart swelled in your chest at the sight. “she was always… punching stuff.” her dark lips pursed, and you stepped forward to gently grasp jinx’s hand, before ruffling isha’s now-blue hair.

“no, but you still turned out pretty cool, love.” you remarked, much to jinx’s amusement. she shot you a little smile, lovingly squeezing your hand. “you flatter me.” she said, before closing the gap between the two of you.

pressing a soft, warm kiss to your lips, now intertwining your fingers. it was peaceful. it was sweet. you loved her-

and you heard isha groan in disgust to the side of you, breaking away to see the girl covering her eyes. jinx just giggled, gave your hand a final squeeze, and joked, “kissing, gross! i know, right?”

#arcane x reader #arcane x you #jinx x reader #reader insert #sapphic

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luvyeni · 5 months ago

Text

( drabble ) my beautiful muse ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 황현진 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ you're his beautiful muse and he'd do anything to keep his muse safe ヾ

yandere!hyunjin・ fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ yandere, smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎ unprotected sex‎, breeding kink, dirty talk, talks of killing wc・ ‎0.7k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. can i request a yandere smut with hyunjin please 💕

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 enjoy<3

a collector of art; that's what hyunjin was. he collected many pretty art pieces and other things he deemed as beautiful — that's why when he saw you , he knew he had to have you; you were his new muse.

you weren't allowed to leave; no , hyunjin didn't want the horrors of the world to tarnish his pretty masterpiece — so you stayed at home while he went out and sold his paintings, earning enough money to buy you pretty clothes, that's the only thing that mattered to him , keeping you looking pretty for him; he even took makeup class , and learned how to do hair so he could make you all pretty , so he can spend his free time painting his pretty muse.

“can i move now?” you sat on the stool , hair done to the nines , a new expensive dress. “not yet , im almost finished.” he said , dipping his paintbrush into the paint. “but im tired.” you whined , he sighed. “okay baby , okay just let me take a picture of you , i can use this as a reference for now.” he pulled out his polaroid camera , which he used to capture photos of you , it was quick and easy , but he loved to paint you the most , he believed it to be more beautiful. “there we go baby , we can stop now.”

“i think this one can go into my next exhibit,” he said. “as much as i don't think the world deserves to see you, this can't just stay here , they need to see you , how i have the most prettiest piece at home.” “can i go with you to see it?”

he hated that question , frowning while looking at you. “you know the answer to that.” he said , you nodded. “yeah i know i just thought — that's why we don't that baby you know you aren't the best at that.” he sat the photo down , walking over to you. “you look so pretty baby.” his hands coming up to your bare shoulders. “i dress you up so nicely don't i?” he hummed. “do your makeup so pretty?” he dragged his arm down to the back of the dress where the zipper was. “you don't need to go out , all you have to do is stay here and be pretty.”

the dress falling to your waist; you perfect tits on display. “so pretty , let's take this back to the room okay.” you nodded obediently , following behind him as he guided you to your shared room .

rocking his hips; his cock dragging in and out of you, he had been at this for a few hours now , you never had to work when it comes to fucking hyunjin , much like your everyday life he did everything ; eating out until your yanking at his hair , closing your head around his head. then he'd finger you , preparing you for his cock while also pulling another orgasm out of you.

by time he pulls his cock out , you're already in tears , and he loves this , you're the prettiest when you're teary eyed from his cock. “pretty pretty baby.” he cooed , “such a cry baby for my cock , you like it.” he groaned , stretching you out with his cock. “my muse , all mines.”

“hyu-hyunjin.” you moaned , his fingers toying with your clit , your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “prettier than anything i've ever painted.” he cursed. “got-gotta keep you here , so they won't hurt you.” he began to plow into you much harder. “fuck , fuck i'll kill anyone who looks at you.” he moaned , gripping your wrist pinning them to the bed. “that's why i can't let you outside -fuck- im afraid of what might happen; what i might do if someone who looks at what mines.”

as he pounded into you , you opened your eyes for a split second , and you could see in his eyes, they looked dark , like he actually meant what he was saying. “you’re mine aren't you.” he sped up. “all fucking mines.” you nodded. “all yours hyune , fuck!”

“then you wouldn't mind carrying my baby?” he groaned. “you'd look the most beautiful carrying my child , stuck to me forever.” he moaned. “gonna cum inside you.”

pinning you down; his hips snapped against you. “hyune gonna cum.” you moaned. “good , cum with me , cum for me while i breed your pretty pussy.” he groaned. “cum for me.” you gasped out , cumming , he fucked into a few more times before cumming deep inside you with a loud groan. “fuck!”

“gonna make sure it sticks.” he said. “no one's gonna hurt you.” he said , kissing your forehead. “i won't allow it.”

“my beautiful muse.”

#kpop x reader #kpop smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #skz hard hours #stray kids hard hours #skz smut #stray kids hard thoughts #skz hard thoughts #stray kids drabbles #stray kids x female reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin drabbles #hyunjin hard thoughts #hyunjin hard hours #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin x female reader

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billysgun · 1 year ago

Text

whiskey

billy the kid x rich-girl!reader|requested!|you're the daughter of billy's boss, you're filthy rich and had eyed billy a while ago. and this night, you decided to follow him to the saloon.

"what's a cowboy like yourself doin' around here?" your soft southern accent rippled to his ears as he turned to see you in your lace gown, perfectly styled curls bouncing as you took another step toward him

"I should say the same to a fine young lady like you" he gave you a crooked smile, dipping his hat as a "hi"

the saloons chatter became muffled when you saw his clear blue eyes and pulled a stool next to him

"now don't you spend all my daddy's money on some liquor, billy"

"so you're the daughter I've heard so much about" he smiled into his whiskey, forgetting your comment as he laid more bills on the bars table

"uhuh. and you're the cowboy that my fathers been cheatin'"

he choked on his whiskey, not expecting you to be so blunt with how your father pays him so little

"cheatin' huh?" he asked, brow raised high as he wondered if your father sent you here

"well, you can't ask for much with that bounty hung high over your head" your painted lips smiled as your nails began to dance on the table

"aren't cha gonna get a girl a drink?" you said and he was once again, wide-eyed at how forward of a lady you were

you sipped on whiskey while he downed his, you shamelessly let your eyes travel on his toned arms and broad figure, he eyed you back with your staring

"you sure are somethin'...not at all what I expected. not sure if I wanna ask, but how did your daddy let you come all the way down here?" he asked, dipping his head back as the whiskey ran down his throat

"he never lets me out at night...sometimes I can't stand that old man. but I thank him for the horse lessons now" you said as you took a slow sip of your drink, confirming that you did indeed follow him here

"I ain't assumin' you came all the way here to drink with the way you sippin' at that whiskey" he said, you slowly shook your head as billy began to think of any other job he could get because what he's about to do will most certainly get him fired

"no sir. I'm not a fan of drinkin'" your eyes seemed to darken and billy felt himself getting closer to you

"then what do you like to do, miss y/n?" his voice was slow, rasping your name as your legs began to close tightly

"how about I show you, mr. bonney"

an: AHHH i love this request!! thank you all so much for reading!! <333

an: here is the link for part 2 <3

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surielstea · 5 months ago

Text

“Hey, Stranger.”

Based on a request.

Pairing: Rhysand x Fem!Reader

Summary: In attempt to get away from the ball, Rhysand encounters a generous stranger and seems to find exactly what he’s looking for when she invites him in.

Warnings: Mention of sickness | all fluff | teensy argument at the end but has a HEA :)

4.1k words

Rhys had yet to decide where it was exactly he was going. His hands were tucked into his pockets and the darkness of his power swirling from his neatly pressed jacket.

He left the ball thrown in his honor quickly after it started, it was an event meant solely for him to find a High Lady, or at least scope out the options.

A night of mindless women vying for attention that he had no care for, none of them held what he was looking for, and none of them were her. Who she was, he had no clue, but he would, once he found her.

A low whistle came from his lips, the tune the same one he heard as he snuck out of his own damned party.

I was squatted down beside the bar sign, writing the nightly specials with the chalk in my hands when the stranger approached.

"One free drink with the order of a meal? It's almost too good to be true," The male said. I turned, not noticing his footsteps, and glancing towards him. I chuckle, rising to face him— even if he towered over me, and readjusted the sign to stand on its own. "You hungry? I could open up a few minutes early," I offer and his dark, manicured brows lift in slight surprise. He was beautiful, truly, his tanned features and hair dark as night complimenting his stunning violet eyes that seemed to be stealing the breath from my lungs.

"Such generosity, from a stranger," He smirks, his eyes softening as he took in my modest dress and simple hairstyle. It wasn't pity that shone in that glorious violet, but warmth. Then those eyes flick down from my face, lower, then slowly trail my figure all the way back up— lingering for a moment on the way my neckline dipped a little too low for comfort. I blurt out my name and his eyes snapped back to mine, not at all looking ashamed for his staring.

"There, not strangers anymore." I shrug with a gentle grin. He mirrors it with a charismatic smile that has been guaranteed to have dropped panties before.

"Lead the way then," He jerked his head back towards the tavern and I nodded, swiveling on my heel and heading towards the propped open, slightly worn red door. The tavern itself was a little rough around the edges, the paint chipping from the walls, the fireplace dusty, and half of the table legs were uneven. But it paid the bills and the regulars didn't seem to mind as long as we served drinks.

"Why aren't you at the ball tonight?" The male asked as I loved my way around the bar counter and he sat on one of the stools.

"I have to stay and look after my mother," I explain, and I wasn't sure why I told him something so personal, so I quickly added, "Besides, once that ball is over this bar will fill tremendously. Someone's got to run it."

He simply nods in reply, leaning onto the counter with fascination in his eyes, as if I were a creature to be studied.

"And what about you? Why'd you leave?" I ask, turning away from his stare to pour him a mug of ale.

"I didn’t find what I was looking for there," He explains as I place the mug in front of him. "Out here, though, much better." His eyes linger on me as he brings the glass up to his sensuous lips, and something tells me he wasn't telling me the entire truth.

"That's all? I don't buy it, you're too polished to be wandering like this, what's the true reason?" I lean my hands onto the counter, tilting my head at him.

"Polished, huh? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're flirting with me." He taunted, setting his mug down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"And I'd say you're deflecting," I retort. "So tell me, what are you hiding, stranger?" I smirk, using the nickname to my advantage, if only to further show I knew very little about him.

"Perhaps I found a better reason to stay away?" He suggests, leaning back in his stool with casual grace as if he comes to this bar nightly.

"Oh? And what might that be?" I arch a brow, pushing off the counter and crossing my arms over my chest.

His smirk widens. "I'm looking at her." He purrs and a blush blooms across my cheeks and my heart rate picks up, I prayed to every god that he couldn't hear it.

I steel my features into submission as I say, "You're not a very subtle male are you?"

He snorts, looking down at his pressed black suit. "What about me says subtle?" His eyes come back up to mine, reaching to his lapel and picking an invisible piece of lint from it.

I chuckle and shake my head. "Very little," I say with an amused smile, going over to the sink and grabbing a damp cloth that hung over the faucet, wanting to busy my hands, I begin wiping down the countertop.

"So is this what you do, then? Tavern maid by day, barmaid by night?"

"No, I only work the night shift here, I'm a teacher at the school down the road during the day," I explain, a proud grin on my lips as I think of all my young students.

"A teacher? I thought they were supposed to be strict?" He suggests and I smirk, glancing up at him with a wicked gleam in my eyes.

"I can be strict if you'd like," I shrug, feigning innocence.

"You're bold for someone who doesn't know who they're talking to," He purred in reply and I scoffed.

"Bold?"

"Inviting me in? Flirting with me?" He suggests, leaning onto the bar, closer to me.

"I am not flirting. And I'm only being nice, you looked like you needed saving from your own thoughts." I shake my head, turning away from him and discarding the damp rag back over the sink faucet before moving towards the kitchens where I could prepare him a meal.

"And you think a meal will do that?" He asks from behind me, I can feel his stare on my figure as I shuffle behind the bar for a plate.

"I've been told I make a killer pie, you'd be surprised how far a slice will get you," I say while playing with a piece of my signature pie.

"I'll take one then," He hums and I walk back over to him, placing the plate of warm pie in front of him.

"Good." I hold a fork out to him. He takes it with wild amusement in his gaze before digging into the slice and taking a large bite. I tried to pretend I wasn't watching his reaction, instead refilling his ale but his minor groan did not slip past my notice.

"So, you never told me your name, what should I call you?" I lift a brow, glancing over at him and pushing his mug back over beside his plate.

"Handsome? Mysterious? Dashing? All three? I'll let you decide." He replied unflinchingly and it takes everything in my power not to scoff.

"I think I'll stick with 'stranger' for now," I give him a pointed look but he only replies with a one-shouldered shrug.

"Your loss."

———

The Stranger came back the next day, and the next, and the next. I always set a slice of pie aside for him. He usually came in at the end of the night, when the crowds dwindled and the barstools were put up, and once he was done with his food he helped me with the dishes, and I tried not to acknowledge the way my heart skipped a beat when our hands would brush beneath the warm soapy water. He'd always walk me home afterward and bid me farewell at the door, and only once he was gone would I realize that I never got his name. And if I did remember he'd change the subject or call himself handsome again.

I didn't get too hung up on it, I was far too distracted by his casual grace and clever remarks.

At some point we had shifted into him walking me from the school house to the bar, then meeting with me again to walk me home, I don't even know how it happened, how he had interwoven himself so much into my life. Not a stranger, a friend, whom I still did not know the name of.

I hadn't been expecting to see the stranger today. I wasn't working at the bar tonight, I told him that, yet here he was at the school house grouped with all the parents there to pick up their kids. They stared sometimes, at me and him. It was unabashed and more of a gawking look than a stare but if the love life of their children's school teacher is the only drama they have in their lives then so be it. I let them stare as the Stranger slung an arm around me and guided me along.

"I thought I told you yesterday I'm not working tonight?" I say, propping my hands on my hips as I stare at him with a pointed stare. "Which means no daily pie?" I say because that's what this was, right? He'd walk me to and from the tavern for some free food then be on his way. That was all.

He shrugs, his hands in his jacket pockets casually as he utters, "I still wanted to see you, slice or no."

"Shouldn't you be busy with more important things?" I ask, taking a few steps closer as a gaggle of young kids rush past me with their bags halfway on their shoulders, running to their parents.

"Who says this isn't the most important?" He suggests and a pink hue graces my cheeks. I look down at one of my students struggling with his bag.

"Well, you're always welcome," I say while leaning down and adjusting the boy's straps onto his back. The kid thanked me then rushed off, staring slightly at the Stranger in wonder. "Though the kids might ask you to read a story if they see you hanging around too much." I smile teasingly while brushing the front of my clothes off.

"I think I can manage that." He hummed, staring at me like I hung every star in the night sky that this court worshipped.

"I hope you know I'll be holding you to that," I say with a small smile, grabbing my own bag from its cubby and slinging it over my shoulders.

"Can you hold me to walking you home as well, or should I take my leave?" He asks, leaning against the doorway of my classroom.

I scoff a laugh, shaking my head amusedly. "I suppose some company would be nice." I drone dramatically and he returns my chuckle with his own rich, deep laugh.

The crunch of shoes on gravel sounded as the Stranger walked beside me, his black suede shoes so contrasting to my colorful kitten heels that the younger girls in my class adored so much. "So what does a school teacher do on her night off?" He asks after a pause of comfortable silence. Our hands brush as we walk, so I shove my hands into my pockets and shrug.

"Oh you know, wild stuff, baking pies, reorganizing the pantry, going to bed after dinner, truly living on the edge," I remarked, tossing him an incredulous glance.

"Dangerous, I might have to stick around just to make sure you survive." He intones and a soft giggle leaves my lips as I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.

I could feel his stare linger on me at that moment, and perhaps it was the sun setting behind me, or the echo of my laugh, but I could’ve sworn he whispered, “Beautiful.” I glanced at him curiously but he looked away.

"You know, I've been thinking—" He started and cut him off.

"Treacherous words." I purr, earning myself a sidelong glare.

"Rude, as I was saying, I've been thinking that you might be one of the most interesting people I've ever met." He confesses and I snort, looking at him like he’s gone mad.

"What's funny about that?" He frowns, crossing his arms over his chest— and I most definitely did not miss the way his muscular arms strained against the fabric of his jacket.

"I work two jobs and live with my sick mother, there's not much interesting there," I utter, looking at the familiar slightly run-down town townhouse in front of me.

He shrugs. “I stand by what I said,” He hums, continuing to stay beside me all the way up to the front door.

My hand rested on the doorknob but I didn’t make the move to go inside, instead, I turned to him— my breath hitching at our proximity. I hadn’t realized how close he was, but now I could feel the warmth radiating off of him, his smell of sea salt and citrus invading my senses. I swallowed thickly as his eyes glanced down to my lips, then quickly back to my eyes.

"You've got flour on your cheek," He murmured and I flushed beet red in embarrassment.

"Still? Oh gods, I was prepping some dough for the tavern this morning," I replied, rubbing at my cheek with panicked movements and he chuckled, moving forward and reaching towards my face, then hesitating before touching me.

