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simpjaes · 10 months ago

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FIRST DATE ETIQUETTE (p.sh)

Park Sunghoon is not dull, nor is he the clean cut neighbor your mother thinks he is. Oh, the horrors of if she found out that the man she set you up on this date with immediately took you home and rendered you unable to walk...he'd never be able to defend himself without a swift slap to the head.

៸៸៸ minors do not interact!

៸៸៸ PARING: park sunghoon x afab reader

៸៸៸WC: 9.3k

៸៸៸ TAGS: mentions of food (meat), strangers to fucking immediately to the possibility of dating later, brat taming, mocking and making fun of each other, sneaky sex, flirting and bullying in the same instance, cocky sunghoon, um…they’re kind of competitive in bed

៸៸៸ A/N: what’s that? you’ve read this before? that’s bc i wrote it! I’ve revised the original now to fit sunghoon because I am insatiable in my lust for him. (original title: the bore next door)

smut tags under cut::

SMUT TAGS: dom sunghoon, bratty/sub reader, huge cock agenda (again), he gets the best head he’s ever had, he calls you messy a lot (he likes it messy), face fucking, pussy eating, nipple biting, finger fucking, squirting, dirty talk, wow i can’t believe I actually wrote a condom being used this time!!!!, sunghoon tries to make you moan because his horny brain wants your parents to know, dirty talk, praise, hair pulling.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

23rd street. The restaurant is on 23rd street, and you can honestly say you’ve managed to hit every street but this one. From 13th to 35th, does the street in question even truly exist? Were you set up by your parents?

In short, you have been single since high school. Maybe a few flings here or there throughout college but you never truly settled on one man or woman in a relationship. You’re almost shocked that your parents are pushing so hard for you to find love. They want you to somehow feel the love from the movies, something like they had felt when they met. In this century, unfortunately, love isn’t quite as predictable.

You can’t just pick a person who has a good job and a decent face and assume love will settle in someday.

Not only is it not predictable but it isn’t a priority in your life. You have no interest in meeting the standard a man could hold for you, nor a woman, or family member. You’re here to exist in your own way, work your way up through the corporate food chain, and live in a home with over thirteen cats before dying a peaceful death in your late eighties. Why do you need a man to do any of this? Why do you need to settle for one cock, one set of hands, and one personality?

Right, because mom wants you to at least try to experience what love is. Surely, it’s just because she desperately wants a grandchild from her one and only daughter. Sorry to disappoint, but that will not happen any time soon. Children were never a thought in your mind, nor was marriage, a honeymoon, or a burial plot next to another person. Your mother knows this, but the least you can do is show some effort to please her, right? To prove that relationships just aren’t your thing, and you’d much rather have the funds to live a comfortable life all on your own.

23rd street is the small thumb tack on a map where there is a restaurant that holds a very, very, annoying arrangement.

Your mother had really sold the idea to you. She says the nice neighbor boy next to her seems to be around your age, he brings her the mail sometimes. He seems to have a job, his own car, his own home that sits in a plot next to theirs. His lawn stays mowed, the siding on his house stays clean, and apparently he seems quite lonely considering your mother appears to have watched him enough to know he doesn’t bring any girls home.

At least that she’s aware of.

She doesn’t mention what he looks like and of course, when you’d asked because, in all honesty, that’s the most important thing to you if you’re going to get anything out of this, she simply states that he dresses well, is handsome, and has dark hair.

For all you know, she just set you up on a date with Antonio Banderas.

What you weren’t expecting though, is to find this restaurant almost an hour late and walk in to find an already half-eaten meal in front of a man who looked at you as if you were any stranger on the street.

A stranger you were, and so was he, but honestly, he is attractive. That alone made you feel a bit guilty for not having found this place sooner. The idea that the man in front of you did not wait for you shows that he also has priorities that aren’t you. This is probably a huge inconvenience for him too, if anything.

Imagine your nice neighbor lady telling you to go to a restaurant to meet her daughter? God. The first words out of your mouth are an apology. Not for being late, and not for not even wanting to be here, but for your mother for even trying.

“Sorry about my mom,” you mutter, plopping down into the booth with a sigh. You eye over his food, already knowing that the check will likely be split. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Why the rush?” The man immediately says, pushing an untouched glass of water your way. “I don’t mind that you were late, I was just really hungry.”

You hum at him, waiting for the waitress to come over so you can place the most obnoxious order in the world because you’re really not in the mood to even look at the menu or the prices. Chicken strips and fries, obviously.

“So, what did you order?” You state, eyeing his plate.

“Steak?” He says it like a question, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world and it definitely is. Clearly there is a half-eaten steak that probably costs over twenty dollars on his plate. Still, you were just trying to make small talk.

The man says nothing after this, offering nothing but an awkward atmosphere. It doesn’t take long at all for you to stop caring about the entire arrangement, as if you cared in the first place.

“Look—” You try to offer, and the handsome man in front of you doesn’t even quirk a brow as he sips his own drink. “I don’t even remember your name, and I know my mom is trying to set us up but—”

“You’re not interested, and you have better places to be?” The man finishes for you as he sits his drink down with a gulp that makes much less sound than your own. “That’s fair. My name is Sunghoon, by the way.”

You nod at him, already deciding that you’ll get chicken strips somewhere else on your own so that you can eat them in the comfort of your own home, alone, without a stupidly handsome man in front of you that has, probably, less interest than you do.

“Well, I’m interested, and I don’t have anywhere better to be,” Sunghoon says, shooting his eyes up at you. “And to be quite honest with you, your mother was right. You are pretty.”

Taken aback, you’re somehow comforted by his forwardness towards you. He acts just as uninterested as you do but counters that demeanor with his words. You can’t imagine that this is how the man picks up women, there’s honestly no way he would win that way. No wonder he is single. Then again, you kind of do the same thing. You see an attractive person and you act much the same as Sunghoon right now. Uninterested in anything long-term but clearly interested in something.

“I’m pretty, huh?” You laugh, sipping the water and internally giving this man an extra three minutes to fully sell the idea of this date to you. “Imagine my surprise to walk in and find that I was set up on a date with someone that is actually attractive.”

“Oh?” Sunghoon quirks a brow. “Is this how you return a compliment?”

You shrug.

“Is this how a date normally goes for you—you know, where you’ve already eaten your food and would probably rather pay and leave before she even gets a chance to order?”

“No,” he responds pointedly. “Would you rather me throw a tantrum that you were late?”

“You’d be a lot less dull if you did.” You throw back, eyeing a waitress as she heads over.

Sunghoon watches as you place your order and watches a bit harder at the way you smirk at yourself through nearly everything you say. You must think you’re clever, you must think he’s willing to chase you or something.

“I’m dull?” He questions, staring you down with narrowed eyes when the waitress walks away. “You just ordered chicken strips at one of the most expensive restaurants in town.”

You’re taken aback a bit, shaking off his little insults and sitting straight up. Interesting date, truly.

“Okay then, Sunghoon—” You say his name as if it’s a joke or something, but you don’t really let him react to it. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a systems software developer,” he deadpans, swirling his very nonalcoholic water in his hand. “Not that you’d know what that is or anything. And you?”

In all honesty, you don’t really know what that means, but it isn’t hard to figure it out. Assuming he must make programs or something, assuming he probably flew through college in order to do it in the way he seems proud of what he does. In all honesty, it still sounds like such a bore. He must talk in code or something in his free time.

“I’m—uh—I’m a teacher.” You try to laugh, realizing that you’re kind of putting him down when he very clearly must make more money than you do.

Only now does it set in that your mother stated he has his own home. One that sits directly beside theirs in a neighborhood that you grew up in. One that you tried to find your own home in but ended up in a shitty apartment in the city because it is all you could afford. Sunghoon must make good money.

“Oh yeah? What do you teach?” He perks up in interest, no longer acting as if he is trying to insult you and instead offering conversation to you with such ease that you almost forget you’re supposed to be getting through the date in discomfort.

“I teach everything, I guess. It’s just first grade. I swear, I teach them how to pull up their pants properly more than how to spell words.” You smile to yourself thinking of the loud and obnoxious children you teach five days a week.

Your job is why you don’t want children though. Your job is why you’d rather stay single. All you hear about is how the third-grade english teacher is fucking the fifth-grade science teacher even though he has a wife who is pregnant with their second child. Sometimes you hear gossip about the students themselves. Who in their right mind as an adult would gossip about elementary school kids? It’s no wonder you’re not a favored teacher. You’re sure they’ve said something about you for not having a significant other or a child on the way too.

Sunghoon smiles through your endearment towards your class, eyes perking up at the plate of chicken strips on their way to you. He doesn’t say much when you thank the waitress and doesn’t really pay attention to the way you devour the first strip in nearly one bite.

“Seems like a lively job. I just sit around all day staring at a computer screen…” He begins to drone on about his own job, sounding more like background noise in your head if you’re being honest. You can barely hear him over the crunching of your chicken and you’re a bit thankful for that.

“And I think that it was really worth the—” You interrupt his long string of sentences with a call of his name. “Sunghoon, do you have any other interests?” You ask, sipping your water.

He deadpans at your rudeness of interrupting him. Sunghoon doesn’t often go out on dates, nor does he often get asked about these types of things so, he goes quiet, flicking his eyes down to his hands and then back up to you.

“I like to go hiking, I guess? Watching movies? Sometimes I like to cook—”

Ah. He’s one of those guys.

“Those are like, the most common interests a person can have. You don’t have any special hobbies or weird quirky things you like to do?” You question, trying to see something in him past the fact that he’s nice to look at and has a decent paycheck.

“I don’t really have the time to put into other things. When I’m not working, I’m busy cleaning my house or doing yard work since I’m usually too tired during the week to do it.”

“God, you are such a bore.”

Sunghoon realizes now that maybe you’re not just throwing around banter. Sure, neither of you really wanted to come on this date but he could have used the time away from a computer screen to look at his neighbor’s daughter. If anything, it was an interesting offer, and those don’t come by him too often. He had seen photos of you. He knew you were pretty, and he also should have known you were a bit stubborn with the way your mother warned him before the date.

“If I was so boring, would I be sitting here on a date with a woman I don’t know?” He glares over at you.

“I don’t know, probably. It isn’t the riskiest thing in the world. What? You don’t have tinder?”

Sunghoon looks down again, because no, he doesn’t have fucking tinder and he doesn’t understand why that matters. “Why does that matter?”

“Ah, so we are similar.” You smile to yourself in a small win, and you’re not even sure if it’s even an argument at this point. “No time for hobbies, so no time for dating either?”

He nods slowly at you, completely confused by the way you go from picking his personality apart to finding some way to connect with him.

“We can wrap this up then if you want?” You offer, still picking at the food on your plate. “I can pay for mine, so I release you from this arrangement.”

He just sits there staring at you. What a peculiar woman. Do you really assume he isn’t somehow finding the fun in all of this? In all honesty, this date is going off without a hitch compared to many other dates he’s been on. He has never been on a date where he is criticized, nor has he ever criticized a date himself before.

It’s almost kind of nice, like a breath of fresh air being able to meet someone who isn’t trying to show their best aspects. Someone who is sitting in front of him being as real as they possibly can be. Sure, you’re attractive, but your lack of interest in this date is somehow—flooring.

“What if I want to stay?” He makes eye contact with you. “What if I want to pay for your overcooked chicken?”

“I’d be letting you win if you pay for me, but you’re free to stay.” You wave him off with your hand, realizing that the chicken is very dry and wasn’t hitting the spot like you’d been pretending. “So, what now then?” You add with a tilt of the head.

“Admitting I’m interested in you?” He says it with so much confidence that you’re a little bit surprised, because this entire time you’ve been trying to act as uninterested as possible, despite finding some amount of attraction to Sunghoon.

“Poor you,” You coo, pushing your plate away from you and pulling your almost-empty water closer. “Okay, let’s try and make this worth something then.”

Sunghoon prepares himself to listen, but honestly, he couldn’t have prepared for what you’re about to say to him.

“Neither of us are looking for anything serious right?” You ask, continuing after he nods. “So,” you pause briefly, thinking a bit too hard on how to word it. “Why don’t we just treat it like a tinder date?”

You’re definitely implying that the night could continue together, only to never speak of or see each other again after the sun rises.

“Are you suggesting I bring you home with me?” He looks at you with a face you can’t really read.

“Isn’t that what people do when they’re on a date, find each other attractive, but want nothing more?” You reiterate for him, because he seems to have trouble processing what you’re trying to get across to him. “Unless this isn’t your thing?”

Sunghoon pulls his hand up and pushes his hair out of his face for a moment. He’s thinking about it, barely even realizing that you’ve known each other for less than an hour.

“I didn’t take you for the type of fuck on the first date.” He cocks his head, looking at you in a lazy way.

It feels a little painful that the first curse word he says out loud is describing something that involves you and your offer.

“I’m not, usually, but it has been a while for me and I can’t help but think we could have fun with it.”

He nods, eyeing you down. “Do you want to drive to my house then? Or do I need to bring you back to get your car?”

“Nah, I can drive. I know where you live, considering I grew up next door and all. I can just crash at my parent’s house once we are done.”

Sunghoon kind of shifts his eyes nervously, looking down at the table and then back at you with a lick against his bottom lip. “Speaking of, your parents—” He pauses, fiddling with his hands. “Look, they probably wouldn’t expect me to be the type to uh, get intimate with their daughter on the first date.”

“Only date,” you correct him, amused. “What, you thought we would meet again after this?”

Sunghoon waves you off dismissively. “That’s not the point. I don’t want my neighbors thinking I’m some fuckboy, and I’d rather them not find out because I’m sure your mom would slap the shit out of me the next time I bring her the mail.”

“Sunghoon—” You snort in a mocking tone. “My mom set you up on a date with me, you’re gonna take me home and show me a good time within an hour of meeting me. Imagine if she found out you’re not as sweet and innocent as she thinks–”

His face goes warm, but his eyes darken a bit as he looks at you. “Listen, I don’t usually do this.”

“Well yeah, you seem too boring to actually have some fun.”

Offense taken.

And when he says nothing else to that, you speak up again, this time a bit more gentle.

“Don’t feel like you have to. I can go home and we can pretend this never happened.”

“No, no,” Sunghoon assures, making eye contact with the waitress as if to silently ask for the check. “I could use the distraction.”

He was slim when he stood up, obnoxiously attractive getting into his stupidly expensive car, and even the way he drove in front of you pissed you off. He drove the speed limit all the way to the familiar street of your childhood. What a boring, boring man.

When he pulls into his driveway, you aren’t sure if you should park at his house or your own. You realize if you park at either your parents will wonder why you’re parking in their driveway but not in their living room, or wonder why you’re parked in the clean-cut Sunghoon’s driveway because he would never fuck their daughter on the first date.

You opt to park a block away, walking to Sunghoon’s house and feeling a bit silly for hiding.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Fitting,” you say as you step into his living room and scan the way he is entirely boring.

“What?” He asks from behind you, watching you judge his space.

“Very monotonous, very you.”

Sunghoon sighs at your constant critiques of him, but he’s smiling through it because you’re still here, and you’re the one who suggested coming home with him.

“I’ve gotta say, I’ve never brought a woman home just to have her insult me,” he laughs, stepping around you and placing his jacket on the end of the couch. “I can imagine that your place hasn’t been cleaned since you moved in.”

You glare at him, slipping your own jacket off and throwing it on his floor out of spite.

“I am a comfortable mess, Sunghoon, and you–” you scan the room once more, “are very clearly uncomfortable.”

He shifts his eyes for a second because, yeah. It’s not that he wouldn’t enjoy having colorful photos on the walls or a couple of knick-knacks lying around. Arguing about it isn’t your purpose for being here though, and he’d much rather skip the banter at this point.

“I can admit that your jacket looks good on my floor,” he takes a step forward, attempting to be as bold as he typically would be with a woman who knows how he is in bed. He’s never had to play off of his own cleanliness though. “I’m willing to make a mess of this house if you take more off.”

Oh, okay.