"Here, can I?" He arches a dark brow and I blink up at him but nod.

He cups my jaw, his thumb swiping over my cheek in a lover's caress. His touch was so intimate, and his calloused hands only brought warmth.

“There,” Again, his gaze went down to my lips, but before he could lean in I turned towards the door, fumbling with my bag for my keys while clearing my throat.

His touch didn’t linger as he retracted his hand and then took a few steps back. “So do I get an invite inside or am I subject to wandering the streets looking lost until I find my way home?" He suggests, simply filling the silence as I scrounge for my keys.

"Something tells me you're often lost," I say slightly shakily, finally finding my keys and unlocking my door.

"Not with you." He says casually and heat rises to my cheeks. I swing the door open, scanning the room for my mother then figuring she must be in bed. “You can come in, for a few minutes,” I say, entering the house and sliding off my shoes.

He follows my actions and closes the door behind me, taking in the warmly lit cabin, the fireplace crackling in front of the sofa, the curtains spread and welcoming in the last of the sun's rays.

I silently shuffled into the kitchen, and the stranger followed on my heels.

“So this is where the magic gets made, hm?” He said, eyeing a pie half dug into on the counter.

I frown at the sight of it and his brows furrow. “What is it?” He asks as I scan the room.

“I made that pie for you,” I say softly. “Hold on, just a moment,” I say and stalk towards the dining room separated by a partition wall. I peek my head through the open archway, finding my mother at the end of the table with incriminating crumbs and jam on her plate— and the corners of her mouth.

"Mom, what are you doing out of bed?" I sigh, more worried about her health than her stealing a slice from a container that I specifically told her this morning not to eat, granted she was half asleep and any food she could get down was as valuable as gold to me nowadays.

"I need a few moments of feeling young, and this pie will get anyone out of bed." She waves her hand at me dismissively, making a sour face as I attempt to look disappointed.

"Who's your friend?" She jerked her chin in the direction behind me, but she didn’t even glance at him. I turn to see the stranger now leaning against the open doorway, taking up the whole space with his height.

"Uh, he's—” I begin to say, only to realize I could not answer, for I still did not know his name. Yet here I was, inviting him into my home.

"By the cauldron— the High Lord." My mother gasps, standing up, her chair scraping against the tiled floors.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, gods, you'll have to excuse her, she's a little out of sorts—" I wave her off but the Stranger simply smiles and bows formally to my mother.

"At your service, my Lady."

My mouth goes dry. "You... you're the High Lord?"

The stranger— no, High Lord Rhysand, smirked. It dawned upon me that I never learned his name because he made sure of it, he only visited me during opening and closing hours, and that first night, the night of the High Lords ball, he said he hadn’t found what he was looking for, a potential wife. He had been looking for a High Lady that night.

Yet here he stood in my dining room like he’s always belonged here, his dark hair, his violet eyes, and his tanned skin all slotting into place in my memory of what I’ve learned of my courts High Lord. I swallowed thickly, glancing between him and my mother, then back at him.

“Can we speak, in private?” I say with a polite smile.

He pushes off the doorframe and moves for me to pass through. “Lead the way.” He gestures for me to pass with his hand in a dramatic manner. “It was nice meeting you, Miss,” The High Lord smiles charmingly at my mother and I grab his arm, dragging him down the hall towards my bedroom.

“You too, dearie!” My mother calls in a slightly frail voice.

I ignore him and pull the male into my room, closing the door behind him and then staring at him like he’s turned my world upside down.

I didn’t know how to react or what to say. I wanted to be furious at him, wanted to scream and yell and throw something at him to express the suffocating emotions clawing up my throat, but for some reason, I couldn’t.

Because beneath the betrayal, the anger, and the shock, lay something I thought I’d never experience. That flutter of something warm I felt when he smiled at me, or when our hands brushed, made me feel safe in ways I thought I never could before.

“Why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me?” I whisper, quiet but not weak. My words were barely audible but he heard me, he always did.

“It’s not that I didn’t trust you, I just, I got lost in the feeling of you seeing me, for me.” He expressed but my glare did not waver.

“But you still have duties, you have a title— you have a gods damned court, you can’t just use me to play pretend,” I argue.

His eyes soften at my words and he takes a dangerous step forward. “I’m not using you, and I’m not playing pretend— in fact, it’s quite the opposite. With you Darling, I feel more like myself than I have in centuries.” He admits and I swallow, wringing my hands anxiously. “I wanted to tell you,” He adds.

“You should have,” I stress with narrowed brows, a furious expression that didn’t quite meet my eyes.

“But would you have treated me differently if you had known from the start?” He suggests and I clamp my mouth shut.

He was right, I doubt I’d be as unguarded with him if I knew of his title, and I certainly wouldn’t allow him to walk me home every night, and gods— oh gods, I flirted with him. The High Lord.

“I don’t know,” I sigh, rubbing at my face, unsure how to navigate any of this.

“I’m still me, nothing has to change.” He takes another step, less than an arm's distance away now. Too close, or too far. I didn’t know.

“But they do, you’re a High Lord and I’m just—”

“Don’t. Don’t finish that sentence, you are far more than ‘just’ anything.” He cuts me off and I release a low, well-earned sigh.

“High Lord,” I muttered under my breath, the weight of the title seeming to make my room close in around us.

“Rhys, please, call me Rhys.” He grabbed my still fidgeting hands, his familiar callouses still the same, the warmth still the same.

“I could never fit in your world,” I express.

“You already do, in ways I thought never imaginable.” He expressed, his thumb caressing over the fluttering pulse in my wrist.

“I don’t know what the future holds, but I know I want you in it— beside me, I mean.” He confessed and I swore my breathing stopped and the words were stolen from my mouth.

“You, you can’t be serious,” I shake my head, disbelief encasing me.

“I told you I didn’t find what I was looking for the night of the ball, but I did— an equal, a High Lady.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Everything was a phantom wind, except those violet eyes that I feel like I’ve known my entire life. Those remained steady, constant. “Rhys,” I whisper and the tension in his shoulders dissipates, as if hearing his name on my lips had lifted a weight atop them.

“I don’t know the first thing about, any of that,” I admit and a soft smile tugs at his lips.

“That’s okay, we can figure it out, together.” He promised. “You don’t have to decide right now, you don’t have to decide for another century if that’s what you prefer— just think about it, because I truly believe no one else could fill that role, not the way you can.”

I nodded slowly, still processing everything, and leaning into his touch, his hand slipping into mine while his other came to cup my cheek.

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I nod. Because I had to weigh my job at the schoolhouse, and my situation with my mother— I couldn’t just uproot my life and move into a palace.

“Will you also think about finally letting me kiss you?” He mutters, our noses nearly brushing.

I crack a sly smile. “I’ve done enough thinking about that, come here Stranger,” I grab him by his collar and he grins wildly the moment our lips connect.

His hand on my jaw slides to the nape of my neck while his other moves to my hip, pulling me impossibly closer.

My arms sling over his shoulders, my chest pressed to his, slotting together like the final piece to a puzzle I’ve been trying to finish for years.

Everything else faded away as my back made contact with the cold wood of my door and his wicked tongue slid over my bottom lip. I gasped softly and he took advantage of the moment to invade my mouth. He explored and tasted and savored every inch he could find, memorizing the feel of me against him, my taste, my rapid heartbeat, my muffled noises.

I didn’t know I was suffering from lack of oxygen until he pulled away and I had to take a deep, recovering inhale.

I blinked a few times, the kiss tilting my world on its axis.

He chuckled, the sound like velvet against my bare skin. “That really did a number on you, huh?” He taunted and I glared up at him, wrapping my arms a little tighter around the back of his neck.

“Don’t get cocky, I’m still mad at you,” I grumble but his smile didn’t falter.

“In my defense, you never asked if I was the High Lord,” He said matter of factly and I rolled my eyes.

“Oh, right because that’s a normal question to ask people I meet on the street.” I scoff and he nods, staring down at me with a love-drunken smile.

“I might take you up on that High Lady offer sooner than expected if kissing is a part of my job description,” I murmur, ghosting my lips over his.

He gifts me a wolfish grin in reply. “Much more than kissing is on that description,” He purrs, matching my tone.

“Tempting.” I rise onto my toes and connect our lips once again, and again, and again. Prepared to do so until I was sure I was sick of the taste of him.

I knew it was reckless to make such life-changing decisions so suddenly, but internally it was clear what my answer would be to his offer.

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b14augrana · 9 months ago

Text

Portrait

When Alexia decides to give into her curiosity and sit down at one of the street artist stalls stationed on a busy Parisian road, she leaves with something more special than a self portrait.

Alexia Putellas x reader

masterlist

Warnings: straight fluff and bad translations but dont worry its only short x

A/N: ALE RENEWED WE CAN ALL REJOICE!! 🙏

The strong Parisian sun beat down on the heads of locals and tourists alike as they walked down the crowded streets. You were perched on a stool, staring intently at your canvas as you gently painted the smile lines of a lovely old lady that stopped by your stall.

You loved your job for this very reason. You knew how hard it was to love yourself from your own perspective; you hoped to do every individual person’s beauty justice with your paintings.

Of course that wasn’t enough income on its own so every morning you found yourself in one of the local bakeries either working behind the scenes or at the front counter. Baking and painting were jobs you loved and found so similar because they both resonated with your desire to indulge in art wherever you could find it, and to you they were the simplest forms of art.

“And… I’m done. Here’s your finished portrait, madame,” you said with a smile, lifting the canvas off the easel and gently setting it into the woman’s arms.

“Je ne peux pas te remercier assez, ma chérie ! C'est beau, merci,” she replied, admiring it with tear-brimmed eyes hidden behind her glasses. You said your goodbyes and watched her walk off with a grin on her face, and then you picked up a fresh canvas and placed it on your easel.

You didn’t have time to shake your head at the many smudges of paint on your clothes as another person approached you.

“Hola!” a woman’s voice spoke, making you look up curiously. Standing before you was a blonde woman smiling slightly, gesturing to the stool behind the easel. “May I sit?”

“Of course,” you nodded, returning her smile and swirling your paintbrush in some fresh water as you prepared to paint her. “You’d like a painting, no?”

“Yes please. Also, forgive me for saying hola — I forget that I’m not in Spain,” she laughed, inciting a giggle from you.

“It’s okay. I do the same when I’m outside of France,” you added, dipping the paintbrush into some fresh paint before grazing the canvas. “So, you’re Spanish.. what’s your name?”

“Alexia. I’m here for a holiday, because I’ve finally got some time off work,” she explained with a huff. You smiled behind your easel, painting the woman’s chiseled bone structure with intricacy as you added to her face.

You liked her already. You had barely said anything to her, but something about her was genuine.

“Are you with anybody?” you asked, curious to know more about her. She nodded her head, “Only two other people, my friends Lucy and Ona. They’ve gone on a wine tasting date, which is why I’m here.”

You laughed softly as you rinsed your paintbrush. “And you? Do you have anyone to go wine tasting with?”

“Next question,” Alexia responded, smiling through laughter. You began to paint her eyes and faintly outline her nose.

The rest of the time you spent painting every detail of her face flew by as you two talked and got to know more about each other. You learned that she was a professional footballer and lived in Barcelona, which you thought was very cool. She asked about your life and you told her that you were a born and raised Parisian who spent the rest of her days at home or in the bakery. You weren’t really concerned about yourself though; you were busy looking at her, and not for the purpose of the painting.

When you had completed the last strand of hair and placed the last freckle on her portrait, the sun had dried most of it already. As she stood up and picked her purse up, you flipped the canvas around and scrawled something on the back with a slight smile.

“There you go. Thank you, Alexia,” you said, handing her the painting. She gasped quietly as she admired it, and she looked at you for a moment before pulling you into a hug. “Thank you, chica!”

Even after she pulled away, her perfume clung to your skin like glue. It smelled sweet but not overwhelming… like coconut and caramel with an undertone of musk and vanilla hints. It smelled exactly how you imagined it to smell.

As you said goodbye, you didn’t reach for a fresh canvas. Alexia turned away, holding the newly painted canvas in her hands with her head down, her eyes fixed on it. She stood stagnant for a moment, scoping out every detail, and then she turned it over.

“Llámame, hermosa :)” was written on the back, followed with your phone number and a quick sketch of a flower bouquet. She immediately turned her head to glance at you over her shoulder, but you were occupied with someone else.

When she turned back around, a smitten smile was plastered across her face and she couldn’t help but feel giddy to get back to her hotel.

After another second, you looked up from your canvas, your eyes completely skipping the person sat in front of you and wandering over to the direction that she had walked in, watching the blonde woman disappear down the street.

“Est-ce que tu vas peindre ou quoi?” an irritated voice snapped from behind your easel.

“Désolé!”

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darkserenity24 · 1 month ago

Text

𝘽𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙎𝙪𝙧𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙚

Loki x Reader

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 2 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙃𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙮 𝘽𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘦.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 8.4𝘬

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩, 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩 𝙡𝙤𝙠𝙞, 𝙨𝙤𝙛𝙩 𝙡𝙤𝙠𝙞, 𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨

𝘈/𝘕: 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐'𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘉𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘉𝘢𝘴𝘩 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦) 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 (𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭) 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴.

“Are you done already?”

“Yes.”

You squinted at the canvas beside your own. “What is that?”

“A tree, of course.”

“A tree? That doesn’t look like a tree. Looks like a coat rack or something.”

You instantly felt his heated gaze on your form. “I beg your pardon?”

“What? I’m just being honest here. That’s what you want right? Honesty?” You shrugged with a sly smirk. “I am a professional at this, after all.”

“Oh? Well if we are both being truthful at the moment, I’d say yours needs a bit more work.”

“No it doesn’t.” You protested, eyes growing wide as you witnessed a large paint brush dipped in bright pink making its way over to your canvas.

“No need to be shy, pet. Here, let me assist.”

“No! Loki, stop!”

“Just a touch of this will make it all better.” He grinned evilly.

You quickly smacked the paintbrush out of his hand and it flipped backward. Horror filled your body when a large bright pink splatter landed on his face. Loki sat there in shock as the paint dripped down Loki’s face in long streaks.

You opened your mouth to apologize, but all that came out was a high-pitched peal of amusement.

Your laughter started off slow but grew louder the longer he sat there with paint all over his face, blinking dumbly.

“Oh my god.” You wheezed, holding your stomach. “I totally did not mean for that to happen, but honestly you kind of deserved it for trying to mess with my painting.”

Released from his brief bout of shock, he slowly turned to you, a foreboding expression darkening his striking features.

You tried to slow down your laughter for the sake of his pride, hopping off your stool to provide some kind of assistance. “Here, let me help you. I’ll go get a cloth or someth-”

“Oh, no. Not so fast.”

He picked up the paintbrush and in an instant, you felt the cold swatch of paint on your cheek.

“No!” you gasped, utterly dumbfounded, shooting Loki a look that was immensely more menacing than his.

“Why would you do that?” you cried.

“Payback, darling.”

You wanted to slap the smug grin off of his perfect face.

“Payback? What I did was an accident. That was on purpose!”

“Nevertheless, it was an attack. I do not respond to attacks on my person kindly.”

Your eyes narrowed, a devious expression growing on your face. “Let’s see how you respond to this.”

Reaching across the table, you scooped up a glob of dark blue before quickly smearing it over Loki’s dark hair.

He tried to move out of your way, but it was too late. The damage was done and the war was won. Temporarily.

“You little demon!” was all you heard before a more pink liquid was thrown your way.

Before you knew it, you both were covered in paint and so was your apartment kitchen.

The fighting only stopped when you heard the gentle slam of the front door of your apartment.

You both turned to see Thor standing by the entrance with his arms crossed, giving you both an incredulous look.

“I only left for five minutes…” he trailed off, observing the chaos that quickly ensued in his absence. You could only imagine what you looked like from his point of view.

You were embarrassed to admit this wasn’t the first time that you and Loki went to war whenever Thor left the two of you alone.

Three months had passed since the incident at Thor’s birthday party and both brothers had taken it upon themselves to grant you with their presence more often than not. You were not doing well after John’s attack. The drug that he slipped you really affected your memory of that night, and you only recall bits and pieces of what happened. But you still remembered enough.

The drinks making you feel nauseous. John taking you to the bathroom. The struggle that ensued between you, then Loki bursting in and… well, basically almost killing the man. Even though your memory was hazy, you knew you never witnessed him be that angry before. You were also confused because you thought he hated you. Regardless of how he felt about you, he came to your rescue when you needed it and you’ll always remember that.

Thor and Loki both took it upon themselves to be your protectors. Your Asgardian guardian angels of sorts.

At first, you didn’t know how to feel about it since you were used to being alone most of the time, but then it started to feel nice. They made you feel safe and knew you needed someone to be with you even if you didn’t realize it yourself. You never had to leave your home unless you wanted to, and when you did they both were right there alongside you. Together, they brought you groceries, brought in your mail for you, and even helped you ship some paintings to your customers.

Somedays were a bit harder than others, and if you were overstimulated you would turn off your phone for a few hours and lay in your bed in the dark. This really worried them, and they basically bullied you into not ever doing that again. This made them show up unannounced just to check in on you, and when you got tired of buzzing them in you gave them a copy of your apartment keys. It was clear you couldn’t stop them from coming over, and if they truly cared about you this much you didn’t want to.

With their constant presence in your life in your time of need, you began to feel safer. You began to feel normal again and wanted to let them know they didn’t need to be around all the time anymore. In your opinion, they certainly had more pressing matters to attend to.

It was obvious that Thor felt awful about what happened that night. He felt that it was his responsibility since John attacked you at his party after all, but you didn’t agree with him. John had crashed the party, and no one noticed because they were all busy having fun. That’s what people do at birthday parties. How was Thor, you, or anyone else for that matter supposed to know John Walker was a huge creep?

He never told you what they did with him. You knew he was still alive (all thanks to Thor) but you still had no clue where he was, and didn’t bother to ask. You didn’t care, just as long as he was far away from you and any other woman in the near vicinity. Ever.

You told Thor on several occasions that he was not to blame. No one except John Walker was to blame, but you knew that didn’t erase his guilt. You hoped one day he would be able to forgive himself, and so you made it a point to show him how well you were doing now. You made it a point to show both of them.

You didn’t second guess Loki’s increased presence in your life after the incident.

After the attack, Loki must have punished himself so much that he actually became a more bearable person to be around. Nice, even. At least to you. Initially, it had you on edge, not having been used to this side of him. You were used to his snarky comments and glowering expressions being thrown your way, but those were rare now. In fact, if he did insult you, it was done with a tinge of playfulness. It took you a little while to learn to interact with him in a normal way. His sudden softness towards you felt unfamiliar and took some getting used to.

You had been waiting for the act to drop for months now, but he kept it up. The strange part was that you actually started to enjoy his company like you did Thor’s.

You looked forward to seeing him whenever he and Thor came by to hang out. Whether it was to go for walks in the park or eating dinner together. You especially enjoyed it when they came over for movie nights.

About once a month, you would host a movie marathon at your loft apartment. You invited several of your other friends, but Thor and Loki would always make sure to show up if anyone else hadn’t.

Unfortunately for anyone else, Thor loved watching the Fast and the Furious movies, so the night would be filled with endless car races, crashes, explosions, and terrible dialogue. Thor would be the only one extremely excited about it. But you always persevered through it because if those movies made your friend happy, then so were you.

On top of that, you had Loki there to trade entertaining critiques about the movies with.

One night, Thor was on a mission and couldn’t make it to the movie marathon. Used to them coming in a pair, you assumed no one would come by. To your surprise, Loki showed up to your door with a bottle of wine and your favorite snack.

“How did you know I liked these?” you asked as you let him in, taking his coat and placing it on the rack by the door.

“Easy.” He drawled, walking over towards your kitchen to grab two wine glasses out of your cabinet. “You are not as discreet as you think you are. I have witnessed you consume these treats many times at Stark’s tiresome gatherings.”

“Really?” you questioned in mild surprise. “I didn’t think anyone would notice that. Seems I underestimated how observant you are.”

“That was your first mistake,” he smirked while carefully pouring the dark liquid into the glasses. “Nevertheless, it is not exceedingly difficult to identify the things you enjoy. You do not exactly hide your preferences or distastes.”

Placing your hands on your hips, you raise a challenging brow at him. “What are you trying to say? That I’m obvious and predictable.”

The sound of his deep, silky laughter had your heart skipping a beat. Loki shook his head, walking around the kitchen island to hand you a glass.

“Oh no, certainly not, dear. Not to the average person at least.” He grinned, long fingers lightly brushing past yours as you grabbed the glass from him.

“Now let’s take advantage of Thor’s absence and watch anything but those dreadful racing movies.”

You happily agreed, placing your snacks on the coffee table as you searched through movies on the TV screen. Unfortunately for Loki, you had a series in mind that was equally as bad, if not worse than The Fast and the Furious movies.

The Twilight Saga.

The other day he made the mistake of admitting he wasn’t aware of who Edward Cullen was when you made a vampire joke.

As expected, he complained, no– provided “intellectual commentary” throughout the entirety of the first two movies while you nodded, hummed, and acknowledged his issues and concerns with what was happening on the screen.

It amused you to no end, and you actually found that you were enjoying your time with him. Alone.

That was the first time you and Loki hung out together without Thor or anyone else present. The first time you had to admit to yourself that you didn’t feel the lack of Thor’s absence. The first time it was becoming clear to you that Loki was actually a great person to be around.

And it was the first moment you felt something other than annoyance or anger towards him.

Then you began to notice more and more things about him. His quick-witted quips and natural charm. His uncanny ability to know just how to make you laugh whenever you were feeling down.

Then you started to notice details. How the light reflected off of his jet black silky curls. The sound of his smooth, deep timbre drew you in, compelling you to hang on to every word he articulated with perfect precision. How flawless his brilliantly white teeth looked whenever he smiled, and how mesmerizing his piercing, forest-green eyes were—you could rave about them endlessly.

Then you started to think about him when he was gone, excitedly looking forward to the next time he'd come by your place. Alone.

That’s when you realized that you were falling for Loki Laufeyson, and this completely devastated you.

The scariest part about your newfound feelings was that they seemed to have been there all along, just lingering in the back of your mind. Hidden somewhere deep within you just waiting to be discovered. They were covered in a mask of ire and fear the whole time, even before the incident.

How could you have developed feelings for your ex arch-nemesis of all people? It was wrong, and as hard as you tried to ignore them, those feelings didn’t seem to be going away anytime soon.

Something had to be done before you ended up falling too deep. So you thought about it hard and deep. But instead of handling the situation in a mature manner, you decided to do the complete opposite.

One morning Loki arrived at your apartment, just as you expected him to. You opened the door and were met with a gentle smile and a warm greeting. You were tempted to shut the door right in his face just to get him to stop looking at you that way.

“Hi, Loki,” You responded lacklusterly, giving him minimum eye contact.

A dark brow rose high on his face. “Are you going to let me in? Or am I to stand out in your hall the rest of the day for your neighbors entertainment?”

“Yeah, um sorry. Come in.”

You backed away from the door allowing him in, not missing the incredibly enticing scent that he always carried with him as he walked past you.

He sauntered further into your place with an air of familiarity, not seeming to notice your awkwardness as you watched him nervously.

Opening your fridge he peered inside of it quizzically.

“Stark’s having another one of those god awful parties tonight.” You heard him grumble. “ I was thinking we’d go together this time. I need to appear preoccupied with someone else so that I do not get pulled into another dim-witted conversation with any of the other attendees.”

You didn’t say anything, just watching as he perused your pantry next.

“Because if I am forced to hear about the recent trends of that inconsequential thing you humans call the ‘stock market’ once more, I may be inclined to sew a mouth or two shut, and I don’t think anyone would be too happy about that.”

He closed the pantry doors, giving you a look. “It seems as if the items in your food chamber are getting low. We shall stop by the farmer’s market later today and-.”

“I need space.” You blurted out haphazardly.

You couldn’t help it. There was no easy way to begin the conversation you were about to have with him. It had to be done cold turkey.

He paused, tilting his head slightly. “Space?”

“Yes,” you nodded, swallowing nervously. “You… you don’t have to be around so much anymore, you know? I appreciate what you did for me all those months ago and what you’ve both done for me since then, but I don’t need you nor Thor around all the time. I’m just fine on my own.”

Loki slowly straightened to his full height, arms crossing over his chest as he observed you curiously.

“Yes, I understand that. You are very capable of taking care of yourself. We do not think you to be a helpless damsel, at least I don’t.” He shrugged lightly. “But I do not mind our visits. They allow me an escape from Thor and his band of buffoons. I assist in their missions when I can but I would much prefer being here instead.” He chuckled. “I am afraid I’d go completely mad if I had nowhere else to spend my time.”

You didn’t ask, but you assumed the “buffoons” he was talking about were the Avengers. This would have made you laugh if you were not trying to separate yourself from him.

“That can’t be true. I’m sure you have plenty of ways to spend your time other than coming here or going grocery shopping with me. Other people would probably kill to have only a second of your time.” You huffed. “You should go out more. Meet new people. That way you’ll gain more friends or even potential suitors. If you’re interested in that sort of thing I guess.”

“No. I am not interested in any of that. ” He grimaced. “Sounds horrifying.”

“What about Asgard? When was the last time you visited?”

His face slackened as he glanced towards the floor. “It has been… some time. Even so, I am in no rush to go back anytime soon. I do not believe the Asgardians are very eager for my return.”

Your heart broke at the look of uncertainty he was trying to hide. The man felt unwanted in his own realm and here you were, yet another person trying to push him away.

“I’m sorry to hear that. They don’t know what they’re missing out on.” You whispered.

“I do not care. That does not matter since I am here and not there.” He raised his gaze back to you. “If you feel as if you are hindering me in any way, believe that you are not.”

He took a step towards you. The gentle but nervous look on his face only increased your own apprehension.

“I’m aware that we did not have… the best of starts. I was not very welcoming to you. It was… incredibly troubling when I think back on how I treated you.” His brows furrowed deeply. “But, I experienced something akin to an awakening during the aftermath of Thor’s party. I should not have said those horrible things to you. They were not true, and I put you in a vulnerable state. Anything could have happened to you-”

“But nothing did, because you were there.” You assured him. He saved you.

“Yes, but if I had not arrived in time-”

“But you did. And I’m safe. I’m okay.” You reminded him, gesturing to yourself. “None of that was your fault or your responsibility, Loki. What happened was-”

“-the result of me being incredibly cruel to you. You wouldn’t have stumbled into that monster’s grasp if I didn’t ruin your night with my foolishness.”

“You don’t know that.” You stressed. “Maybe I would’ve or maybe I wouldn’t have. The fact of the matter is, that was not on you. But for some reason, you continue to blame yourself for that, and that is the real reason why you’re here. That’s why you come around so much. It’s because you feel guilty.”

He stared at you incredulously. “Is that what you believe? Truly? That I am only here out of guilt? That I feel obligated to be around you?”

You swallowed, looking away from his exasperated expression. “Yes. Maybe.”

You know it was not what he wanted to hear, but it was the truth. How could you develop feelings for someone who felt as if they owed it to you to be your friend from a guilty conscience? Why else would he have switched up his attitude towards you so fast?

His mouth opened and closed as if he was trying to figure out the right thing to say but couldn’t.

He quickly composed himself, taking a deep breath before nearing you. He stopped only a foot away and carefully placed his hands on your arms. You shivered at the warmth you felt coming through your shirt. He was so close that you had to crane your head to meet his eyes. The combination of him touching you and looking at you was becoming too much for you to handle.

“I believe you have a great misunderstanding of the situation, darling. Let me explain something to you. Do I still carry guilt for the part that I played in your attack that night? Yes, and I don’t believe that I’d ever be rid of that.” He admitted jade eyes troubled.

“But, despite that, I do not linger around you out of some pitiful notion of guilt. To be allowed the chance to spend time with an incredibly smart and talented woman only to make myself feel better? How foolish would that be.” he scoffed. “I have a feeling that both you and I understand that I do not willingly go anywhere I do not want to be, or be in the presence of others I do not care for. As difficult as this may be to get through that stubborn head of yours, I am only here because of one reason. It’s because I want to be.”

Your breath hitched at his words, a rush of warmth filling your chest.

“I want to be here. As infuriating and stubborn as you can be, I do enjoy your company. I enjoy spending time with you. Truly,” He confessed softly. “That is it. Everything I said about needing to get away from Thor and the others was partially true. Nevertheless, they are mere excuses to hide the fact that I willingly come here to see you at every chance I get. That I look forward to it every day, and that my mood seems to worsen when I am not able to. Just ask Thor.”

You shook your head, not knowing what to say to that. “Loki...”

“It’s pathetic, I know, but I have already accepted it. I just want to be a friend to you.”

His chest visibly rose and fell as he took a breath. “If you’d allow me to be.”

Your mouth was completely dry as you stared at him wide-eyed.

“I…” you began, attempting to string some words together as he waited patiently for your response.

You never thought you’d witness the day Loki allowed himself to be this open with you. Yet here it was. It was a beautiful thing to see and felt like a dream come true. This was it. The time to pull your big girl pants on and tell him how you truly feel.

But for some reason, you couldn’t do it. You weren’t ready.

“... I… I’m sorry, but I can’t be your friend, Loki.” You said, slowly shaking your head. “I don’t want to be your friend.”

He blinked, face falling in an instant. Extreme disbelief settled onto his elegant features as you regarded him with a straight face. The straightest you could muster.

The more convincing you were, the better it would be for the both of you.

“You saved me from John, and I will forever be grateful to you. But no matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to get over the way you treated me beforehand. The things you said to me.”

You shook your head, backing away from him. “I know you’ve apologized for it, but you were so unnecessarily mean to me, Loki. You called me pathetic, and disgusting. You accused me of trying to seduce your brother. What kind of “friend” says things like that?”

“I…” His face was twisted in anguish. “I did not mean it.”

His voice was so uncharacteristically soft. You could hear the hurt as clear as day and you felt like a monster.

“It was a mistake. One I have regretted terribly since then. I would not ever treat you that way again. Not ever.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You muttered, turning your back to him. Fresh tears built up in your eyes, and you took a deep breath before saying your last words to him.

“It’s too late. I’m sorry that it has to be this way, but I don’t think I can do it. I don’t like the person you are and I can’t be your friend.” You wiped a stray tear from your face, sniffling.

Your apartment was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

You stood there feeling, his gaze burning into your back for what felt like forever before you finally heard the slam of your apartment door.

You instantly bursted into tears, hands muffling the sobs that wracked your frame.

You couldn’t believe you did that.

******

A knock sounded on your apartment door a week later. When you didn’t answer, the urgent knocks quickly turned into loud bangs, making you leave your bed and rush to the door in panic. You didn’t need your neighbors complaining about noise yet again.

Before you could look through the tiny peephole or even ask who it was, you heard a familiar accented voice from the other side of the door.

“Friend! Are you in there?”

You opened the door and were met with troubled blue eyes.

“Thor?” You gave him a confused look. “What… what are you doing here?”

He texted and called you several times in the past few days but was met with the same excuse. I’m not feeling too good. I think I caught the flu or something. Need some time to recover.

You let him in and shut the door behind him. He plopped down on your sofa and you slowly sat across from him.

“I understand you instructed me not to bother you but I really wanted to check on you since I know you fell ill. Are you well, friend?”

You gave him a sheepish look. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Hmm.” He leaned backward on the sofa, gaze narrowing. “Other than your unusual state of disarray, you do seem to not be drowning in sickness.”

You shifted in your seat uncomfortably, not knowing what to say to that. You were sure you looked like hell. It was noon and you were still in your pajamas, and your hair had not been touched in days. The most you had the energy to do was shower and eat. Even those activities took a lot of energy from you.

Your normally tidy apartment was a mess. Clothes and random objects were carelessly left all over the place, and a tall pile of unopened mail laid messily on your coffee table. Thor was extremely kind to just call it a state of disarray.

“I must admit that there are other reasons for me arriving unannounced.” He cleared his throat, brows furrowing as he sat forward, folding his hands. “I did not understand at first, but I gathered something has happened between you and my brother. I do not know what unfolded between you two, but I am assuming it was not good.”

You bit your lip nervously, looking down at your lap.

“Still, I am very confused. If I’m not mistaken, things were improving between you two and all seemed to be well. Now you are hiding inside your home with little to no contact under the guise of unwellness, and Loki’s been acting stranger than usual. His mood sours at the mention of your name. I have tried to talk to him but he will not speak to me about the matter either. Please tell me what has happened.”

Thor was clearly very concerned about the situation, and it would do you no good to lie to him. He’s been a great friend to you and so you felt obligated to tell him the truth.

You sighed before meeting his gaze with a look of exhaustion on your features.

“Would you like some tea?”

His brows raised at your question and you chuckled.

“With what I have to say, you may be here for a while, Thunder.”

You returned from the kitchen with two hot mugs a few moments later, sitting down across from Thor and carefully explaining the situation to him.

As you explained how your last conversation went with Loki, you watched as his expression shifted—from understanding to shock and confusion—before finally settling into a somber state. You weren’t exactly sure what he was thinking or if he was sad for you or his brother. Most likely both.

“I lied to him.” You admitted with a shameful shake of your head. “I told him that I didn’t like him.”

Thor shook his head, clearly confused by your actions. “I don’t understand. I thought you two were getting along quite well. Did he do something to upset you?

You shook your head, rubbing a hand across your forehead. “No, that’s part of the problem, Thor.”

The look on his face was almost comical. He stared at you, waiting for you to continue.

You did, but not without letting out a long sigh beforehand. “I’m used to him being a complete ass. I’m not used to this nice, considerate, helpful Loki that’s been coming by my apartment.” You exclaimed, raising a hand in the air. “I’m not used to this Loki that talks to me like I’m a normal human being, or brings me food when I’m feeling down, or the one who watched cheesy movies with me. I couldn’t handle being around him anymore. I had to run him off before I-.” You paused, eyes fluttering shut.