“Oh, so you can be interesting?” You mock him once again, reaching for the hem of your dress (yes, dress.) and looking at him. “You want to see my clothes on your floor?”

Sunghoon watches you intently, seeing your thighs being exposed more and more as the dress raises. His body is already reacting, becoming more attracted to your witty sense of displeasure toward his entire personality and lifestyle. After all, he’s a computer whizz and you deal with screaming children all day. He wonders why he expected anything less. Little do you know though, he fully intends to have you praising him before the night is up.

“I’d like to see you on my floor,” he answers, reaching for your dress and pulling it up further and above your head. “If I’m being honest, anyway.”

You were trying to go slow with the removal of your dress, mostly to see how he reacts to seeing a woman nearly naked in front of him but damn. You weren’t quite expecting how forward he’s being about it. Here you were expecting to be fucked missionary without any foreplay in a bed with all white sheets, right next to a washer and dryer, socks on, lights off.

“Oh,” you gasp, slightly out of character in his opinion but his body reacts even more to that. He’s already allowing himself to get aroused so, naturally, his confidence is also bubbling up through each thought and word he decides to say to you.

“What, you’re shocked?” He laughs, dropping your dress to the floor and scanning your body. “I can admit that I’m a little shocked too.”

You look at him in confusion, moving your arms over your chest and wondering what the fuck he’s talking about.

“You wore a matching set for a first date? With a complete stranger?” He mocks you this time, stepping even closer and running his fingers along the hem of your bra. You can feel the warmth from his thumb gently rubbing the skin as he does it and instantly your body tells on you in the form of goosebumps.

“I’ll have you know,” you’re the one stepping closer this time, “I always wear matching sets, because I like to feel sexy.”

You’re a liar. You definitely wore them just in case.

He hums, mere inches from your face as he looks down at you. It feels like he’s fucking looming, it feels like he must have his heat set too high or something.

It gets even worse when his eyes don’t leave yours, but you feel his hand drop from your chest only to hear the familiar sound of a belt being unbuckled. He stares at you while he does it, his hair falling in his face at the movement of what he’s doing waist down. For some reason, that does it for you, and you’re already rubbing your legs together as you stare right back at him.

“I think that’s bullshit,” he smirks, slipping his belt from the loops of his pants and tossing that to the floor as well, and then he brings his face another inch closer, “and don’t think I can’t tell that you’re turned on.”

You don’t back down, nor do you admit that he’s absolutely right. You just look at him, watching a strand of his hair fall in front of his eyes that are beginning to darken by the second.

“I’m not turned on, believe me, it’ll take a lot more than–” You’re cut off by him planting his hand directly between your legs, two fingers pressing your panties slightly into you.

“Hm?” He encourages you to say that again, but you’ve got your breath caught in your throat at his extreme change in demeanor.

Still, he’s looking directly at your face, watching the way you try to think of a lie.

“You wanna keep pretending that I’m boring?” He asks, sliding his fingers up and pressing against your clit.

You shake your head, finally dropping the act and blinking at him with empty thoughts.

“That’s what I thought,” He ticks his tongue at you, now pulling his fingers away and showing you that even through your panties, his fingers are already soaked. “Now take the rest off.”

You do as he says, watching him step away with his shirt untucked and his pants undone. You note that he grabs a condom, which for some reason reminds you that you’re definitely about to get railed into the next dimension if that bulge behind those pants implies anything.

Standing there with all of your clothes thrown around his living room, you watch him harder than you already had been. He’s slow when he sets the condom down on the table, and even slower when he walks up to you and places a hand on the top of your head before guiding you to sink down.

“Wha–right here?” You ask, feeling the clean carpet offer relief for your knees rather than the hard wood floors of the room over.

“I said I wanted to see you on my floor, didn’t I?” He smiles, already admiring how shameful you’d appear to be if your parents saw you naked and on your knees for him.

You nod, looking up at him. When you reach forward to actually lower his pants though, he steps back and continues to create distance between the two of you as he backs himself up to the wall and lounges against it.

“Crawl to me,” he instructs, wondering if it’s too much for you but letting out a pleased sound of relief when you instantly do it.

Would you normally let a man tell you to do that? No. Would you ever actually listen to a man who speaks to you like this? Fuck no. You can’t defend your actions when you do it and you also can’t lie that you’re absolutely fucking dripping over it. Like, honestly, he’s going to have to deep clean this fucking carpet by the time you leave this house.

When you reach him, you can feel the heat in your cheeks at the very idea of him from this angle. You sit on your knees, lifting your hands to his pants and lowering them before he can try to draw the process out even longer. You can hear him let out a short chuckle at the way you try to be quick with it, and you already know he’s about to say some shit.

“I didn’t expect you to be this eager.” He talks down to you with a deep and raspy voice, one that sounds entirely sensual. In terms of what he says though, honestly, you shouldn’t expect much more considering how the two of you practically roasted each other before this very instant.

You ignore his words, letting his pants drop to the floor and now reaching to pull his briefs down. You were incredibly unprepared for his size as you watched it stand stiff and raging in front of your face. Not a single hint of precum is seen, and it makes you feel kind of pathetic for how wet you’ve already gotten. It almost feels like a challenge now, to make him feel just as desperate as you do now.

Thankfully, your throat is fairly trained for sucking men until they’re trembling. Hopefully, all those dudes you’ve fucked around with before come in handy and don’t let you down this time around.

Sunghoon watches you from above, smiling over the way you stare at his length before finally touching it. He keeps his cool though, wondering how just over an hour ago you were ordering the worst food a restaurant has to offer, scoffing at his job, his hobbies, and now look at you. What a sight.

“Go on,” he encourages you, pressing his hips forward so that the head of his cock hits your cheek, “let me see how messy you are.”

You roll your eyes at him, gripping the base before closing your eyes and breathing in through your nose. The very second you wrap your lips around him, he has both hands on your head, not moving it, not pushing you down or anything, just resting there. You’d think it was sweet if it weren’t for the fact that he pushes his hips forward after four whole seconds.

So, he’s not going to guide your mouth, he’s going to hold it there? Okay, you guess. Thankfully, he’s not being super rough with it like you anticipated. If anything, he’s sliding himself into your mouth much as you’d do on your own.

He hums out at the feeling of your inner cheeks hugging against his length, pressing in more and more with each thrust of his hips until he finally gets the majority of his length past your lips. He can see you breathe through your nose, but he doesn’t feel resistance at all so he presses his hips in even more, essentially until he’s blocking your airways and your throat is restricted around him in a gag.

Instead of pulling your head back though, he feels your fingers grip the back of his legs, you’re trying. He holds your head there in place, feeling your throat massage his cock in probably one of the best ways he’s ever felt.

“Shit,” he seethes out between a bite of his lip, “you’ve done this before?”

The very thought of you letting your throat be used is enough for him to want to keep doing it, but hearing your response as a half-moaned gag vibrating around his length is a whole other story.

He releases his hands from behind your head just to see if what he thinks you’re implying with those vibrations of sounds is right, and god is he thrown for a loop. You stay there, and even when he pulls his hips back before fucking into your throat once more, you still stay there.

He’s going to lose his goddamn mind because never has a woman been able to withstand this amount in their throat for this long for him. Enough to actually have him a little worried that you’re essentially suffocating on him.

Sunghoon snaps his hips back, pulling out of your mouth and leaning down just a bit to grab your chin and guide your eyes up to him.

“Breathe,” he says, watching the way you smirk at him as if you’ve won some sort of award. He narrows his eyes at you, “You can choke all you want babe, but you’re gonna have to not be this cock drunk if you want to pretend that you’ve got the upper hand.”

That motherfucker. You’re trying to make him show just a hint of desperation for you and he completely flips the tables on you?

Before you can even argue again, he’s guiding your lips back on him. You decide that it’s not over yet, he can talk down to you all he wants, but you’re going to be the one laughing at him by the end of the night.

You allow him to place his hands back on your head, and you kind of like the weight of his cock on your tongue if you’re being honest, but god damn does he have a harsh rhythm. His hips snap languidly but he buries himself deep. Even when you try to look up at him as your nose presses against his pubic bone, he’s looking down at you so casually. Like he feels okay. Just okay.