“Before what?”

You took a deep breath and looked at Thor. Your friend, one of your best friends in the whole world. Your friend who was a brother to the person you…

Your voice lowered to a barely audible whisper. “Before I fell in love with him.”

All of the confusion from his face dropped, leaving warm eyes and a gentle smile on his lips.

You squeezed your eyes shut, covering your face in embarrassment. “It’s ridiculous to say, isn't it? I’m being so stupid.”

“No!” Thor exclaimed, reaching a hand out to you. “Never in a millennium would I ever think that of you. What you are feeling is not stupid. I-.”

He cut himself off, shaking his head with a look of disbelief. “I am just puzzled how I did not see this coming much sooner.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “Huh?”

“See your true feelings for Loki.” He explained. “I was so focused on ensuring your well being that I did not see what was happening right in front of me. Maybe I could have prevented this from happening.”

You frowned, hands sliding away from your face,

“What do you mean you could have prevented this?”

A sheepish look spread upon the blonde god’s face.

“I am sure this is difficult for you given your history with Loki so I completely understand your hesitance when it comes to his motivations.” He explained. “But I must admit, I thought you were more aware of his feelings for you than it appears you are.”

You said nothing, having no clue where he was going with this.

“You see, friend, Loki was only harsh to you before because he did not know how to tell you that he admired you.”

Oh…. what?!

“The best he could do was antagonize you until you snapped. Unfortunately for him, he has never been great at talking about his feelings.”

He sure could have fooled you a week ago. There he was, in your kitchen pouring out his heart to you and you completely shut him down. You were beginning to question if you made a mistake.

“Loki cares for you immensely.” Thor strongly insisted. “He always has. But I did not know you felt the same way. I would have whipped him into shape and made him behave a long time ago. I can think of no one else that would be as perfect for him as you would be.”

If you weren’t so thrown off by what Thor was revealing to you, you would have blushed at his compliment.

“Why… why didn’t he say anything?” You asked. “He didn’t– all he said was that he wanted to be my friend. I didn’t think he cared for me the same way that I cared for him. That’s why I pushed him away. I don’t think I could have stayed friends with him without always feeling something deeper.” you admitted, tears kissing your eyes.

Thor looked at you seriously, blinking slowly. “You’re right. Loki doesn’t just care for you,” He informed. “It is so much more than that. Truly.”

Your face dropped.

“I should not be the one to inform you of this, but he did not tell you about his true feelings because he was worried of…. Well, the exact reaction you gave him for simply requesting to befriend you.”

Your heart felt like it was breaking into a million tiny pieces. You wanted Thor to stop talking because he was making you realize how much you fucked up. Big time.

“N-no… that’s not true.” You said, shaking your head in disbelief. “Loki hated me, he always has.”

Thor raised a brow. “Do you truly believe that he despised you to that extent? He was a simpering mess and was jealous of our friendship because he desired to be as close to you as I was. But he did not think he could do so. He did not know how to get closer to you, so I tried to convince him to simply talk to you more. But as you know very well, my brother is the most stubborn man in the nine realms. I believe that he was truly afraid of your rejection. That is what was stopping him from revealing his true feelings to you.”

You dropped your head to your hands, shaking your head slowly. “And I did exactly what he thought I would do.” You flat out rejected him. Of course, it wasn’t because you actually disliked him, but it was because of your own fears of inadequacy. All this time you thought he was the asshole. Turns out it was really you. The roles had flipped because you let those same feelings of rejection Loki had gotten in the way of you becoming closer. Of you two possibly becoming more.

No one was more surprised than you were when you received an invitation to a birthday party a couple of weeks later after your talk with Thor. And not just any birthday party either.

It was Loki’s.

Thor was the only person who could have sent this to you because there was no way Loki could have invited you to his own party. This was confirmed when you realized it was supposed to be a surprise birthday party.

You could think of a billion reasons why that was not a good idea. One being that this surprise party was supposedly for a god who could get annoyed enough to start another war against humanity, and two being that he certainly hated your guts right now, and for a very valid reason this time.

Nevertheless, with your guilty conscience weighing heavily on you (and a bit of gentle bullying from Thor) you decided to go to the party anyway.

It was at a fancy hotel in downtown Manhattan, and Loki wasn’t supposed to arrive for another thirty minutes or so, but the way your heart was rapidly beating you’d think he was already there. You searched around the room in apprehension, fingers toying with the dark green ribbon of the small box you were holding. Eventually, you sat the present down on the gift table, forcing your hands to stay still as you waited for him to show.

Apparently, Thor gave Loki some misleading excuse for him to come to the hotel so he wouldn’t know that there would be a party, especially for him.

But something told you that Loki was smarter than that.

The next time you glanced at your watch, thirty minutes plus had passed and Loki had yet to arrive like Thor asked him to. Then an hour had passed and people started to get antsy, but once Sam had turned on the music and Tony announced that the bar was open, everyone seemed to relax and enjoy themselves a bit more. They were having the party as if the birthday boy wasn't MIA.

This disappointed you greatly.

“I’m sorry, friend.” Thor sighed, patting your arm gently. “I truly thought he would be here, but he must have found out about my plans and decided not to come. He’s never been one for a surprise.”

“Maybe he’ll show up sooner or later. Who knows.” you shrugged, forcing a sad smile. To say you were disappointed was a great understatement. You thought you’d feel relieved that you wouldn’t have to face him today, but you realized that you were really looking forward to seeing him again.

You sighed, looking around. “I think I'm gonna go. I’m not really in a party mood right now. I only came here because… Well, you know.”

Thor nodded sympathetically. “Of course. I will see you later.”

He gave you a departing hug and you exited the ballroom. You were barely halfway down the hall, almost making it to the lobby before an arm reached out of a dark room, snatching you inside. It happened so quickly that you barely had time to scream.

You yelped when the door slammed shut, then light quickly flooded the room.

Your eyes blinked rapidly, adjusting to focus on the tall figure in front of you. There, barely a few feet away stood Loki, dressed to the nines in a killer black tux that fit his body as if it was created just for him.

The small closet he pulled you into was pretty cramped. He regarded you coldly, a displeased expression on his face. Brows furrowed deeply and jaw clenched.

It was clear that he was not happy to see you.

“Wait, you’re here?” You gaped at him dumbly. “Have you been here this whole time? Everyone’s been waiting for you in the ballroom.”

“Yes, I am fully aware. I’ve known about this ridiculous party the entire time.” He snapped, a great amount of annoyance in his tone. “I do not care about what anyone is doing. What I want to know is why you are here?”

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, doing your best to meet his heated gaze head on. “W-well, i-”

“Spit it out, mortal,” he growled impatiently.

Oh, so we’re back to mortal now, you thought to yourself grumpily.

You cleared your throat, squaring your shoulders with a heavy sigh. “I wanted to say that… that I’m sorry.”

He continued to stare, entirely unfazed by your apology. You fidgeted nervously under the weight of his gaze.

“For what, exactly?”

“For everything.” You frowned, shaking your head. “For saying those horrible things to you. For saying that I didn't like you.” You sighed heavily. “None of what I said that day was true and I know I hurt your feelings-”

“Feelings? I don’t have any feelings regarding you.” He scoffed, taking a small step back away from you. “None other than utter disdain.”

Your heart twisted painfully at his words. You guessed you deserved that.

You continued on anyway. As hard as he tried to hide it, you could hear the pain seeping through the anger in his voice.

“Regardless of whether I hurt your feelings or not, I wanted you to know that what I said wasn’t the truth. I lied to you when I said I didn’t want to be your friend. The truth is I really, really do.”

His severe expression remained, only growing harsher as his frown deepened.

“Did my idiot brother put you up to this?”

“Of course not,” you answered quickly. “I’m apologizing because I want to. You didn’t deserve that. Not at all.”

“Then why?” He demanded, stepping closer to you. “Why would you say those things if you did not truly mean it?”

A heavy silence hung between you, broken only by the faint sound of the bass from the ridiculously loud music leaking through the closet door from down the hall.

“I… I don’t know,” you muttered lamely.

You instantly regretted your words as you watched Loki’s face fall. You could take his anger, you were used to it by now, but any trace of irritation had completely disappeared from his expression. All that was left was disappointment. Confusion. Sadness.

"You don’t know," he said, his tone laced with disbelief.

His mouth parted as if he were about to speak, but the words faltered and died on his lips.

A suffocating pressure filled your chest as he avoided your gaze, deftly stepping around you to open the closet door.

“Loki wait–” Your call to him was silenced by the sharp slam of the door.

Your eyes squeezed shut, the weight of unshed tears pressing against your lids.

You were a coward. He had given you the chance to explain yourself, the chance to tell him the truth, to tell him how you really felt, and instead you decided to hurt him even more by lying to him yet again.

Trying to tell someone like Loki that you cared about him was proving to be extremely difficult for you. Yet no matter how hard it was, you could not risk losing him.

Grabbing the knob, you swung the door open, running down the halls of the hotel in your heels like a mad woman.

“Loki!”

You saw him heading towards the exit. You ignored the curious glances of the hotel staff watching you from behind the desk as you sped past them.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t even turn around to acknowledge you, long legs striding towards the doors with determination

You stopped in your tracks, letting out a breath before calling out to him.

“I said those things to you because I was scared.”

He didn’t stop, and you continued.

“I-I was scared because I liked you too, but more than a friend, and I didn’t know what to do about that.”

He immediately halted in his tracks, the sliding doors opening for him. Relief filled you when he didn't walk through them.

Your voice lowered now that you had his attention. “I didn’t know how to feel about that, because I’m not supposed to like you, Loki.”

This was it. There he was, standing by the entrance of the hotel waiting for you to say more, only a second away from bolting out the door. This moment was all you had, and you couldn’t mess it up. Not again.

You swallowed hard, nails biting into your palms from the pressure of your closed fists.

This was it. Only the truth would save you now.

“I wanted to keep myself from falling in love with you.” You whispered. “But I think it’s too late.”

"He slowly turned to face you, looking thoroughly paralyzed. As if he'd just seen a ghost. His eyes grew wide, and he blinked, his breath caught in his throat. “What did you say?”

You took a step forward, a watery smile growing on your face.

"I tried to push you away," you said quietly. "Because I began to feel more than just friendship, and I was afraid it was all one-sided. I didn’t think you could feel the same way about me as I do about you... as I still do."

You saw his features morph from surprise to disbelief, then eased into relief, all in the blink of an eye. Before you realized it, he was stalking toward you with even more purpose than before, stopping barely a foot away from you.

“You simple-minded woman,” he chastised softly. “How could I not feel the same way? How could I not love you as well?”

A sharp intake of breath escaped you as you stared at him, stunned by his words.

“Did you not believe I loved you when I couldn't stop being fixated on you? When I became jealous of my own brother just because he met you first? When I almost successfully murdered a man with my bare hands for daring to cause you harm? It's something I'd gladly do again and finish what I started.” He growled.

“I am not bypassing the fact that I made it extremely difficult to see, but it was always there.” he paused before lifting a hand towards your face, placing it on your cheek gently. “I was entranced with you from the very moment I met you, and was devastated when I thought I could never have you.”

Your breath came in shallow gasps, your chest heaving as you gazed at the man in front of you. It was as if the world had shifted, and you were seeing him in a new light—seeing him for who he truly was and what he meant to you. Your heart swelled, and instinctively, you took a step closer, lifting yourself onto your toes to pull him down towards you, pressing your lips to his with an intensity you couldn’t control.

For a brief moment, you saw surprise flash across his face, but it was gone just as quickly. He steadied himself, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you back with the same fierce passion.

It didn’t take long for his tongue to find the inside of your mouth. the taste of mint on his lips sending a rush of euphoria through you. The feeling was absolutely heavenly. Gripping his arms for dear life, you were desperate for support as each passing second made you feel more lightheaded, overwhelmed by the sensation of Loki Laufeyson kissing you fiercely right there in the hotel lobby.

You let out an involuntary moan when his hands moved from your face, traveling down your neck and back.

A throat cleared, catching you off guard. “Um, Excuse me.”

With great reluctance, you both pulled away from each other, turning to look at the awkward looking hotel manager that was standing a few feet away from you.

You hadn’t even heard him come near. Loki cleared his throat and you blushed, straightening the top of your dress as two women, no–now four women giggled behind the lobby desk.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but considering that things look a bit… intense between you two, may I suggest you take this interaction to one of our rooms? We have a few more suites available. I would suggest our honeymoon suite.”

You met Loki's gaze with a sheepish smile, but he didn’t look the least bit apologetic. In fact, he seemed rather pleased with himself. The last thing you wanted to put on was a show for everyone to see, but you couldn't help but get swept up into him once he started kissing you back.

“Maybe we should go to your party,” you suggested, turning to him with a guilty expression. “That way everyone will know you’re here.”

“Yes, I suppose we should.” He acknowledged. “I should at least tell Thor that I appreciate his basic efforts. He should know to do a better job at keeping secrets from me in the future.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “Let’s go do that. Right now.”

You caught Loki's hand, gently pulling him away from the nosy hotel staff and in the direction of the ballroom. The closer you got to the party, the more you were regretting your decision in not getting that hotel room.

You and Loki were standing just outside of the grand double doors, silently staring ahead.

“We should go in, shouldn’t we?” you asked.

“We should,” he agreed half-heartedly.

You nodded, running a hand over your mussed hair before taking a step towards the door, grabbing the door handle. You didn’t get the chance to open it before you were pulled away. You were suddenly pressed into Loki’s hard body with his lips pressed to yours.

Barely five minutes later, he was dragging you into the recommended suite, slamming the door shut, and placing you up against it. Your mouths connected again in an instant, hands running through his dark locks and legs wrapped around his waist.

“We should… get back to… the party.” You said in between kisses.

Loki pulled away for a split second, quirking a brow. “Why in the hel would we do that?”

You felt a rush of warmth in your cheeks. “For one, all your friends are waiting for you, and here I am keeping you from them.”

He chuckled darkly, leaning down to place a kiss under your chin. “Those imbeciles can wait. Right now, I prefer that I have you all to myself.”

“You can have me.” You whispered lightly. “I wouldn’t mind.” You more than wouldn’t mind. You’d be absolutely delighted.

He pulled back to meet your lust filled gaze.

“As would I, my love, but not yet. Not fully at least.”

You paused, blinking at him in slight confusion.

“You are a profoundly beautiful and intelligent woman, and I would prefer to court you properly before we go any further.” He explained, smiling softly as he ran the back of his hand down your cheek. “You deserve that and so much more.”

And here you were ready to rip his pants off. You were a complete horny mess, and by the prominent feeling of him rubbing against your stomach, you knew he was too.

However, he was right, and it turned you on even more that he respected you enough to hold back on his primal instincts. For now.

“Well,” You grinned, eyes searching his. “What would you like to do birthday boy?”

"I want to be with you. Just you." He confessed. "I want to hold you close, and look into your eyes—it's something I've dreamed of doing for a very long time."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you nodded. “I’d like that too.”

Before long, you found yourselves exactly where you needed to be. Both of you stretched out on the luxurious soft king-sized bed, nestled in his arms with your head resting against his chest. At that moment, you couldn’t remember ever feeling so secure, so complete.

“I have to confess,” you heard him murmur softly. “I did not expect this. I had already prepared myself to walk into that party, miserable as ever, and force myself to listen to people I could care less about drone on about how lucky I was to be related to Thor.”

You nestled closer to him, breathing in his scent.

“But then I saw you, standing there looking as enchanting as ever, and my whole world turned on its head. Regardless of what I said earlier, I am happy that you are here.”

He kissed the top of your head.

“This is truly the best surprise. Better than I could ever have imagined.”

𝘈/𝘕: 𝘎𝘰𝘥, 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘐?

DarkSerenity's Masterlist

✦ 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘰. 𝘙𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 ;)

✦𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 ✨

#loki x reader #loki fanfiction #loki x female reader #loki fanfic #loki imagine #darkserenity24

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redroomreflections · 3 months ago

Text

Something With Sea Turtles

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

A Family Of Her Own AU

(Natasha has a secret family)

Summary: Pregnant R and Natasha loves on her.

Natasha is good at many things. Intimidating bad guys, disappearing without a trace, dismantling a firearm in seconds. Painting walls? Well, that’s a skill she’s still figuring out.

She had insisted on painting the nursery walls for the arrival of your little one in a few months. It was supposed to be a nice bonding experience. But, as with most things involving the two of you, it had quickly turned into a bit of a disaster.

"You said this would be easy," You teased from your spot on the floor, perched on a pile of cushions Natasha had painstakingly arranged for your comfort. Your hand rested on your growing belly as you watched her, amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Natasha stood on a step stool, paint roller in hand, squinting at the wall. She was trying her best to create a soft, underwater gradient—blues and greens swirling together like an aquarium, the perfect theme for your baby’s nursery. But the brush strokes were uneven, and there was a smudge where she got a little overzealous with the darker blue.

"It is easy," she replied, her tone stubborn. "I’m just… experimenting with technique."