This time, when he pulls his hips back, he doesn’t have to hold your head steady. You chase his length even as it tries to slide from your mouth, and you start to move your head back and forth in time with his hips. You finally receive a moan from him when you reach a hand up and cup his balls, massaging them in one hand as your saliva bubbles out from around your lips.

“So fucking messy–” he chokes out in a surprised moan, praising you for somehow making this feel even better than it already did.

You hum around him again, feeling the weight of his cock pulse against your tongue and you start to taste more of his precum. Shamefully, you’re starting to want this more and more. You want him to call you messy, you want him to bruise your throat. You don’t mind, now that you’ve seen a snippet of what he’s like when he shows his pleasure.

Just a moment goes by when you feel his hands grip your hair, pulling slightly and following the rhythm of your movements, just putting a bit more force behind them until he finally presses you one last time against his pelvic bone, swirling his hips and stretching out your throat impossibly more around him.

“Just like that, yeah,” his moans echo throughout his empty walls and it causes your eyes to flutter as you try to breathe in through your nose. When you gag, he moans again. “Fuck, you know exactly what you’re doing.”

Then, he releases you and watches with a smirk at the way you pull back in a deep breath before wiping your mouth.

You’re not sure why, but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel proud. Maybe it’s because he’s managed to pull out this weird, needy side of you, or maybe it’s because he looks incredibly good looking at you like this after the two of you spit insults at each other all night.

“Do you want me to return the favor?” He asks, finally unbuttoning and removing his shirt.

Seeing him now, you stare at his chest and toned arms, wanting to grab onto them and feel him do whatever it is he wants to do to you. He, on the other hand, can’t tell if you’re nodding to his question or looking him up and down slowly.

“You were so talkative earlier, what happened?” He smiles, stepping forward and falling to his knees himself, nudging your legs open in one go as he presses you back against his floor. “Do you want to fuck my tongue, or no?”

He continues to smile at your silence, eyes trained between your legs as he spreads them and then looks up at your face. “No?”

You shake your head, leaning back on your elbows to watch him and take a breath in.

“It’s hard to talk when you’re like,” you motions towards him, “that.”

He chuckles, taking it as a compliment before snatching a pillow off of his couch and tapping your thigh to get you to lift up. You do so, allowing him to place the pillow under your ass before he settles himself there.

His eyes stay locked on yours as his fingers start to trail to your core, slipping through your folds with such ease that your embarrassment shows plainly on your face.

“Messy,” he compliments, lightly tapping against your clit before lowering his head and blowing softly against the glistening heat you offer to him. “Keep your legs spread for me, darling.”

You still watch him, his eyes glaring up from between your spread thighs as he lets his tongue fall from his mouth and lick one long and languid stripe up your slit, stopping just before your clit and pulling back as if he’s tasting. You’re not sure what it is about him but goddamn, he must know he looks good when he’s pleasuring a woman.

Despite him asking you to keep your legs spread for him, it appears that he doesn’t trust you to do it because he’s still got one hand prying one of your legs apart and his head moving in all sorts of ways as he allows his tongue to lap every part of you besides your clit. Even his other hand, exploring and gently placing pressure against your entrance– the way he’s doing this makes you want to press forward, it makes you want to do exactly as he asked.

You roll your hips forward, and he instantly attaches his lips to your clit. You stop, and he trails back down and flicks his tongue against your folds in a teasing way. You grind forward, he’s right back on your clit, flicking his muscle the same way and eliciting a whine from you.

This time though, when you roll your hips back, he takes both hands and presses your legs open as far as he can get them, spreading your pussy out across his lips for him to take full control of. He nips at your clit before licking down, pressing the pointed muscle into you and only then does he release your legs. Now, he’s sliding both hands under your ass and rocking you against his face, angling his head so that he can lick inside to taste your plush and wet walls.

God, you’re gonna lose it. Even if you didn’t want to, you’d think the way he’s moving his mouth is enough to get anyone to take advantage of it. You moan, pressing forward and back against his mouth as your own fingers fall to your clit. You rub when you press forward, feeling his warm and wet saliva drip from your slit and down to your ass, and you rub harder when you pull back, watching his eyes flutter open and still somehow manage to glare at you.

And just as soon as it started, you blink and his face is right there. You would have let out a shocked sound, because jumpscare much? But you moan instead, because he hovers over you with a smirk and an arm between the two of you, his fingers instantly sliding into you as he attaches his lips to yours with little more than a moan of his own.

“Have you ever tasted yourself?” He asks, licking against your lips and scissoring his fingers open inside of you.

You have, but for some reason it tasted better this time when he prods his tongue against yours. Perhaps it’s because it’s from him, or maybe it’s because you are a little obsessed with the way he navigates sex.

When he pulls back from your mouth, now losing himself a little bit in the heat of the faces you make when you feel good, he can’t help but give you a moan along with your own. You sound so fucking good when you’re not talking your shit, and god he knew that mouth could do more than be annoying.

“Open up,” he whispers against your lips, licking your bottom lip as he thrusts his fingers deeper into you, “let me hear you.”

You can’t really help it. When you open your mouth, you’re practically panting for him. His arm is moving harshly as he fucks his fingers into you and causing you to nearly lose balance on your elbows, but he holds you there with his other arm wrapped around your waist, still licking against your lip and smirking when you still can’t say anything.

“Louder,” He instructs, at least wanting you to moan louder for him if you’re going to act like this when he’s touching you. “Let your momma hear how good it feels, babe, go on.”

Your eyes shoot open after that, and god, he is the fucking worst. Or maybe not, you can tell he does it on purpose. His fingers curling up inside of you and putting intense pressure against a spot that takes every man ages to find if they manage to even remember it.

“Sunghoon,” you groan, rolling your eyes back while rolling your hips forward, hand shooting to his and holding it there, “can’t you just fuck me already?”

He chuckles, dipping his head down to give a sharp bite against your nipple, his fingers still curling up into that spot.

“Soak my fingers first.” He says, floored by how good your voice sounds when you want to get fucked.

He continues to suck and bite against your nipple, and that sends shocks of pleasure straight down to where his fingers meet your g-spot. You could come right now if he’d just–

You roll your hips forward harder, grinding your clit against his wrist and essentially fucking yourself on his fingers now. He moans against your nipple at the movement, biting down harder as he hears you just above him holding your breath. It seems like you like not being able to breath, which is just fucking great for him. Your mom would be so heartbroken, honestly.

“You think you can ride my cock like this?” He asks, popping your nipple out of his mouth and moving those bites up your neck and to your ear, “Think you can take it?”

You nod with heat rushing through your body, feeling his wrist stiffen up for your pleasure to grind against.

Fuck, he can feel your cunt gripping his fingers as you work yourself up and it takes everything in him not to pull his fingers from you and absolutely bury himself into the tight heat you’re offering, but he holds back, pulling from your neck and watching the way your brows furrow and your mouth falls slack.

“Yeah, that’s it babe, ride it.” he encourages, hearing your wet slide against his fingers with each movement of your body.

You shake as it washes through you, feeling his fingers remain in their spot against your little bundle of pleasure inside of you. You feel like you can explode from this alone and he practically forces it out of you, pulling his fingers out and immediately rubbing circles on your clit.

“Let it go for me,” he encourages in a pleasured sigh, watching your body tremble involuntarily as your face contorts to what anyone else would assume is pain. He moves further back and watches your body soak both him and his floor. “Fuck, yes, such a fucking mess.”

Well, that’s never happened before and the fact that you’re still orgasming is also new. You feel so sensitive, releasing in waves that offer little in terms of self control. Your hands shoot to his arm, gripping him so tightly as you try to hear his moans for you, but to be honest, you can’t hear a fucking thing through this wall of arousal in your head.

Finally, you open your eyes and he’s just looking at you, smirking at the dripping against his legs and the wet spot on the floor.

“Messy, messy girl.” He says with a chuckle. “Dirtying up my living room like this? Come on, get up.”

This is the first time Sunghoon has ever had a woman squirt for him, and honestly he’s been trying for ages to let someone experience this through him, goddamn was it sexy to see. You look absolutely fucking gone at this moment, and he might be fucking in love with the image. So badly does he want to see those shaking legs try to stand for him, so badly, does he want to see you fucking buckle.

“Come on,” he says again, not giving you enough time to even think about standing before he’s pulling you up on wobbling legs and pressing your toward the couch.

He watches how you wobble over, shuffling your feet with your knees turned inward with each step. He can’t help but lick his lips, seeing how your arousal drips down both of your legs in a shameless show of how much his fingers alone could do for you.

“Sorry,” You rasp out as you make your way over, brain fogged from the orgasm and unable to feel much at all outside of the pulsing inside of you. “I’ve never–”

“Don’t worry, I like the mess.” He smiles, snatching up the condom and tearing the wrapper open with ease before rolling it down his length, staring at you.

Oh, right, he still hasn’t even fucked you yet. Fuck, he’s good.

He sits himself next to you, pulling an arm around your waist and guiding you on top of him. He doesn’t even think twice at your shaking legs, soothing them as you follow his hand and position yourself against his long neglected cock being held up with his other hand.

“Gonna keep that promise?” he asks, still smoothing his hands over your legs and looking up at you. “Gonna take my cock better than you did my fingers?”

You nod, feeling a pulse of electricity inside of you. Willing you to take more, wanting to be stretched further.

Besides, you know that once you’re seated with his length fucking impaling you, you’ll at least have his broad shoulders to hold onto if you need to stay steady.

And when you sink down, you hear the sound you’ve been trying to pull from him all night. He lets out a soft moan, almost a whimper if you think hard enough about it, and it ignites a brand new fire in you as you take him in inch by inch. Feeling the searing stretch offer a bit of pain despite the sheer amount of wet you have collected between your legs.

He can feel you clench around him in the attempt to adjust, and your legs shaking only offer even more in terms of pleasure as you envelope him entirely with your heat. He can’t help but moan, almost unable to keep up his dominant persona with a pussy so sweet wrapped around him. God, he loves blind dates, honestly.

“Mhm,” he hums, rubbing both of his hands now against your thighs as you sit yourself flush against him and wait to adjust to his size, “I definitely like you.”

You fall forward with a small laugh, the irony of the situation a bit too much on top of your mind falling helplessly and embarrassingly fast at how lucky you are to have a mother to set you up with such a man.

He’s a bit soft at this moment, wrapping both arms around your waist and listening to your breathless laughs against his neck. Loving the way each inhaled chuckle forces your body to squeeze his cock delightfully tight.

God, You’re pretty, and so fucking annoying. Just his type.

“I’m still going to fuck you senseless though.” he finally says, feeling your body still at his words as you lift a bit, just to slide back down on him.

“Is that a promise?” You ask weakly, pretending that he didn’t already manage to do it with his hands alone.

He nods, the softness in his eyes disappearing instantly when he feels the drag of your cunt hug his length. He doesn’t hold back his moaning for you this time though, and he shows no shame in slapping your ass, and guiding you even closer to his chest.

You stand on your knees a bit on top of him, watching his eyes zone in on your tits in his face. Hopefully, he’s going to keep that promise too.

His hips snap up harshly as his hands grope your ass and spread you apart. He snaps his hips again and again, nearly pulling his entire length out of you each time just to fill you up once again. Stretching you open and loosening you up, the pleasure of it hitting him right in the throat each time with small grunts against your nipple when you bounce at the movement.

You whimper out, the sounds still echoing throughout his house along with the sounds of your thighs slapping against his. His grunts are deeper, and all of the sounds together sound like a desperate soundtrack of what you’ve always wished sex was like. He fucks you good, despite your legs still shaking, and despite the pain of his teeth biting against your skin now.

You can’t help it when you fall forward again, hugging around his head as he starts to relentlessly fuck into you at a faster pace, the thrusts going from slow and deep to tight and pointed. His thick cock easily pressing against that same spot his fingers had been teasing earlier. You choke out at the feeling, legs jolting and causing you to sit again out of sensitivity.

He doesn’t falter at your failure to stay in position for him, and instead he gropes your ass harder, swirling your hips around him. You can feel how hard he is inside of you, splitting you open and pulsing at a near constant pace.

“Ride it,” he instructs, much like he did with his fingers and you follow suit, lifting just slightly and sliding back down again. “Harder,” he demands, pulling his head from your grasp and looking up at you with a wild smirk.

You look down at him, wondering how pitiful you must look up here. He appears to be loving it though, absolutely in love with the way you struggle to do what you swore you’d be able to.

Trying again, you begin to bounce on him and he grants you his fingers on your clit for that, moaning at your own choice of rhythm and leaning forward yet again to pop his presumed favorite nipple back into his mouth.

The ministrations of his fingers paired with his mouth sends you spiraling once again into a world of pleasure. The shaking in your legs become more of a driving factor than anything as you ride him better than you’ve ever ridden anyone.

Finally, he’s the one moaning out and trying to string together choked words of praise.

“Your grip is so tight,” he mutters out, kissing up your chest and to your neck, “i can fucking feel you dripping down my legs.” He adds in a moan, losing himself in the way you move your hands through his hair and scratch at the nape of his neck. He wants to ruin you so badly, and he’s already drenched in you. He wants more.

You knew you’d have him just as desperate as you by the end of the night. Now look at him, muttering out strings of curse words as you do nothing but ride and pet him. He’s melting under you, and you’ll be damned if he comes before you get that second orgasm.

Shooting your hand to your clit to replace his lazy movements, you work yourself up to your second orgasm and he just watches you, taking in the image of you practically riding him into oblivion until you’re clenching even tighter around him, throwing your head back and shooting your hands to his shoulders as you harshly roll your hips into his. You’re working yourself through it when he starts pumping into you again, short and tight thrusts pushing you through your orgasm until he’s gripping you equally as hard, holding you down on him as he spills out and into the condom in more of a purr than a moan.

You watch him, dazed out of your fucking mind as he bites against his bottom lip and slowly blinks through his orgasm as you. Part of you wishes he just did it raw, wanting so badly for him to make a mess of you like you did to him.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You find yourself with him at your parent’s house just a week later, eating lunch in the chaotic mess of your mother’s kitchen. It’s funny, really, how he’s trying to be polite to her as if he’s not about to take you next door and probably fuck you against an open window just to blow his own cover.

“I told you he was a keeper,” your mother compliments him as she lays a plate of croissants on the table. “Just yesterday he offered to mow our lawn when we head off for vacation this weekend!”

She’s praising him much like you wouldn’t, and you kick him under the table for trying to suck up to her even more now that he’s fucked you several times already.

“Did he now?” You ask, glaring over at him and then smiling sweetly at your mother. “Guess he is kind of a keeper, maybe.”

His eyes shoot to you and he smiles around his bite of croissant at you.

“You were right though,” he counters you towards your mother, “she’s definitely a handful.”

Your mother crosses her arms as she leans against the counter, looking between the both of you.

“How many dates have you been on without telling me?” She asks, looking at you.

“A few…” If she considers it a date to meet up and fuck every other day this week.

“We had lunch a few days ago.” he adds, backing you up. It’s just that the lunch wasn’t exactly like–you know, at a restaurant, and if she knew that cum was on the menu, perhaps you both would be slapped shitless.

“So, are you guys going to be exclusive, or?”

Sunghoon looks at you curiously, and you look back at him.

“I dunno, it’s only been a week, Mom.”

She nods, clapping once before pushing off of the counter and leaving the kitchen.

It’s silent between you and Sunghoon for a few moments before he speaks up.

“I wouldn’t be against it.”

“Against what?” You ask, looking at him with a raised brow.

“You know, like, dating. I can’t imagine anyone actually putting up with you besides me, anyway.”

You kick him again from under the table, causing him to wince out in pain before glaring at you. You smile in return though, giving him a shrug and now rubbing your foot against the bruise you probably just caused.

“I find myself agreeing with that statement,” You laugh thinking hard about your next words. “But for some reason, agreeing with you pisses me off more.”

Sunghoon nods, smiling through the pain of the bruise forming on his shin.