"Right," You muttered to yourself. "We could just hire someone."

"No!" She exclaimed, then, more gently: "No. I want to do this."

And, honestly, she did. The baby wasn't a shock by any means. Natasha had been dreaming about this day since the first time she fell in love with you. She had planned every detail down to the color of the paint, but when it came time to do the actual painting, she wanted nothing more than to do it herself.

"I know, but we don't even know if our baby will like water or animals..." You reached into your lap to open a bag of chips. "What if they hate all this ocean stuff?"

"If our baby hates all of this ocean stuff, then we'll just paint over it," Natasha lowered her paintbrush to glance back at you. "When did you become such a pessimist?"

"It's called being realistic."

Natasha huffed and dipped the roller in the pan, then continued her work.

"You're supposed to be relaxing."

"I can't relax when I have paint splattered all over my clothes," You gestured to the splotches of green and blue across your sweatshirt. "I'll never get these stains out."

Natasha glanced over her shoulder at you and smiled softly.

"Well, if you remove your clothes, I promise I'll be gentle."

"You're a dork," You chuckled. "And I'm not stripping in front of the baby."

"The baby's not even born yet."

"Still."

"Fine, then how about I strip for you," Natasha wiggled her hips and hummed playfully. "How's that for relaxation?"

"Tempting, but maybe you should finish the wall before we do anything else," You said. You looked down at the sweater to tug it over your belly. It seemed a bit tight these days. "Do you think I'm getting too big for this?"

"Your shirt?"

"Yeah, I mean... I feel like my stomach is stretching the fabric."

"Hmmm," Natasha mused. "Well, I'd say it looks pretty good."

"Good?"

"Perfect," She smiled to herself. "Absolutely perfect."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Of course."

"You're not lying to me right?" You tilted your head.

"When have I ever lied to you, Y/n?"

"A bunch of times actually," You raised a brow. "I was your superior."

"That doesn't count. Besides, it's my job."

"Your job is to tell me the truth," You sighed. "Do my boobs look too huge?"

"What? No!" She turned on the stool, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"But I've grown a size," You frowned, running a hand over your breasts. "You should be telling me to cover up."

"Are you crazy?" She asked, her eyes wide. "Y/n, you're carrying our child; I think you're allowed to dress comfortably. Also, I'm not complaining about your breast size."

"Yeah, but—"

"Listen," She set the paint roller down and stepped off the stool, "You're beautiful. Okay? And your tits are a part of that. You know, they're like an extra gift from the universe."

"Extra gift?"

"Like I'm already grateful for our baby," She said. "But then, your boobs get bigger, and, you know, I'm a very appreciative person."

"You won't be able to touch them for a while," You reminded her.

"I'm willing to wait."

"And I'm going to have stretch marks."

"So?"

"And my stomach will look weird and puffy," You sighed. "I mean, it's not going to go away."

"I don't care," she said. "Y/n, none of that matters. You're giving us a baby."

You were about to make a joke about how much it would probably hurt to push something the size of a melon out of your vagina, but when you saw the look in her eyes, your smile faded. She was so earnest, and suddenly, you felt guilty for not appreciating everything she was saying.

"Sorry," You said.

"For what?"

"Not listening to you," You shrugged.

"Don't apologize," Natasha walked toward you, then knelt beside your spot on the pillows. "I get it. There are days when I feel like I'm losing my mind. But, no matter what, you'll always be my favorite thing to look at."

"Nat," You grinned.

"Seriously," She smiled back. "And I'm gonna tell you that every single day until the end of time."

"Well, you'll be busy painting."

"Then, I'll paint it on the wall," She winked.

"God, I love you," You murmured, leaning forward to kiss her.

"Love you too," She replied, her breath warm against your lips. "Both of you."

"Now, go back to painting before you ruin it." You gestured. "I can kind of see the vision for the whale."

"See? That's what I'm talking about. I'm making art."

"Do you mind taking a breath to come rub this on my belly?" You gestured to the container of cocoa butter next to you.

"Of course," Natasha grabbed the tube, and unscrewed the cap. Then, she squeezed a generous amount onto her palm and set the bottle aside.

"You know," She began, "what you said earlier. I hope you don't believe that about yourself. That I won't find you attractive."

"No, I don't, not really," You shrugged. "It's just hard sometimes. My brain goes all crazy and my hormones are making me all weepy. But, I have you. And, you're not going anywhere, right?"

"Of course not."

"Good," You murmured. "'Cause I don't think I'd last long without you."

"Don't say that," She said, her voice quiet.

"Sorry."

"Stop apologizing," She scolded. "You'll be fine. I'll be fine. Everything will be fine. Now, can we focus on the positive? Like, for example, the fact that you're pregnant."

"I am pregnant."

"You are." She rested her hands on your belly. She began to rub the cocoa butter in circular motions against your skin. "You look so good like this."

"Really?"

"Yeah," She smiled, looking down at her hands pressing against the curve of your abdomen. She was so gentle with the bump. "This is exactly what I always imagined."

"What did you imagine?"

"A cute wife who was carrying my child," She smirked. "I guess I've always had a fantasy about having a family of my own."

"Well, you're living the dream." You grinned at her. For a second there wasn't much talking until you felt a slight movement inside of you. "She's awake."

"Really?" Natasha looked down.

"Yeah," You said. "Can you feel her?"

"Um, well," Natasha hesitated. "I mean, not really."

"Here," You reached down and took her hand, guiding it a bit further up your belly. "There. Do you feel that?"

"I—" Natasha paused, and then, she felt it, a faint movement against her hand. "Yeah?"

"Whenever you're near she gets to moving," You point out. "I think she recognizes your voice already."

A soft, surprised laugh escaped Natasha’s lips as she watched her hand rest against your belly, her expression melting into something softer than usual. She didn't pull her hand away. Instead, she let it linger, her thumb tracing circles on your skin.

"I think she’s already got me wrapped around her finger," she murmured, her voice full of affection and wonder. "Just like her mother."

"That's how it starts."

"Oh, is that a warning?"

"Yes."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." She leaned forward to kiss your belly. Then, she rested her cheek against your skin. "I couldn't be any happier than in this moment."

"That's good," You brushed her hair from her forehead, stroking her scalp gently. "But, just so you know, when I'm back on my feet, I'm kicking your ass for making me paint a sea turtle."

"Hey," she said, her tone playful. "You're the one who agreed to help."

"I regret everything."

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanov #black widow x female reader #natasha x you

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mviswidow · 1 month ago

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muse

Amy March x Fem Reader

Word Count: 1k

Summary: While in Paris, Amy needs a nude model to practice anatomy and you volunteer without a second thought.

A/N: i genuinely have no idea if anyone will read this but i adore amy and this has been sitting in my drafts for probably a year and a half or longer so i figured i should finally post it

You honestly didn’t think twice before volunteering yourself when Amy mentioned that she wanted to practice anatomy with a model. She'd just complained that men were usually the only ones with the privilege of having them.

You’ve been friends with Amy since she first came to Paris and she felt like a breath of fresh air. You differ from most Parisians in that you prioritize what you want to do rather than what others think you should do, and Amy liked that about you. Her bright smile, free spirit, and warm personality were what initially drew you to her.

Lately, you’ve been afraid that Amy would discover that you're into women, especially after how eagerly you volunteered to be her model, but the enthusiastic grin she gave as she clapped her hands together in excitement eased your concerns.

Standing awkwardly in an expensive robe beside Amy as she gets her paints ready, you wait anxiously for her to tell you what to do.

Now you’re tying Amy’s smock for her, hyper-aware of how cold the room is and you let your hands rest carefully at her waist for half a second as you take a breath to calm yourself.

Amy turns to face you, sensing that you’ve finished since she couldn’t feel your hands moving anymore, “You look nervous.“

“Is it really that obvious?“

“It’s okay, I’m nervous, too.”

You roll your eyes playfully at that, “What do you have to be nervous about?“

“I’ve never done this before either, and I want to do it well because… it’s important that your beauty is captured perfectly.“

Your face flushes and you bite your bottom lip, now noticing the nervousness in Amy’s body language after she mentioned it.

“I’m confident that it will be perfect, everything you touch practically turns to gold.“

Amy blushes and dips her head, “I don’t know about that.. but thank you.“

You shake your head and wave her off, “You don’t have to thank me, it’s the truth.“

The two of you hold eye contact, and for a moment it feels like Amy is looking into your soul. She opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted by a knock on the door.

She clears her throat and turns away from you, towards the door, “Come in.“

You watch one of Amy’s aunt’s staff come inside and talk to her briefly about an upcoming party Mrs March is throwing. When she leaves, Amy turns back to you with a tightlipped smile, “Are you ready to get started?“

You muster up the courage to nod and she takes one of your hands in her own. You notice it's warmth as she leads you to where she wants you to sit.

Once you're seated on the stool she's set up for you, you move to untie the robe, but Amy’s hand stops you. You look up at her and watch her swallow, “I-I’ve been thinking that maybe you should sit and then we fix the robe so it’s draped over your arms… What do you think about that?“

You nod silently and sit on the wooden chair, anxiety bubbling up inside you.

Amy then carefully reaches out, taking your chin between her pointer finger and thumb, and angles your face the slightest bit towards the window. She glances right at your lips before releasing your face and you have to convince yourself that you didn’t imagine it.

She backs up a few paces and chews on her bottom lip until you assume she’s decided that she likes the way the sun is hitting your face. “OK,“ was all she said before walking back over.

You know what comes next, but your heart still stutters when Amy stands right in front of you and looks at you with an expression that you could only imagine being her way of asking for your consent.

“Go ahead,” you say quietly, and watch her intensely as she loosens the knot that ties the robe closed. You feel her fingers graze your stomach as she pulls the fabric apart.

When you look back up at her, you realize that she’s avoiding looking at your breasts, and her face has flushed.

“Are you okay?“

“I just-“ she lets out a big breath and you shiver as the warm air tickles your face.

“You can relax, Ames, it’s just me,” you say, although at the forefront of your mind was how hard your heart was hammering in your chest.

She stays silent while you continue looking at her. She glances down at your lips again, you look at hers, and in a moment of confidence, you lean up and kiss her.

You shut your eyes tightly and both of you freeze for a moment. You don’t even dare to breathe until Amy leans closer.

She rests a gentle hand just above your knee as she pulls away, breathing heavily, her face still inches from yours. As you look at her, you suddenly have so many things you want to say to her. The dreams you’ve had of her, how long you’ve been aching to kiss her, how utterly beautiful she is, but you don’t get to say any of that because she’s pulling you in and kissing you feverishly before you can.

Your hands fly to her shoulders, steadying yourself, and you almost faint when you feel Amy’s hand at your bare waist. Her touch is electrifying and your head buzzes contently as her tongue swipes across your bottom lip, a request for more.

When you moan against her mouth, her grip at your waist tightens and you have to pull your lips from hers to take a breath, “You’re incredible, Amy. You’re beautiful -”

You're interrupted by the blonde’s venture to your neck. She nips at the skin of your neck deliciously. “You’re the muse here,” she teases.

You chuckle as your hand finds its way to her hair. You were happy to see that Amy had regained her confidence and was almost surprised by her forwardness, but you knew she had it in her.

When Amy’s hand bravely found its way to your breast, the moan that escaped your lips echoed throughout the room. She bit down as if to punish you, but you weren’t so sure that it could be considered a punishment if you enjoyed it so much.

“You have to be quiet if you want me to keep going, darling, there’s staff around outside.”

Your cheeks flush red at the suggestiveness in her tone and it takes everything in you to take her head in your hands and guide her away from your neck.

She's wearing an expression of confusion and you can see a bit of panic in her eyes, "What's wrong?"

You chuckle and take her hand, squeezing it to reassure her, "Nothing, it's just - you have to paint, Ames. I know this is important to you."

"Right, I forgot," she blushes, releasing a sigh of relief.

Amy is about to start repositioning you again before you pull her towards you for another kiss. Before either of you can get lost in it, you pull away, "Hey, but after you're all done, if you wanted, my schedule for the rest of the day is clear so -"

"Yes," she interrupts you, a bright smile on her face.

#amy march #amy march x reader #little women #little women 2019 #florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #amy march x female reader #wlw #sapphic fic #yelena belova #yelena belova x reader

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hyunnielix · 2 months ago

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skinny dipping. | h.h

Series Masterlist

'we'll be thinking about how different we are, from those scared little kids'

— hyunjin x (f) reader

— word count: 1.5k

— genre: non-idol au, artist!hyunjin, second chance romance (I know who would've thought. eventual smut (not in this chapter sorry).

— warning's: fluff, some angst, bestie!felix (and minho)

→ playlist on spotify

The minimalist architecture is what consistently drew you to the local coffee shop. Sure, other customers may have described it as sterile, lifeless and boring (as per the reviews). But the simplicity created a sense of ease within you. Tranquil blues adorned the ivory walls in decorative swirls. Each paint stroke seemed calculated and practiced. Stay Grounded — a silly name for a cafe, despite the fact most days you felt like the opposite.

A creature of habit, most of your friends would find you sitting in a small alcove, observing people, nose in a book, or phone depending on the day. Today, however, you couldn't stay. You promised Felix you would take a baking masterclass with him, much to your chagrin. Your sneakers tapped gently against the stool you occupied, a subtle rhythm and distraction.

The coffee shop hummed with life. A barista, dressed in a grey apron stood behind the counter, skilfully crafting drinks. Steam rose from the espresso machine and the aroma of freshly ground caramel beans filled the air. The menu, black block text on a white background, exuded an air of prestige. Maybe it was snobby. You didn't care.

Nearby, a group of friends occupied a corner booth, their laughter filling the space. Your gaze travelled to the left. A couple sat by the window, engaged in quiet conversation while their mugs rested on a wooden table.

Occasionally, you glanced toward the counter, anticipating the arrival of your coffee. Your phone buzzed, directing your attention to the device.

Lixie 🩵: remember class today. you promised! <3 I'll go easy on you. first timer and all.

An amused smile crawled onto your face, and you scoffed, typing up the response.

Y/N: I have a few tricks up my sleeve Lix. Don't be surprised if I beat you!

Lixie 🩵: didn't know this was a competition :(

Y/N: It is now :)

"The iced long black with an extra shot!" The barista's voice rung through the space. It couldn't be. The order. You knew it off by heart, as familiar as the back of your palm.

"Coffee for Hyunjin!"

You gaze snapped up, ignoring the buzz of your phone. Your face paled. It couldn't be him. Hyunjin lived in Paris. His paintings adorned the walls of reputable galleries, and his exhibits were a media sensation, captivating critics and the public alike. Newspapers and art magazines clamoured to cover every detail. The headlines screamed of a young, rising artist, whose work spoke to the masses. Capturing intimate moments and the simplicity of life in a delicate way. You would know, you owned a few of his pieces yourself.

He stood at the counter, his movements smooth and effortless while he reached for his takeaway coffee. His previous golden locks no longer framed his face, instead replaced by a harsh onyx colour. His sharp jawline and high cheekbones reflected a quiet elegance, while his eyes, deep and almond-shaped, sparkled with a hint of thoughtfulness. He wore a fitted beige coat which draped gracefully over his shoulders. He looked ethereal. His slender fingers wrapped around the iced drink, and he gave a soft, polite smile to the barista, lips curving in such a way that suggested quiet confidence. With a slight tilt of his head, he nodded a thank you, his gaze drifting while he turned around, landing directly on you.

You think you imagined the way his expression softened. Although, he froze, his hesitation painfully visible. You swallowed, offering a hint of a smile and a slight wave of your hand. What's the worst thing that could happen? ignore you?

He shoved his hand into the pocket of his baggy jeans and walked over, towering above you. His tongue poked out and he sipped the coffee before bending down to your height. "Hi."

"Hi," You squeaked out. "I uh- wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Yeah. It was sort of spontaneous. Homesickness kind of thing."

"Oh. When did you get back? from Paris. I mean."

"This morning actually. I can't stand airport coffee, so this is the first place I thought of." He gazed around, then brought his eyes back to you. "It hasn't changed. It's kind of comforting in a way. Something familiar."

"Yeah..." You fidgeted with your phone and ignored his stare, which lingered far too long on your face. Had your makeup smudged or something?

Hyunjin cleared his throat. "How's Felix?"

"He's good. I actually have a baking class with him in an hour."

"You bake now?" He tilted his head, a gesture so endearing it reminded you of a curious puppy, and then came the sound—a soft laugh that spilled from his lips, light and unrestrained.

You froze, the corners of your mouth tugging down. It had been far too long since you’d heard that laugh, warm and melodic.

Before you could respond, your attention snagged on a girl behind him. She wore a maroon mini dress that clung to her like a second skin, confidence radiating with each step. As she drew closer, her focus locked onto Hyunjin. Although, his remained fixed on you, his eyes steady, waiting for your answer, completely unaware.

She reached forward, tapping on Hyunjin's shoulder. "Oh my god! It is you! Jiniret."

"Oh... yeah, that's uhh me." A faint blush tinted his cheeks, so subtle it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else. But you weren’t just anyone—you knew him better than most.

The girl rocked on her kitten heels, pleading with an unmatched intensity. "Can I please get a photo with you?"

"I'd love to but me and my—' He paused, his eyes darting to yours briefly, "friend. my friend have some business to attend to."

You chewed on your bottom lip— an anxious habit you’d picked up during high school. For a split second you swore his gaze dipped to them and back to your eyes.

"Oh my gosh I so get it. I'm sorry again.” The girl gripped one of his hands in hers, bowed, and then scurried away.

The hum of voices and clatter of cups grew as more people filtered in— your least favourite time— rush hour. "Coffee for Y/N!"

You rose abruptly from the stool, eager to leave the establishment and memories attached to it. With him.

"I guess that's me then." You flashed him a tight-lipped smile and approached the counter. Slender fingers wrapped around your wrist, halting your movement. You glanced over your shoulder. The anguish etched across Hyunjin’s face held a strange sort of tenderness.

He let go, instead running his fingers through his onyx hair. "We should do this again sometime. Like old times.”

"Hyune, do you really think that's a good idea." You shifted your weight, hip jutting out as your brows knitted together. The answer couldn’t have been more obvious.

"We can go to that restaurant. The one you like—"

"You, the Jiniret, want to go to that silly little restaurant with me?" you quipped, crossing your arms over your chest. A smirk tugged at your lips, though your heart thudded a little harder seeing the faint dimple appear in his cheek when he grinned.

"I’m hurt that you think I’m that pretentious." He pressed his hand against his chest, mouth agape in mock hurt.

Your eyes flicked to the floor, then back to his, catching how he shifted on his feet—just a small move, like he was still trying to find his footing. “I was worried Paris was getting to your head,” you teased, the words carrying a sharp edge.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you crackled, layered with old familiarity and something newer, something fragile. You caught the way his jaw tightened, just slightly, like he wanted to say something but hadn’t decided how.

"Quite the opposite, actually," he murmured, his voice barely cutting through the din.

You glanced at your phone. "I have to go. I'm going to be late for my baking class."

"I'll text you."

"I don’t have your number anymore," you admitted, your voice softer than you intended.

His brows furrowed and an emotion you couldn't quite decipher flashed behind his eyes. Without hesitation, he extended his hand, palm up, an unspoken request. The motion felt calm but firm, and something about it made your breath hitch.

You placed the device in his outstretched hand, his fingers brushed yours briefly and he began typing.

“Coffee for Y/N!” The barista’s call cut through the buzz of the coffee shop, pulling your attention away from him. Right your drink. You glanced toward the counter, spotting your drink waiting in its cardboard sleeve, a slight sheen of condensation on the plastic lid.

He reached out with his palm open. “Here,” he said, handing back your phone. His lips curved into a small smirk, and he added with a wink, “Make sure to keep me a pastry.”

You rolled your eyes, the scoff escaping before you could stop it. Turning on your heel, you made your way to the counter. Your shoes clicked softly against the polished floor as you retrieved the drink—melted now. A small frown tugged at your lips as you adjusted the lid, but you didn’t look back at him, even as you felt his gaze following you.

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annievrse · 3 months ago

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apron makeover

sanji x fem!reader —ᡣ𐭩 fic summary: sanji's apron looked a little plain... w/c: 0.9k c/w: a little bit suggestive (it's literally sanji), reader referred to as 'my lady'.

"Is it to your liking, my love?"

Humming, you nod. "It's perfect. Thank you, baby."

Sanji's cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson as he turns back to the sink, scrubbing at a pan. The galley is empty, with the rest of the crew on the deck celebrating another successful fight. The Sunny breaks through waves slower than usual, and the constant threat from the world is a distant thought for the night.

The only sounds are the ding of the spoon in your hand on the ceramic plate, the slosh of the water in the sink, and the faraway laughter of your friends.

The delicate sweetness of the dessert your boyfriend prepared you fills your body with a warmness only he can elicit. You're content, and with that comes the overwhelming appreciation you have for your cook.

"I love you," You say, the words tumbling from your lips as you stare at his back. Sanji glances over his shoulder, his cheeks pink and mouth pulled into a wide grin.

"I love you more, my darling."

Your cheeks warm, and you smile shyly at him. Sanji chuckles lightly and places the clean pan on the side of the sink. He turns to face you and leans against the counter.

As you lick your spoon clean, an idea pops into your head. The apron he wears looks a little plain with its all-white material, and although Sanji thinks it exudes professionalism, you think differently.

Giggling, you slide from the bar stool and rush to the storage cupboard. Sanji calls your name as you rummage through the stuff, but when you find what you're looking for, you slam the door shut and lunge for the plain apron the cook wears.

"What are you doing?" Sanji mutters, his voice light and airy at how close you are. Your gaze is wide with excitement, and Sanji would be lying if he said it didn't excite him, too (not that he ever lied about such things when it comes to you).

With a pot of black paint and a small paintbrush from Usopp's stash, you decide against taking the apron directly from his body, and sit on a dining chair. "Come here."

Sanji raises an eyebrow but complies, standing between your thighs.

He'd let you do anything to him.

Dipping the paintbrush into the paint, you lean up slightly to start the lettering at the top of the apron. And when the first line of paint contacts the material, Sanji throws all previous opinions on professionalism out of his mind.

Paint whatever you want, he thinks, I'm your canvas.

"Hold still," You mumble, splaying your free hand on his stomach to flatten the fabric of his apron. The cook freezes, his body tingling everywhere you touch him over his clothes.

"I-I don't think we should do this in the galley—"

"Sanji," You giggle, pausing your painting to look up at him. The lovesick expression on his face makes your heart melt. "I'm just writing something, okay? It is of utmost importance that this be done right here and now."

Your boyfriend nods, fists balling at his sides. He's trying his best not to distract you from your very important work, but how your eyebrows furrow and the tip of your tongue pokes out the corner of your mouth has his chest hurting with restraint.

The paintbrush moves from the top of the garment to the middle and then lower. Your hand moves across his torso and down to his hip bone, the words taking up more space than you anticipated.

Sanji is so very clearly struggling with his sharp inhales and jerking abdomen, and you decide you've tortured him enough.

"Baby—"

"Done!" You say, leaning back to admire your work. "You look so hot."

Sanji splutters, his eyes turning into literal hearts at your words. "I would never disagree with a lady, my love, but I'd say that you—"

"Sanji," You smile, standing from the chair. Your hands find his clammy ones, and you tug him to the window. His reflection stares back at him, and a laugh tumbles from his lips, his ears turning a concerning shade of red.

Mr. Good Lookin' is Cookin'

You brush his hair from his eyes and kiss his cheek. "It's perfect, don't you think?"

Sanji opens his mouth to answer when the door slams into the wall.

"Oh, please," Comes Zoro's voice from the doorway. He has a disgusted, pained expression on his face that makes you giggle. "What curse has he put on you?"

You laugh, and Sanji sighs, turning toward the swordsman. "Just admit you're jealous and walk away, mosshead."

Rolling his eyes, Zoro stalks into the kitchen and pokes through the cupboard for a beer. He shrugs at its warm temperature and cracks it open. "Would love a cold one."

Sanji's eyes narrow. "And I would love it if you pissed off."

Before he leaves, Zoro looks the cook up and down and shakes his head disapprovingly.

Smiling, you grab your boyfriend's hand as he lunges. "Goodnight, Zoro."

The swordsman throws his hand up as he exits, the door swinging closed behind him.

Sanji scoffs and turns back to you, his gaze immediately melting at the sight of you. His hands grip your waist firmly. "What do you say we head to the back of the ship? I've heard it's pretty empty this time of night."

Tilting your head, you circle your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair. "I'd say that's a perfect idea, Mr. Good Lookin'."

#RAWR sanji #giggling and kicking my feet #i love this man #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #one piece #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #black leg sanji #black leg sanji x reader

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shelbgrey · 6 months ago

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Doing Something unholy (Benedict Bridgerton)

Paring: Benedict Bridgerton x Wife!Reader

Summary: Benedict wants help with one of his "art projects"

Warrings: SMUT! Riding, getting dirty with paint both metaphorically and literally, unprotected sex, painting body parts, praise kink, dirty talk, married couple.

MasterList ML2

Benedict had been locked in his room for hours, I was missing my husband and getting bored of hearing yet another story about Colin's travels. As much as I loved him, I couldn't take much more. I excused myself from the conversation with my brother-in-laws and walked down the hallway where I knew Benedict would be doing his painting.

I opened the door quietly. I smiled when I peaked around the corner, even in his most comfortable state he was the most handsome I've ever seen. He was wearing nothing but his ruffled white shirt, the collar open wide to reveal most of his chest and his suspenders were sitting somewhat loose on his shoulders. His gray eyes staring intently on his canvas as his hand moved the brush with expertise.

I came up behind the stool he was sitting on and my lips found his cheek. He turned his head slightly, catching my lips before they could make contact with his skin then returned to his work.

“don't let me distract you, My Love” I whispered as my hands found the opening of the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel his warm skin against mine even if it was just the palm of my hand.

“You always know how to distract me, Mrs. Bridgerton” he says softly as the brush continues to move gracefully across the canvas.

“Me?” I kissed his jaw as my palms moved down his bare chest. “never”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and rich. His eyes never leave the canvas as he continues to paint, but his body leaned into my touch. “Mmm... I beg to differ, darling”

“Mhm” my fingers hooked on to the suspenders on his shoulder and pulled them down so they hung from his pants. “Just keep painting... I won't distract you” I said softly against his neck. I kissed the skin where his jaw and neck met as I unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, my hands still brushing up and down his chest as I stood behind him.

His breath hitches as my lips meet his skin, fingers tightening on the brush for a moment. He releases a slow breath, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Darling…” His voice is husky, just a little rough, like his warning me even though he knows it'll be ignored.

“Yes, my love?” I asked innocently.

He turns his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “You may think you're not being a distraction, but you got that look on your face… that naughty one, my dear”

“I don't know what you're talking about” I smiled. I placed my hand on his jaw, turning his face towards me. The paintbrush falls to the floor with a clink as his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling into his lap I set sideways on just one of his knees as his other hand reaches up to cup my cheek, staining my skin with the leftover paint on his fingers. “Oh, I think you do”

Our noses brush against each other as he cupped my cheek. I shivered when I felt the cool liquid of the paint touch my cheek. He smirks, his thumb brushing gently against the smear of paint. “It seems like I've left a little something on you”

I shook my head playfully, knowing the dirty thoughts that were probably circling his mind after that little inuwindo. I reached for the paint that was on the table next to us and dipped my finger tips into the liquid. I gave him a playfully smile as I smeared some paint on his bare chest to get him back for the mess he made on my cheek.

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich. his eyes watched me intently as the paint marks appeared on his chest. His free hand reached up and grabbed mine, making a paint blotch on his skin as he pressed our hands to his chest. A small smile playing on his lips. “You're a messy one, aren't you?”

“When it comes to you” I said softly, cupping his jaw and kissing him softly as more paint got stained his jaw.

The softness of the moment only broke when he pulled back, his breath slightly ragged as he looked at the smeared paint on my cheek and neck. “you want to try something... New?” He murmurs, leaning in and placing a soft kiss on my forehead.

I nodded softly, pressing my forehead against his. “Like what, My love?” I asked, slipping my hand under the unbuttoned white shirt that he was still wearing, showing the rest of his torso.

His breath hitches, he leans in and whispers against my lips. “I want to paint with you, use our bodies to do it”

I couldn't miss the sexual undertone and the sparkle in his eyes. The idea of our nude bodies in paint and rolling around, making an abstract design did something to me in a way I couldn't explain. We weren't strangers to trying new things in our sex life. I pressed my lips to his and nodded. In the corner of my eye I could see a huge piece of paper lying on the floor of his studio.

He presses a quick passionate kiss to my lips then pulls away with intensity. “Take your clothes off” He commands softly, the thought of getting covered in paint together turning him on.

I get up from his lap and pull my dress down, letting it pool to the floor. His eyes roam over my corset-clad body with nothing but intensity and admiration. He stands up and begins to remove his shirt. In a rushed pace, revealing his toned chest and arms.

His gray eyes stared at me with hunger as I quickly untied the corset and threw it to an unknown place in the room, leaving me completely bare to him. His breath hitches, taking in the sight of my nude form. He blindly picks up a large paintbrush, his eyes never leaving mine. “Lie down on the canvas, face up” instructs, his voice low and commanding.

“Yes, sir” I said softly, I placed a kiss on his lips before walking over the large piece of paper on the ground and layed down on it like I was told.

Benedict's breath catching at the sight of my bare body against the canvas. He reaches for a container of paint and dips the brush in, approaching the canvas. “You're so beautiful, so perfect”

I spread my legs slightly and let my arms lay above my head, watching him kneel between my legs with lust in my eyes. my eyes fluttered closed, moaning at the feeling of the cold liquid hitting my burning skin. He paints swirls and thick layers around my breasts, belly, and thighs. As he paints, he occasionally dips his fingers in paint and runs it over my skin. My eyes fluttered closed and my brain short circuited at feeling the cool liquid against my flesh, all I could focus on was him.

The brush glided over my nipples and down my stomach. He reaches for another container of paint, a deeper shade of purple. “Open your legs wider” He instructs softly.

He paints a large, thick swirling against my inner thighs, the purple paint standing out against our pale skin. He then sets the brush down and runs his finger tips over my skin. “So beautiful” He murmurs, our eyes locked as his hands travel up the inside of my thigh.

“Ben…” I moaned softly, feeling my stomach tighten from the pleasure. I wanted to squeeze my thighs together for some sorta friction, feeling myself getting wetter for him. My hips arched and a sinful noise was forced from my lips as his fingers brushed through my folds, gathering the juices before teasing my clit with a thin, delicate touch. “So wet for me already”

I moaned softly, arching my hips up instinctively as His hands ran over my burning cheek. He smirked, watching me squirm on the canvas. “You're so beautiful... I'm going to give you a final touch here”

“Benedict” moaned softly.

“Yes, my love? Shall we continue?” He asks, his voice soothing yet dominating and teasing.

“Y-yes” I tested his patience by quickly flipping us on the canvas. I pushed him gently to his back and I straddled his hips.

Benedict's eyes widened in surprise as he registered he was on the canvas now, flat on his back. He looks around at the canvas, smirking as he layed in the center. “What are you doing, love?” He asks, his voice slightly breathless.

He watched intently as I dipped my fingers in the paint and slowly made a stroke of red from his collarbone and down his chest. I could feel his heart racing with anticipation under the tips of my fingers as the red paint trails down his chest, he can't help but let out a soft gasp. “Fuck,” He breathes, his hands squeezing my paint stained hips. “Keep going”

He lets out a sharp intake of breath as my fingers slowly brushed from his neck and down to one of his nipples. Benedict's back arched off the canvas as his gray eyes stared into mine. He huffs and before I knew it he was setting up and I remained in his lap. I moaned against his lips, kissing him roughly as I blindly took a glob of paint and ran both of my hands down his back, gripping his shoulders. My nails dug into the back of his shoulders when I felt his erection poking against my aching core, I instinctively rock my hips.

He breaks the kiss, his chest heaving, his eyes holding a feral gaze. “Enough games” He growls, the grip on my hips tighten as pressed his erection against my slick folds. “bloody hell”

I threw my head back in pleasure as he suddenly buried himself inside me. I let out a moan, arching my hips as the paint on our skin mixed, creating a messy, beautiful scene.

“Benedict!” I moaned. He thrusts roughly, his need and desire filling every movement. The paint on our bodies mixes and smears on the canvas beneath us, creating a masterpiece worthy of the love between the artist and his muse. “Fuck, you're so tight, love”

I moaned at the fast pace he set, I placed my hands on his chest, leaving handprints all over his skin as I tried to keep balance. I rocked my hips at a rough, rushed pace. I moaned his name like a prayer.

“I can't get enough of you, Darling” Benedict groans possessively. I moaned and cried his name as he continued to thrust and rock our bodies together like a mad man. His pace unrelenting as he claimed my body without missing a movement. Paint mixed with our sweat, leaving trails of color on our skin and the canvas beneath. “Stay with me, y/n... Fuck me back”

“Benedict” I moaned desperately, rolling my hips, riding him at a fast pace. “oh, God” I moaned out, lifting my hips up so only his tip remained then swiftly setting myself back down, so I felt every inch of him.

He growls, he blindly dips his hand in paint then grip on your hips, making the cold liquid smear over my hips and back as his hips moved with mine, driving himself deeper, hitting every spot that had me seeing stars. The scene before us became an abstract explosion of passion, paint and sweat.

“God, Benny!” I moaned, rocking my hips and trying to keep up with his thrusts. My head falls back in pleasure as every inch of him stretches me out and his tip repeatedly hits my g-spot.

“You feel so good, Darling, so perfect” Benedict's voice was thick, husky against my neck. Every word was filled with his desire and lust. Our hands never stop roaming over each other, leaving trails of color and feeling wherever he could touch. My cry of pleasure encouraged his movements to become more urgent.