“Good thing I know how to fix that, huh?” He finishes the conversation, fully aware that he knows how to shut you up and make you love it.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

#enhypen smut #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #enha smut

3K notes · View notes

meelusinee · 5 days ago

Text

NOW SHE HAS ME UNDER HER SKIRT ✦ M.R x READER

in which mattheo is absolutely in love with you before you two even talk for the first time (part one to lovesick!mattheo)

SECOND PART HERE - lovesick!mattheo christmas edition

pairing: lovesick!mattheo riddle x reader tags: lovesick mattheo, fem reader, so tamino inspired word count: 3.7k warnings: just fluff again! along with easily flustered mattheo (+ teasing theo)

author's note: my second post!! i made a small playlist of tamino songs i used for mattheo in this. if you haven’t, please go listen to him (his music is so good). i based this off a small part of my first fic where theo sang to reader. as always, while english is my first (and only) language, that does not mean i claim it in any way shape or form (aka this will probably suck ass)

NOW SHE HAS ME UNDER HER SKIRT | M.R x READER

Mattheo didn’t know much about love.

Between being raised by a dictator and his craziest follower, he already didn’t have a very good start. Especially whenever he would get in trouble, the Cruciatus Curse was definitely no joke. Not to mention everyone pestering him about the legacy he led. News flash to the Gryffindors who would try to pick on him, he found it quite obvious that he was Voldemort’s son.

Suffice to say that he didn’t know much about love. He never had a true showcase of it, never had an example of it to compare to anything. The closest he ever had being another stunted teenager by the name of Theodore that considered him his brother, but even then there was still distance.

That was until he met you.

You, the most beautiful person he had ever met in his entire existence on this Earth. Anything he lol looked at on you he would find absolutely perfect, from the color of your eyes to the way your hair bounced in the sunlight.

That alone made it hard to approach you. Your nice demeanor seemed to make it even harder.

So, he settled with admiring from afar. Mattheo knew your schedule, the classes that you would take and every time that it varied. He would subtly watch you in classes, hang around the same areas you did during your break periods, or even where you went for fun. And, to the best of his ability, he tried to avoid things that looked bad. No more fights or cursing, not unless he was truly provoked.

His mind also got its grubby hands on the idea of a journal. A place he could write about you freely, one he charmed so only he could read it. Entries, song ideas, anything he could think of. You made him an artist, you as his perfect muse.

And it all got even better when you two finally met.

You had just walked down to the courtyard, Mary Janes clacking along the rocks as you made your way over to a small pillar.

Recently, you noticed someone sitting by the pillars a lot more than usual. He was tall, his face usually covered by his brown curls as he wrote inna small journal he always carried with him. Said tall man with a face covered by his brown curls was your current potions partner, you had both been assigned to create a Liquid Luck potion.

“Hello?” you called out gently. face tilted down just a bit as you looked down at him. His eyes locked with yours when he looked up, the most beautiful shade of molten honey you had ever seen meeting your eyes. “Hi there, stranger.”

“Hello?” he whispered back at you, eyebrows furrowed as he spoke. His face looked rather cute when it was all scrunched up like that, a light blush covering his cheeks.

“I’m your Potions partner.” you said with a smile, flattening your skirt before moving to sit down next to him. “For the Liquid Luck project.”

“Oh,” he whispered, nodding as he closed his journal. It had a rather pretty leather cover, the pages aged and covered in ink from what you could tell. “Yeah, I remember. Y/N, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, nodding. “And you’re Mattheo.”

“Yes I am.” he said, a soft smile coming on his face as he heard that. He looked at you with something special in his eyes, eyes that carved themselves deep into your soul with the most intricate patterns you could think of.

The trance both of you seemed to be stuck in was broken when he cleared his throat, fingers tapping on his journal. “Did you have any ideas for the project?”

“Oh,” you whispered, nodding. “Yes, yes I do. I was thinking that we head to the library and research different potion methods and whatnot. Based on Slughorn’s instructions, I’m assuming that the instructions in the books won’t help much.”

“You’re a genius.” he whispered, barely loud enough for you to hear.

“What was that?” you asked him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Nothing,” he said, clearing his throat as he began to sit up. “Do you want to go now?”

Mattheo thought that he was dreaming, if he was being honest.

The girl of his dreams, the girl that he had wrote almost obsessively day and night about for almost six years, that same girl was currently sitting across from him. Laughing.

“You’re ridiculous,” she smiled at his joke, her voice sweet like a piece of cotton candy melting on your tongue. He didn’t even remember what he had joked about at this point, his mind turning to mush the moment he heard that sound pass your lips.

Those lips that haunted his dreams every single night, the image of them so plush and pure he wanted to worship them like one would a holy angel. They looked absolutely perfect.

“Thank you,” he whispered, smiling softly as he rested his chin on his hand. He probably looked like a lovesick puppy, but he didn’t mind.

“I found something really interesting in this book by the way,” you said, Mattheo’s eyes instantly darting to where your hands were resting on the page. “It says in the recipe that we need to juice a squill bulb, which most people just cut it for. But this recipe here notes that squeezing ingredients over a funnel gets more juice out.”

“That’s really interesting.” he whispered, his gaze looking at your face as you spoke.

“Isn’t it?” you asked with a smile. “And here it says that adding the entire Murtlap makes the potion last longer, rather than just growth.”

“That’s also really interesting.” he whispered again, gaze still stuck on your face. You looked so pretty whenever you were concentrating on things, the way your eyebrows furrowed making him think of a million different songs and rhythms.

“Is it?” you asked with a chuckle.

“Well,” he muttered, looking at you with a small smile on his face. “I always found Potions an interesting topic.”

“Always is not a word. It’s more of a concept.” you said, humming as you continued reading the pages. Mattheo chuckled softly, looking at you like a lovesick puppy.

“You’re lovely,” he whispered.

Theo was sitting in his bed reading a book, his curtains almost completely closed as he flipped between page to page. At least, he pretended to.

Recently, he had noticed Mattheo’s obsessive journaling habits. How his hands would be covered in ink by the time he was finished, or how he’d write until his new candle burnt out. Sometimes Mattheo would write even when the candle burnt out, instead opting for yet another one.

It was rather concerning to Theo, to say the least. Out of all of the things Mattheo could do, he was changing who he was. Self-improvement was one thing, but it seemed like he changed an obsession from fighting to writing.

“I can feel you staring at me.” Mattheo mumbled, looking back over at where Theo was sitting.

“I’m surprised you can,” Theo said under his breath, closing his book and standing up. “With how much you’ve been writing, I’d assume you get sucked in by a black hole sometime soon.”

“Oh hush,” he whispered, looking up from the journal. His hands were stained black and red with quill ink, the candle beside him still burning brightly. “Why do you keep staring at me? You’ve been doing it all week.”

“Your journal.” Theo smirked, walking behind Mattheo and placing his hands on his Mattheo’s shoulder. “What’s inside?”

“Why would I tell you?” Mattheo grumbled, continuing to write in the journal. Theo’s eyes squinted as they tried to read whatever was on the page, but the words were too jumbled to make any sense to him. No doubt a charm.

“You charmed the journal?” Theo asked curiously, looking down at Mattheo.

“Like you care.” he whispered under his breath, the quill scratching loudly against the paper. The room was quiet other than that, nothing but the quill scratching and the candle crackling.

“I do.” Theo said, his voice a bit more stern. He pulled up a chair next to Mattheo, resting his elbow on the table. “Mattheo, you’re pushing everyone away. Even me, and it’s not healthy. All you do is write in this journal, it’s kind of worrying.”

“I just like writing,” Mattheo whispered, moving his legs to rest his knees near his chest.

“About what?” Theo asked, his voice more soft than teasing.

“You’ll judge.” Mattheo whispered again, flicking the quill back and forth as his eyes glanced over at Theo. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because you’re my best friend.” Theo whispered. “I promise I won’t judge.”

Mattheo sighed before turning to the journal, pressing his wand against it as the words came into view more clearly. His handwriting was a lot more cursive than Theo first remembered, no doubt changing the more he wrote.

“It’s a journal about her,” Mattheo whispered, flipping through some of the pages. “Love letters, poems, songs and stuff.”

“Her?” Theo asked curiously. “Who’s her?”

“Her,” Mattheo muttered to Theo, picking at his fingernails as he spoke. He looked like a blushing schoolboy who found his first love, it was rather cute to watch. “It’s, like, she’s a girl I just really like. I think about her a lot, you know? And I’m just trying to improve myself for her.”

“What’s her name?” Theo asked, resting his head against his hand as he crossed his legs.

“Y/N.” Mattheo sighed, like the word itself was a part of some holy prophecy. “She’s so beautiful, you know? Like something from heaven, just beautiful. And I just can’t get her out of my head.”

“Have you ever tried talking to her?” Theo asked, a small smile on his face.

“We have this project together right now.” he said, chuckling softly as he spoke. He was so down bad. “She took me to the library to research more about potions. Merlin, she’s so smart Theo. She figured the reason why nobody could make the potion was because the instructions were wrong.”

“So you both started researching?” Theo asked.

“She researched, yeah,” Mattheo said, before chuckling again. His hand moved to scratch the back of his neck nervously. “I kind of just sat watching her the entire time.”

“Mattheo,” Theo chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“You said you wouldn’t judge!” Mattheo protested.

“I’m not judging.” Theo chuckled, looking down at the journal. “I’m just confused on how you think you’ll get your girl if you can’t even talk to her. Journaling can only go so far.”

“I know,” Mattheo whispered, looking down at his journal again. “But it still helps.”

Theo nodded, looking down at the journal again. “What are you writing about right now?”

“Uh,” he muttered, looking at the pages. “It’s a song. She said something at the library that made me think of a song, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.”

“What’s it sound like.” Theo asked, leaning back in his seat.

“Uhm,” he whispered, picking at his nails again as he pushed the journal towards Theo. He hummed softly as he picked it up, eyes squinting as he tried to read his handwriting.

Darling, just calm with your voice

Let your heart sing, how I always enjoy

When you say “always” is not a word

You think love is a bit absurd.

“That’s really nice,” Theo said, looking up at Mattheo with a small smirk. “This is a lot better than I thought it’d be, to be honest.”

“What did you think I was writing about?” Mattheo asked confusedly.

“Dark magic or something.” Theo chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Like you were possessed by a ghost to figure out how to resurrect themselves.”

Mattheo chuckled at that, taking his journal back. “I think you’ll find someone like this, you know. It makes life really nice.”

“Being in love?” Theo asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” Mattheo whispered. “In love.”

“Well, there’s always an opportunity for that. And when it happens, it’ll happen.” Theo said, patting his pockets and pulling out a box of cigarettes. “But until then, there’s cigarettes.”

“You know the way to my heart, don’t you?” Mattheo snickered at that, using the lit candle to light his own cigarette.

It had been a couple of weeks since you and Mattheo had started working on your project. You had figured out how to maximize the efficiency of your potion brewing, including changing methods of brewing and preparing ingredients. After about three different trials, you had finally found the perfect way to brew the potion.

“That’s perfect.” Mattheo smiled softly at you, chuckling softly as he scratched the back of his neck. In all honesty, it looked like a regular potion to him. “I think that’s perfect, right?”

“That is perfect.” you said, giggling softly as his reaction You found it rather cute, if you were being honest. He seemed rather nervous around you. “Thank you for doing all of this with me, the potion work and all. Most people would probably just leave it to me, you know?”

“Why would they leave?” Mattheo asked, eyebrows furrowing.

You shrugged, looking down at the potion still set in the cauldron as you spoke. “I don’t really know. I guess people consider me weird or something like that. Someone said that I was whimsical once, I don’t think it was a nice way though.”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous.” Mattheo spat. He couldn’t understand the logic of that. In his eyes, you were absolutely perfect. He would give anything in the world to hang out with you more often than he got too, and people gave that up for free? The thought was absolutely ridiculous.

You chuckled quietly at that, smiling softly. “Yeah?”

“Definitely. I mean,” he paused, looking up at you like that was the most absurd thing in the entire world. He had a small flush on his face, no doubt questioning what he was going to say. “I mean, you’re such a nice person. And I think that hanging around you is comforting.”

“And I think that you’re rather sweet.” you chuckled, looking at him with a soft smile.

“I’m being serious!” Mattheo said, looking you in the eyes. You hadn’t heard him talk this much in the entire time that you had been working with him, and you especially didn’t expect it to be him defending you. “You’re just, like, you. Which is really sweet, you know? I really like you and your whimsy, or whatever they try to call you.”

You giggled again, smiling softly at him as you scooted a bit closer. “You’re rather nice yourself, if I do say so myself.”

“Thank you.” he whispered, his voice raising a pitch as he looked at the potion. “Do we need to test this?”

“I think so.” she nodded. “Do you want to do it?”

Mattheo looked at the potion, a small frown coming on her face. If anything went wrong with the podcast, he wouldn’t want you to be hurt by it. Which led to him nodding, the best option for him obviously being him taking the potion himself.

“I’ll bottle it for you.” you said, grabbing the small ladle and pouring it inside the potion vial. “Here, one vial of Liquid Luck for you.”

Mattheo smiled softly as he took a sniff of it. “Is it meant to smell like something?”

“No, just air. I mean, clean air. Not like toxic air or anything.” you said, before ending your small speel. “It doesn’t smell like anything.”

Mattheo nodded again, taking a swig of it before coughing. “That’s definitely hot.”

“It did just come off the cauldron.” you chuckled, fingers fidgeting slightly. “Do you feel lucky?”

Mattheo looked up at you with a look you could only describe as a lovesick puppy, a small flush covering his face as he admired you. You could only assume the amount of thoughts running through his mind were plenty, some very hard to sort through.

“Yeah,” he whispered, blinking slowly as he looked at you. “Very lucky.”

You chuckled softly at that, your face flushing as you watched his eyes lock onto your lips. “Do I have something on my lips or something?”

“No,” he whispered softly, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he spoke. “No, I just,”

“Something on my teeth?” you asked, shining your teeth to him.

“I want to kiss you.” he whispered.

Your mouth closed again as you heard that, eyes locking onto his after he spoke. That didn’t last long though, as his eyes focused back on your lips again. “You what?”

“I want to kiss you.” he said a bit more clearly, his voice hoarse as he spoke. “I mean, I don’t want to pressure you. But I really want to kiss you.”

“You can kiss me.” you whispered softly to him, scooting a bit closer to him in return.

Mattheo blinked for a couple of seconds, the shock of your answer plastered on his face. It filled you with a small sense of confidence, the blush on his face fueling your own. “I can?”

“You can.” you smiled.

Mattheo smiled brightly at that, the burn of it brighter than the sun sucking his lips in like a blackhole would. His lips immediately met yours, burning like fireworks against his skin. It was absolute bliss to him, burning through his skin and turning him into nothing but lovesick ash.

“Your lips are absolutely perfect, my love.” he whispered, his eyes boring into yours with a gaze full of adoration. “So perfect.”

“Was your luck to try and kiss me, Riddle?” you chuckled softly at him.

“This is the luckiest moment of my life.” he whispered.

“Theo!” Mattheo spat out, opening the dorm room door as he stormed in. His palms looked sweaty, and his face was absolutely covered in a bright blush.

“Mattheo.” Theo said his name back, closing his book as he looked at where Mattheo had stormed in. He looked absolutely wrecked, almost drenched in sweat. “You look like you just got your ass kicked on the Quidditch field.”

“I just,” he whispered, walking closer to Theo as he paced around the room. “I just kissed her.”

“Y/N?” Theo asked, a small smile crossing her face. “You kissed her?”

“It was so perfect.” he whispered, laying down on Theo’s bed. “Like, it was like her lips had a magnetic pull on me. I couldn’t stop for the next hour. A whole hour!”

“That’s wild, mate.” he chuckled softly, patting Mattheo on the head.

“It was just perfect,” he whispered under his breath, sighing softly. “Like, I don’t know how else to describe it. Maybe like looking at a supernova for the first time.”