Feeling of our hot bodies and the cold paint that covered us consumed me with pleasure. It was something that felt so good but scandalous even for a married couple. I didn't care, it felt too good to stop now. The sinful activities was for our eyes only and all that mattered was the two of us. I moaned and cried out his name like it was the only thing in knew. I arched my hips as the knot in my stomach got dangerously tight with pleasure.

There's something wildly intoxicating about the act. Benedict's hand wrapped around the back of my neck with his painted covered hand and pressed our lips together and swiftly flipped our bodies, pressing my paint covered back to the abstracted canvas.

I moaned, tugging at his hair as I sunk underneath his body. I arched my hips off the canvas, the mixture of paint and our releases making the paper stick to our skin. I let out a high pitched moan, my head falling back in pleasure against the canvas

“Benedict... B-ben I'm close” I moaned desperately.

His hips bucked, the pace became faster and more urgent. He nipped at my ear lobe, whispering. “Come for me Darling” his voice was like a siren call, pulling me into the depth of pleasure that was him.

I dug my nails into his back as my walls clenched around him. I wrap my legs around his waist, pushing him deeper Inside me. My body arches, our body pressed firmly together, leaving no space between us and allowing the paint on our skin to become one.

shivers went down my spine. He thrust harder and deeper, his eyes locked with mine as pushes me over the edge. “I want to see you fall apart for me” He said, his voice strained and desire glowing in his eyes.

I let out a sinful moan, digging my nails into his shoulders as our eyes locked. The intensity of his gaze was enough to make the knot in my stomach snap. I held on to him tightly like he was the only thing keeping from slipping away. I arched my hips as I came, my orgasm drowning me in pleasure “Benedict!”

He growled low, as I convulsed around him triggering his release. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, kissing and biting at my skin as he rode his orgasm out. His hips kept bucking until we were both spent. “Christ you're beautiful”

I moaned softly, feeling the mixture of our releases pool in between my thighs and onto the canvas. He carefully pulled, leaving me moaning at the emptiness I felt. A satisfying smile spread across his face as his softening member left my warmth. He looked down at the canvas and saw the mess we made, the paint and our releases creating an abstract art piece.

“I'm going to clean you up, Darling,” Benedict said softly and carried me to the bathroom. He filled up the tub with hot water. Then sat down gently into the water, I sighed constantly as the warm water kissed my skin. Benedict slowly sat himself behind me in the water and began to wash the paint and our releases off my skin gently. “We make quite the mess, don't we?” He said, smiling against my shoulder as he kissed it lovingly.

“we always do one way or another” It was always something with us, we still haven't told violet about the couch we broke. Luckily Anthony was able to find an identical one to replace it before their mother found out.

He chuckled as he continued to run the washcloth over my skin. His fingers gently massaging my spent muscles as he cleaned the remaining paint off. “And I wouldn't change it for the world”

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

“when did you do that?” Anthony asked, looking at the large abstract canvas that was now hanging in Benedict's room.

“the other day” Benedict said as anthony got closer to the piece of art. His eyes squinted and he tilted his head, studding the odd canvas.

Colin added “since when do you do abstract art? It's quite large too”

“trying something new” Benedict said, glancing up at his two brothers for a moment. He tried to hide his smirk at the thought of the process it took to make the piece.

“is that a hand print?” colin asked, he got closer and stared at all the random blotches and strokes. “it's too small to be yours-oh...” he stepped back and Anthony turned his head to benedict, smirking. “oh you didn't, brother you sly-”

“a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell” Benedict said, cutting off Anthony's teasing. “oh, but brothers don't keep secrets” Colin added, raising an eyebrow.

“carriages, canvases... Can nothing stay innocent in this family?” Anthony asked, shaking his head at his little brothers.

#Benedict bridgerton smut #Benedict bridgerton x reader #Benedict bridgerton imagines #Benedict bridgerton smut imagines #Bridgerton smut #Luke Thompson #Benedict bridgerton

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elryuse · 15 days ago

Text

Our True Colours

Tsuki X Male Reader

Tags : Trauma, Bad Past, Vanilla Sex, Love, Romance, Lots of Emotions

Words : 6,333 Words

This Story, Is dedicated to all you Who have ever been in this position before. Feeling Depressed, Traumatized by Past Memories, and Basically Not knowing what to do. I just want to say, You're not alone. I know that You can do it. Don't give Up yet.

I Also made This story, For those of you Who requested me to make more stories about Billie. I hope You Enjoyed it.

The afternoon sun drapes over the college campus, casting long, golden shadows on the ground. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves, sending a crisp whisper through the air. It’s a perfect day to stay indoors—exactly what you always preferred. But something about today made you take a detour from your usual quiet routine.

Hands buried in the pockets of your hoodie, you stroll absentmindedly past the library, weaving through the quiet garden at the center of campus. You walk these paths every day, yet they never feel quite familiar. College is a place full of people—loud conversations, laughter, and the occasional rush of students running late for class. It’s overwhelming at times. That’s why you always blend into the background, existing on the edges, unnoticed.

And then you see her.

She sits on a wooden stool, poised like a vision of serenity, a canvas set before her. A delicate hand moves a paintbrush across the surface, slow and precise, as though every stroke holds meaning. The soft golden light catches her dark brown hair, making it glow like strands of silk. Large, expensive Sony headphones cover her ears, allowing her to drift into her own world, untouched by the noise of the campus.

She’s painting.

You pause mid-step. Something about her presence is… captivating. Maybe it’s the way she sways slightly to the music only she can hear. Or the way her lips curl into a soft, satisfied smile as she mixes colors on her palette. Whatever it is, you can’t seem to look away.

Your heart stirs—an unfamiliar warmth spreading through your chest.

She’s breathtaking.

The sight of her, lost in her own world, makes your stomach twist. You should walk away. You should keep moving, pretend you never saw her. But your feet stay rooted in place. You watch as she dips her brush into a deep shade of blue and glides it effortlessly onto the canvas.

Then, suddenly—

She looks up.

Your breath catches.

For a fleeting moment, time slows as her gaze meets yours. Her eyes—deep and filled with quiet curiosity—lock onto you. There’s no shyness in them, only a soft, steady awareness. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks, your entire body warming under the weight of her attention.

She tilts her head, studying you, and then—

A small smile.

Your heart pounds. You’ve been staring for too long. You quickly look away, pretending to be interested in the grass at your feet, but it’s too late. The damage is done.

And then, her voice—soft, yet clear—cuts through the air.

"Do you like my painting?"

Your stomach flips.

You glance up, hesitant, still flustered from being caught. She’s looking at you expectantly, her eyes holding a hint of amusement. She must have noticed your staring.

“I—uh,” you stammer, throat suddenly dry. You shift awkwardly, glancing at the canvas for the first time.

It’s beautiful.

The painting is an almost dreamlike rendition of the college garden—the very place you’re standing in. The way she’s captured the afternoon light, the way the colors seem to melt into one another—it’s stunning.

You swallow hard, feeling a strange nervousness build in your chest. “Yeah,” you manage, voice quieter than you intended. “It’s… really good.”

A soft chuckle escapes her lips, like a gentle melody. “You don’t sound convinced.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, I mean it. It’s amazing.”

She studies you for a moment, as if trying to decide whether you’re telling the truth. Then, with a small nod, she looks back at her canvas, dipping her brush into a lighter shade of blue.

“You come here often?” she asks, her voice casual, yet laced with genuine curiosity.

You blink. No one ever asks you that.

“Uh… yeah,” you reply hesitantly. “I like… quiet places.”

She hums in acknowledgment, as if she understands. “Me too.”

Silence settles between you, but it isn’t uncomfortable. She continues painting, and you… you don’t know what to do. Should you leave? Stay? The moment feels fragile, like one wrong move might shatter it.

She suddenly gestures toward the empty bench nearby. “You can sit, if you want.”

You hesitate.

She notices. “Unless you’re in a hurry?”

You weren’t. But you also weren’t sure why she was offering. Most people didn’t pay much attention to you. Yet, here she was, inviting you—someone she barely knew—to stay.

After a beat, you nod and move to the bench, sitting down awkwardly. You keep a respectable distance, unsure of what to say. The air between you is filled with nothing but the occasional scratch of her brush against the canvas and the soft rustling of leaves.

Minutes pass.

You steal a glance at her, watching the way her brow furrows slightly in concentration, the way her fingers gently blend the colors with careful precision. There’s something calming about watching her work, like she’s in sync with the world in a way you never quite felt.

Then—

She turns to you again, her expression thoughtful. “You never told me your name.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh. It’s… Y/n.”

A slow smile spreads across her lips. “Y/n,” she repeats, testing the sound. Then, she holds out her paint-stained hand. “I’m Tsuki.”

Tsuki.

The name lingers in your mind, settling into a space you didn’t realize was empty.

You hesitate before reaching out, your fingers brushing against hers in a brief handshake. Her skin is warm, slightly rough from handling brushes and paint, but the contact sends an unexpected jolt through you.

She grins, her eyes shining with something unreadable. “Nice to meet you, Y/n.”

Your heart beats a little faster.

"Yeah,” you murmur. “Nice to meet you too.”

And just like that, something shifts.

Something fragile, something new—something that makes the world feel just a little less quiet.

The days pass, but you can’t stop thinking about her.

Tsuki.

The way her name rolled off your tongue felt strange yet familiar, like something that belonged in your life long before you met her. You find yourself returning to the garden more often than usual, your steps unconsciously leading you back to that same wooden bench.

And each time, she’s there.

Always painting. Always lost in the world of colors and brushes. Always wearing those heavy Sony headphones, swaying slightly to music only she can hear.

But now—there’s something different.

She notices you.

The first time you came back after your first meeting, she had looked up from her canvas, a flicker of recognition flashing in her deep brown eyes. A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips, as if she had been expecting you all along.

"Back again?" she had said, teasingly.

You had stammered, made up some excuse about liking the quiet, but she only chuckled before turning back to her work. And somehow, without words, the two of you had settled into a new kind of routine.

Now, every time you show up, she acknowledges you—not with words, but with small gestures. A slight shift in her posture, as if making space for you in her world. A quiet smile before she dips her brush into paint. Sometimes, she’d pull off her headphones for a moment, asking about your day before returning to her art.

It becomes comfortable.

Familiar.

And strangely, you don’t mind it.

One late afternoon, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink, you find yourself back at the garden. The moment your eyes land on her, a sense of calm washes over you.

She’s wearing an oversized sweater today, the sleeves slightly covering her hands as she mixes colors on her palette. Strands of hair fall over her face, but she doesn’t seem to care, too focused on perfecting a stroke.

Without thinking, you take your usual seat on the bench.

She doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, she lets you watch her, like always. The air between you is thick with unspoken words, but neither of you feel the need to fill the silence.

Then—

"Do you ever feel like you don’t belong?"

Her voice is soft, yet it cuts through the air like a whisper of wind.

You blink, caught off guard. "What?"

Tsuki doesn’t look at you. Instead, she tilts her head, eyes scanning the half-finished painting before her.

"Like no matter where you are, you’re always just… observing. Never really part of anything."

Your heart skips a beat.

Because—yes.

You know that feeling all too well.

For years, you’ve been the guy in the background. The quiet one. The one who never quite fit in, never truly stood out. Always watching from the sidelines as life moved around you, never quite knowing where you were supposed to be.

Tsuki finally turns to look at you, her gaze deep and searching. "You seem like someone who understands."

And in that moment, you realize—she sees you.

Not just as some passing stranger, but as someone who might just understand her in a way others don’t.

You swallow hard, your fingers gripping the fabric of your hoodie. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, you say—

"Yeah. I get it."

She smiles then—not her usual teasing one, but something softer. Sadder.

And for the first time, the space between you doesn’t feel so empty anymore.

The days blur together as you find yourself coming back to the garden more often, drawn not just by the peace it offers, but by Tsuki’s quiet presence. You begin to notice the small details about her—the way she hums a song under her breath when she paints, the little frown she gets when she’s frustrated with a stroke, or how her eyes light up when she talks about her art.

There’s a rhythm to it now.

You show up, sit on the bench, and wait for her to acknowledge you. Sometimes she doesn’t speak for a while, lost in her own world of colors. Other times, she’ll turn to you and offer a small conversation—nothing deep, but enough to make you feel like you belong.

It’s during one of those quiet afternoons that something shifts.

You’ve been sitting there for a while, letting your mind wander as Tsuki works, when she suddenly pulls off her headphones and sets them beside her on the bench. Her fingers brush the paint on her canvas absentmindedly, but she doesn’t seem to be focusing.

When you glance up, she’s looking at you.

"You always come here," she says, her voice soft and introspective. "You don’t talk much, but you’re always here. I think I’d miss you if you stopped coming."

Your chest tightens. It’s strange, hearing those words from her. Tsuki—the girl who seemed so self-contained, so distant at times—was saying that she would miss you.

For a moment, you don’t know what to say. The words are stuck in your throat, a mix of surprise and something else—something warmer.

But she seems to understand. She gives you a small, knowing smile and turns back to her canvas.

"I don’t talk to a lot of people," she continues, her fingers tracing an abstract pattern on the canvas. "It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just... I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I can’t say the right things. Like my thoughts don’t fit into words."

You nod slowly. You understand that feeling all too well. It’s exactly why you’ve spent so much of your life hiding away—because words never seemed to come out the way you wanted them to.

After a beat, Tsuki glances at you again, her eyes lingering for a moment before she speaks again.

"I paint because... it’s the only way I can say everything I feel," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. "Each brushstroke, each color... it’s like I’m finally letting everything out. Everything I can’t say with words."

You watch her, captivated by the raw vulnerability in her eyes. Tsuki, the girl who always seemed so composed, was opening up in a way you hadn’t expected. She wasn’t just telling you about her art; she was telling you about herself.

"I guess painting is my way of breathing," she adds, her voice soft and distant, like she’s lost in the thought. "Without it, I don’t think I’d be able to stay sane."

The air between you feels thick, heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The only sound is the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft scratch of Tsuki’s brush on the canvas.

Finally, you speak, your voice quiet but sincere.

"I get that."

Tsuki turns to look at you, her gaze soft and searching. For the first time, she doesn’t seem like the confident, carefree girl she usually is. Instead, she seems... fragile, like she’s trusting you with a part of herself she’s rarely shared.

"You do?" she asks, her voice barely audible.

You nod, your heart racing in your chest. You don’t know why, but there’s something in her eyes that makes you want to say more—to open up in a way you never have with anyone else.

"I’m not great with words," you begin, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. "I’ve always felt like I’m... in the background. Like I’m not really part of anything. But when I’m here, watching you paint... it feels like, for a moment, I’m part of something. Like I’m... included."

Tsuki’s eyes widen slightly, and her lips part, like she’s about to say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she just looks at you for a long moment, as if taking in what you’ve just shared.

And then—

She smiles.

It’s soft, but it reaches her eyes in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. There’s no teasing this time. No playful challenge. Just... a quiet understanding.

"I think I understand you, Y/n," she says, her voice gentle, but with an underlying warmth. "You don’t have to be loud to matter. Sometimes, just being there is enough."

You feel a lump form in your throat. For a moment, you can’t find the words. You just sit there, watching as Tsuki dips her brush into a new color, the motion fluid and effortless, like everything about her is in perfect harmony.

And for the first time, you feel like you’re finally starting to understand her, too.

The days go by, and you start to visit her more frequently.

It’s become a quiet ritual. You arrive, she’s painting, and the two of you share small conversations. Some days, she tells you more about herself—about her family, her childhood, the reasons she started painting in the first place. Other days, she’s quieter, lost in her own world of colors and shapes. But no matter what, there’s always an unspoken connection between you.

And as time passes, it becomes harder to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster when she’s near. The way your stomach flips when she smiles at you. The way you find yourself looking forward to every moment you spend together, even if it’s just sitting in silence.

You’ve always been the kind of person who shied away from feelings—who hid them behind walls of indifference. But with Tsuki, everything feels different.

It’s like she’s slowly breaking down the walls you’ve built around yourself, piece by piece, and you don’t know whether to stop her or let her in completely.

But one thing’s for sure—you don’t want to leave. Not anymore.

The days turn into weeks.

You visit Tsuki more often now—not just out of curiosity, but because something about her presence feels... right. Natural. Like she’s always been part of your world, and you just never noticed until now.

She’s become comfortable with you. You can tell by the way she no longer hesitates to speak, how she pulls off her headphones more frequently to engage in conversation, how she doesn’t seem to mind your quiet nature.

And you—

You’re starting to realize that you crave this.

The sound of her voice, the way her laughter lingers in the air, the gentle scratch of her brush against the canvas. The way her eyes soften when she looks at you, as if she sees something no one else ever has.

You’re drawn to her, in ways you don’t fully understand.

One afternoon, you arrive at the garden expecting to find her where she always is.

But today is different.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the grass instead of her usual seat. Her canvas is on the ground beside her, untouched. Her eyes are fixed on the sky, lost in thought.

You hesitate before approaching, sensing that something is off.

"Hey," you say softly, settling down on the bench.

She doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she sighs, running a hand through her long, dark hair before finally looking at you.

"Y/n."

There’s something in the way she says your name that makes your stomach flip. It’s not just casual acknowledgment. It’s deeper, heavier.

"Do you ever feel like no matter how much you love something, it’s never enough?"

You blink. "What do you mean?"

Tsuki exhales, tilting her head back. The sunlight catches on her skin, making her look almost ethereal.

"Painting," she says. "It’s everything to me. It’s how I breathe, how I escape. But lately... I don’t know. It’s like I’m stuck. Like no matter how much I try, I can’t make anything feel... real."

You frown, glancing at the blank canvas beside her. You’ve never seen it empty before.

"Is this the first time you’ve felt like this?"

She shakes her head, a dry chuckle escaping her lips. "No. It happens sometimes. I just... I don’t talk about it much."

You hesitate, then ask the question that’s been lingering in your mind for a while.

"Why do you paint, Tsuki?"

She looks at you then, her expression unreadable. But after a moment, she sighs and leans back on her hands, gazing up at the sky.

"When I was a kid, my mom used to paint a lot," she says quietly. "She told me that colors could tell stories better than words ever could. I didn’t understand what she meant back then, but... I do now."

You listen, not interrupting, just letting her talk.

"I started painting because I wanted to hold onto things," she continues. "Memories, feelings, people. I wanted to capture moments so they’d never disappear. But sometimes, no matter how hard I try, I can’t get it right. It’s frustrating. Like I’m losing something important, and there’s nothing I can do about it."

She exhales, shaking her head. "Sorry, that probably sounds stupid."

You shake your head immediately. "No. It doesn’t."

Tsuki studies you for a moment, then smiles faintly. "You’re a good listener, Y/n. I like that about you."

Your heart skips a beat. You open your mouth to say something, but the words don’t come. Instead, you reach out, hesitantly, and pick up her canvas.

"Then let’s paint something together," you suggest, surprising even yourself.

Tsuki raises an eyebrow, amused. "You paint?"

You scratch the back of your neck, a little embarrassed. "Not really. But... I want to try. With you."

For a moment, she just looks at you, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she smiles—soft and genuine.

"Okay."

And just like that, she hands you a brush.

As your fingers brush against hers, a warmth spreads through your chest.

You don’t know what this feeling is yet.

But you know one thing for sure—

You never want to let it go.

Painting with Tsuki becomes a new part of your routine.

At first, you’re terrible at it. Your strokes are clumsy, your colors mix into an unrecognizable mess, and more paint ends up on your hands than on the canvas. Tsuki watches you struggle with an amused smile, occasionally guiding your hand, her fingers grazing yours in a way that makes your heartbeat quicken.

But you don’t mind. Because every moment with her feels... right.

And the more time you spend together, the more you start to notice things.

Like how Tsuki isn’t as confident as she seems.

She’s quiet, often retreating into herself when she thinks no one is watching. Her laughter sometimes sounds forced, as if she’s trying to convince herself that she’s happy. And then there are the days when she doesn’t paint at all—when she just sits there, staring at a blank canvas, lost in thoughts she never shares.

It makes you wonder.

What is she hiding?

One evening, as the sun sets behind the campus, casting long golden shadows, you find Tsuki sitting alone in the garden, her knees pulled to her chest. She isn’t painting. Her headphones are nowhere in sight.

She looks... fragile.

You hesitate before sitting beside her.

"Hey," you say softly.

She doesn’t respond at first. Then, after a long silence, she whispers,

"Do you ever feel like you don’t belong anywhere?"

The question catches you off guard.

You glance at her, noting the way her fingers clutch the fabric of her sweater, how her nails dig into her skin as if trying to hold herself together.

"Yeah," you admit. "All the time."

She exhales shakily, nodding as if she expected your answer.

"Me too."

There’s something different about her tonight—something raw, unguarded. You’ve seen her tease, you’ve seen her focused, you’ve even seen her frustrated with her art. But this—this is new.

"Tsuki... are you okay?" you ask gently.

She lets out a small, humorless laugh. "That’s a dangerous question, Y/n."

You wait.

You don’t push, don’t pry. You just wait, giving her space to decide if she wants to let you in.

And after what feels like an eternity, she finally speaks.

"I ran away."

The words hang in the air, heavy and unshakable.

"From what?" you ask carefully.

She closes her eyes for a moment before answering.

"My family."

Your breath catches. You weren’t expecting that.

She swallows hard, staring at the ground. "I grew up in a house where love was... conditional. If I was perfect, if I did what they wanted, then I was worth something. If I made a mistake, if I showed weakness, then I was... nothing."

Your fists clench at her words.

"That’s not love, Tsuki," you say quietly.

She gives you a sad smile. "I know that now. But back then, I just wanted to be good enough. I wanted them to see me. To care."

A lump forms in your throat.

"They didn’t?"

She shakes her head. "Not in the way I needed them to."

Silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken pain.

Then, she takes a deep breath. "One day, I realized that no matter how much I tried, I’d never be what they wanted. And I got tired of pretending. So... I left. I packed a bag, took whatever money I had, and ran."

She looks at you then, her eyes filled with something you can’t quite name.

"That’s why I paint, Y/n. Because if I stop, I’ll remember. And if I remember... it hurts too much."

Your chest tightens.

All this time, you thought Tsuki was free—untouchable, confident in ways you could never be. But now, you realize she’s just like you.

She’s been hiding, too.

She hides behind colors the same way you hide behind silence. She smiles to cover the scars no one else can see. And for the first time, you understand—

You’re not alone.

Neither of you are.

Without thinking, you reach out and gently take her hand. She flinches slightly but doesn’t pull away.

"You don’t have to keep running," you say softly. "Not alone."

She looks at you, her lips parting slightly in surprise.

And then—

She squeezes your hand back.

It’s small. Barely noticeable. But it’s enough.

And in that moment, you know—

You’re falling for her.

Tsuki’s pain isn’t something she talks about often.

But you see it.

In the way her hands tremble when she thinks too much. In the way her smiles sometimes don’t reach her eyes. In the way she stares at her paintings as if she’s searching for something—something she lost a long time ago.

You don’t push her to talk. You just stay.

And somehow, that’s enough.

She starts opening up to you in pieces, small fragments of her past slipping through the cracks.

"My mother loved art, but she never really loved me."

"My father never yelled, but his silence hurt worse."

"I tried to be perfect. I tried so hard. But no matter what I did, it was never enough."

Every word feels like a knife to your heart.

You want to tell her that she was always enough. That she shouldn’t have had to fight for love. That she deserves everything she never got.

But you don’t know how to say it.

So instead, you stay by her side.

You listen.

You understand.

And maybe that’s why she keeps letting you in.

One night, it’s different.

Tsuki is quieter than usual, staring at a half-finished painting in her dimly lit dorm room. You sit on the floor beside her, your shoulder just barely brushing hers.

"Do you ever wish you could go back and change things?" she asks suddenly.

You glance at her. "What do you mean?"

She exhales, shaking her head. "If I had been stronger, maybe I wouldn’t have run away. Maybe I could’ve fixed things. Maybe they would have—"

"Don’t."

She stops, surprised at the firmness in your voice.

You take a deep breath. "Don’t blame yourself for surviving, Tsuki."

Her eyes widen slightly.

"You were never the problem," you continue, your voice softer now. "They should have loved you the way you are. They should have seen how amazing you are. But they didn’t. And that’s not your fault."

Her lower lip trembles. She turns away, but not before you see the way her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"Y/n..."

You swallow hard, heart pounding in your chest.

You’ve been holding back for so long—afraid of saying too much, afraid of ruining what you have. But seeing her like this, breaking under the weight of a past that never loved her—

You can’t keep it in anymore.

"Tsuki, I love you."

The words slip out, raw and real.

Her whole body stiffens.

You feel your pulse hammering in your ears, but you don’t take it back.

"I love you," you repeat, gentler this time. "Not because I pity you, not because I want to fix you. I love you because you’re strong, because you’re kind, because you see the world in colors no one else does. Because when I’m with you, I feel like I belong somewhere for the first time in my life."

Tears spill down her cheeks.

She shakes her head, covering her mouth with her hands, as if trying to hold herself together. But it’s too late. The sobs break through, raw and unfiltered, years of pain crashing down all at once.

"Why...?" she chokes out between ragged breaths. "Why would you love someone like me?"

You move closer, hesitating for only a moment before wrapping your arms around her.

She doesn’t push you away.

Instead, she clings to you, burying her face in your shoulder as she cries.

And you hold her.

For as long as she needs.

For as long as it takes for her to finally believe that she is loved.

Tsuki doesn’t let go.

Her body trembles as she clings to you, her sobs shaking both of you. You don’t know how long you sit there, just holding her, whispering soft reassurances as she soaks your shoulder with her tears.

It could be minutes.

It could be hours.

But you don’t care.

Because right now, all that matters is her.

Eventually, her cries quiet into soft, broken whimpers. Her breathing is uneven, her grip still desperate, as if she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she loosens her hold even slightly.

Then, in a voice so small you almost miss it, she whispers,

"Come with me."

You don’t hesitate.

She stands on unsteady legs, her fingers tightening around your wrist as she leads you out of her dorm. The night air is cold against your skin, but she doesn’t let go of you, and you don’t complain.

She walks fast, as if afraid that if she slows down, you’ll change your mind. But you won’t.

You’d follow her anywhere.

Tsuki’s apartment is small, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It’s simple—minimal furniture, a bed pushed against the wall, an easel in the corner with half-finished paintings scattered around the room. The faint smell of paint lingers in the air, mixing with something softer, something uniquely hers.

She closes the door behind you, and for a moment, she just stands there.

Then, without warning, she turns and wraps her arms around you again, burying her face against your chest.

"Please stay," she whispers, her voice barely holding together. "I don’t want to be alone tonight. I—I'm scared, Y/n. I'm so scared."

Your heart clenches.

You lift your hand, gently stroking her hair.

"I’m here," you murmur. "I’m not going anywhere."

She exhales shakily, gripping the fabric of your shirt.

"Promise?"

You cup her face, tilting it up so she has no choice but to look at you. Her eyes are swollen from crying, her lips trembling.

"I promise, Tsuki."

A tear slips down her cheek, and you wipe it away with your thumb.

"You don’t have to be afraid anymore," you tell her. "I’ll stay for as long as you need me. And even after that, if you'll have me, I’ll still be here. Because I meant what I said—I love you. And I want to create new memories with you. Happy ones."

She lets out a shaky breath, her eyes searching yours, looking for something—doubt, hesitation, a reason to not believe you. But she finds none.

Instead, she finds warmth.

Safety.

Love.

With a quiet sob, she presses her forehead against yours.

"I don’t deserve you," she whispers.

You shake your head.

"You deserve everything, Tsuki."

She closes her eyes, another tear falling.

But this time, it isn’t from pain.

It's from something softer.

Something she hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

Hope.

And as you pull her into your arms once more, holding her as she lets herself believe—if only just a little—you know that this is only the beginning.

Of something beautiful.

Of something real.

Of something that neither of you will ever have to run from again.

The world outside fades into silence.

Here, in the dim glow of Tsuki’s apartment, it’s just the two of you—wrapped in warmth, in emotion, in something too deep to name.

She clings to you, her body trembling slightly, her breath uneven. But this time, it isn’t from sadness. It’s something else.

Something raw.

Something desperate.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes still glistening from all the tears she shed. But beneath the vulnerability, there’s something stronger—something unspoken.

Then, she moves.

Soft. Tentative. A quiet plea.

Her lips brush against yours.

A slow, delicate touch—like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she presses too hard. Like she’s still trying to believe this is real.

But you’re here.

And you’re never leaving.

You cup her face gently, deepening the kiss, pouring every unspoken word into it—every promise, every reassurance, every ounce of love you’ve been holding inside for so long.

She melts into you, her hands fisting your shirt as if anchoring herself.

"Y/n..." she whispers against your lips, her voice breaking slightly.

"I’m here," you murmur, your forehead resting against hers. "I’m not going anywhere, Tsuki."

Her breath shudders, and then she pulls you closer—so close there’s no space left between you.

She wants to feel you.

She wants to believe you.

She wants to drown in the warmth you give her, in the love she never thought she’d have.

And so, you let her.

You hold her close, pressing soft kisses against her skin, letting your fingers trace the shape of her as if memorizing every piece of her existence. Every scar, every wound, every part of her that she’s spent so long hiding—you take it all in, worshipping her in a way no one ever has.

And Tsuki?

She gives herself to you. Completely.

Her walls fall, her fears crumble. In this moment, she isn’t the girl who ran away. She isn’t the girl who paints to forget.

She’s just Tsuki.

The girl who needs you.

The girl you love.

And as the night deepens, as your breaths intertwine and your hearts beat as one, you hold her close—whispering, promising, ensuring her that this isn’t a dream.

That you’re real.

That your love is real.

That you’ll never let her go.

Not now.

Not ever.

The first thing you feel is warmth.

A small, delicate weight against your chest, soft breaths fanning over your skin. The scent of paint, vanilla, and something uniquely Tsuki lingers in the air, mixing with the quiet hum of the early morning.

You open your eyes slowly, the dim sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room.

And there she is.

Tsuki.

Curled up against you, her face buried in your chest, her arms wrapped tightly around you as if afraid you’ll disappear. Her fingers clutch onto your shirt, even in sleep, refusing to let go.

Your heart aches at the sight.

She looks peaceful now, but you remember the way she cried last night, the way she begged you to stay, the way she held onto you like you were the only thing keeping her from breaking.

And now, even in sleep, she still clings to you.

You smile softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

She stirs at the touch, shifting slightly before letting out a quiet sigh.

Then, without warning, she tightens her hold on you, pressing herself closer, burying her face even deeper against your chest.

"Mmm... don’t move..." she murmurs, her voice husky from sleep.

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around her. "Good morning to you too."

She hums softly, nuzzling against you like a kitten seeking warmth.

"Too early..." she mumbles, her fingers gripping your shirt. "Stay like this... just a little longer..."

You smile, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

"Alright. I’m not going anywhere."

She lets out a small, content sigh.

For a long moment, there’s only silence. The soft rise and fall of her breathing, the quiet rhythm of your heartbeats in sync.

Then, she speaks.

"I haven’t woken up like this in years..." she whispers.

You glance down at her, brushing your fingers through her hair.

"Like what?"

She hesitates, then shifts slightly, resting her chin against your chest as she looks up at you. Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, are softer than you’ve ever seen them.

"Safe."

Your breath catches.

You don’t know what to say.

So you just hold her tighter.

And maybe that’s enough.

Because Tsuki smiles—a small, real smile—and buries herself against you again, holding onto you like you’re the only thing she has left in this world.

And maybe, for her, you are.

And you’ll stay.

For as long as she needs.

For as long as she wants.

For as long as forever.

The days pass like a dream.

Tsuki never leaves your side.

She clings to you in the quiet moments, cuddling against you whenever she gets the chance. When you cook, she stands behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist. When you sit on her couch, she curls up beside you, resting her head on your chest. Even in sleep, she never lets go, as if afraid you’ll slip away if she loosens her grip.

And you don’t mind.

You hold her every time.

You whisper reassurances when she needs them. You stay with her through every vulnerable moment, through every silent battle she fights inside her head.

And slowly, Tsuki changes.

She starts to smile more—not the small, fleeting smiles of before, but real ones. Ones that reach her eyes. Ones that carry warmth.

She starts to talk more—not just about her pain, but about her dreams, her hopes, the things that make her heart feel light.

And most of all, she starts to trust you.

Not just in words.

But in the way she looks at you.

In the way she leans into your touch without hesitation.

In the way she reaches for you first, without fear of being left behind.

And that trust—fragile, beautiful, something she’s never given anyone before—means more to you than anything.

One evening, as the sun dips below the horizon, Tsuki tugs at your hand.

"Come with me," she says softly.

She leads you to the corner of her apartment where her easel stands. A blank canvas rests on it, waiting.

She hands you a brush.

"Let’s paint something together."

You hesitate.

"I’ve never painted before."

She smiles—one of those soft, secret smiles that make your heart ache.

"Then I’ll teach you."

And so, you do.

You dip your brush into the paint, following her lead, your strokes clumsy at first. But she doesn’t laugh. She only guides you, her fingers brushing against yours, her voice soft as she teaches you how to bring color to the canvas.

Time fades away.

There’s only the two of you.

The quiet hum of the evening. The warmth of her beside you. The colors blending together, shaping something new—something that belongs to both of you.

At some point, she stops painting.

You feel her shift, and then—gently, so gently—she leans her head against your shoulder.

You pause, turning slightly, and there she is—eyes half-lidded, lips curved into the faintest smile.

"Thank you," she whispers.

You don’t ask why.

You already know.

You lift your hand, resting it over hers, fingers intertwining.

And together, in the quiet of her small apartment, with the scent of paint in the air and the weight of her against you, you realize—

This moment.

This warmth.

This love.

It’s everything.

And it’s enough.

The End.

#kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #beautiful #update #kpop smut #vanilla #vanilla sex #romance #past Memories #bad past #trauma #depressed #depression #emotions #love #passion

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