“You are down bad, Mattheo.” he chuckled softly at that, continuing to pat his friend on the head.

“And then we, after that right?” he said, the smile on his face only growing larger. “We snuck off to this broom closet. You know the ones. And we did, we had,” he paused, sighing in frustration as his words jumbled in his head. “You know?”

“I know.” Theo chuckled.

“I have a song idea again.” Mattheo said, sitting up again as he rushed to the journal he kept so dearly to his heart. “I will be dead to the world for the next few hours.”

“You want me to go tell Y/N that, lover boy?” Theo smirked.

“She can come in whenever.” Mattheo said, dipping his quill in black ink. “I already gave her our dormitory password.”

“You what?”

“I have a present for you.” Mattheo whispered under his breath, a small smile on his face as he walked towards you.

It was the 6 month anniversary of one of the happiest relationships you had ever been in. There was communication and there was love. Small dates near the Black Lake at midnight, with breakfast you stole from the Great Hall earlier. Times where he’d take you into town and let you dress up however you wanted, all on the cards he stole from Malfoy. Or small get-togethers like this, hangouts at the top of the Astronomy Tower.

And the presents were always lovely. Small poems that he wrote for you, or love letters that he hand wrapped himself. A small blush or dress you had been eyeing for more than two seconds, or room decor that went with your forever indecisive aesthetics.

“You do?” you giggled softly, gasping softly as he pulled out a small guitar. “A song?”

“I’ve written a couple for you,” he whispered. “And I wanted to sing them to you. For our anniversary.”

“I love you.” you giggled, smiling as he sat down.

He cleared his throat as he made sure the guitar was in tune, strumming a few chords before eventually developing a melody. It seemed almost hypnotic the way his hands moved, his voice humming along as he figured out the rhythm.

“Yesterday, I was a word. Left with no voice to speak it,” he hummed softly, his voice and the guitar both vibrating through the walls. You smiled brightly as you heard his voice, not realizing how pretty his voice actually sounded.

“Now I am a happy song, placed on the lips of a woman.” he sang, winking at you. He continued for a few lines, a small smirk growing on his lips as he got to the instrumental part.

“What are you going to sing next?” you asked, watching him giggle softly. “Seriously!”

“Patience,” he whispered, chuckling as he strung the melody again, his eyes darting down at the guitar. “Now she has me, under her skirt,”

“Mattheo!” you flushed, slapping his arm and breaking the rhythm of his song. “My skirt?”

The both of you burst out into a laugh at that, the sound breaking through the cold night air that breezed through the alcove you sat in. Or maybe you just felt warm in his presence, a constant feeling of love rushing through your body.

“Can I finish my song now?” he smirked.

“I suppose you could.” you whispered, resting your head on his shoulder as he continued to sing.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

my second post oh my GOD this one took a hot minute to get through. beta-reading and proof reading is definitely not my jam, and there's definitely things that i missed in this. but i hope it still works out well, especially the whole lovesick angle i was going for. if you guys haven't already, please please please go check out tamino's music. it is actually so. good. if you listen to hozier or adrianne lenker, i think you'd really like his songs (my favorites are the first disciple and habibi)

if you would like to read the second part, click here!

as always, please like, comment, and reblog! it really helps out, and i really appreciate everyone who does! if you guys have any requests or something you can request in the ask box!

#fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x you #theodore nott #tamino #lovesick mattheo #fluff #extra fluff #mattheo & theo teasing

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stormz369 · 2 months ago

Text

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 1

Jason Todd x Chubby! Reader (fem) A/N: I don't know what I'm doing here, I'm not even much of a DC fan, but Jason Todd has quickly become my latest hyper fixation character (Harley Quinn too, do I just have a thing for Joker victims???) so ... thank you for giving me a place to put this energy I guess! 😂 I'm not super confident on the characterizations, but I'm going with it because I like it. If it's wildly ooc ... that tracks, given that the only DC comic I've read is Batman: Wayne Family Adventures. Read it, or don't, I just needed to get the thoughts out of my head. The art doesn't belong to me, but the writing does. Please do not post elsewhere!

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, starting out fluffy, will probably get NSFW later so minors DNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

word count: 1.7k

Chapter Selection

In a city known for its masked fighters, you learn pretty quickly that everyone and everything is a potential threat. Every approaching stranger on the street, every loud sound behind you, every dark alleyway. Being bigger than me certainly isn't a prerequisite to being a danger, but it does have a way of setting off my mental alarms. I've found that big men are used to getting their way, and they get all sorts of bent out of shape if you deny them their wishes. Especially when they think they're doing you a favor.

It died down a bit after high school; I learned to exist in public with ‘fuck off’ stamped across my face. Headphones on, reading a book, intentionally seated at the table furthest from the other cafe patrons. All the typical signs of someone who wants to be left alone; nothing about me said ‘please come talk to me'. So I was understandably on edge when I noticed someone standing by the chair across from me. I look up just a bit, gesturing to the chair with a nod. Silent consent to take it back to his table and leave me to my book.

No such luck. The man simply smiled and mimed taking headphones off. Putting a bored look on my face, I moved one off my ear. “... Hm?”

“Hi! I'm sorry to bother you, but my brother thinks you're really beautiful and is refusing to come tell you himself.”

I could feel my expression turning to stone. “... What is this, middle school?”

His cheerful grin faltered ever so slightly; “hey, I know it's a bit silly, but he's awkward around cute girls, so what's a brother to do, ya know?”

I stared him down; “... You're not fooling anyone. Move on.”

“... Sorry, ‘fooling anyone’?”

“It’s not funny, it’s not even hurtful the 20th time, it's just annoying. Go. Away.” It was a lie; it was always painful to be on the receiving end of these pranks. But that was what these guys wanted, so I wasn't going to tell him that. My headphones back in place, the guy slunk away.

Ten minutes later, another person was standing by the chair. I pretended not to see him, continuing to read my book, until he plopped down in the seat. I looked up slowly and he smiled, another oddly warm smile, leaning forward on his elbows.

An incredibly put-out sigh later, I slid the headphones off one ear again. “What?”

“Hi, I'm Tim! I'm not sure what exactly my brother said to you, but I wanted to let you know - we're not trying to prank you or something. Our brother is just way too awkward with girls. It's painful to watch, really, so we figured we'd give him a hand.” He spoke much too fast for me to get a word in. I blinked a bit, raising an eyebrow.

“... You frat boys are really committing to the bit these days, huh?”

“Huh? No, really, I promise!”

My headphones were nearly back into place when a child showed up. His impatient expression matched how I felt about the whole situation. “As usual, Drake, your plans are far too convoluted to be effective. Watch and learn.”

He turned to me, nothing about his demeanor changing; “hello. Todd said we shouldn't bother you because you ‘clearly want to be alone’, but I am convinced the only way to stop their nonsense is if he comes over. May he have a moment of your time?”

Frowning a little, I stared at the kid. He stared right back, neither of us blinking for a solid minute as we sussed each other out. His expression barely changed, but the boredom in his eyes turned into determination. “... Well, you're definitely not a frat boy. So I'll make you a deal; you may report back that he has permission to come say hi. If he doesn't choose to, that's the end of this little charade. And if either of them” I gestured to the one sitting at my table; “comes back over here, I start stabbing. Got it?”

The boy nodded once, and I thought I saw a ghost of a smirk. “You have my word.” He dragged the other man out of the chair by his shirt, pulling him stumbling toward their table. That was when I saw him. The only person at their table who hadn't come over yet. Even hunched over the table he was enormous, probably close to six feet tall; exactly the kind of man I typically avoided. The kid spoke sharply, pointing in my direction, and his head shot up to look in my direction. Even from across the spacious patio, I could see his face turning red. The obnoxious, cocky smirk I was expecting to see was entirely missing; instead he seemed almost confused.

Headphones back on but turned off so I could hear if he approached, I returned to my book. But I only got through a few pages before the first one shouted; “and offer to get her another coffee or something!”

I looked over to see the tall one frozen halfway between our tables, a look on his face like he was considering jumping over the patio fence to get away. His demeanor reminded me of a lost puppy, and I couldn't help the chuckle that rose up out of my throat. I bookmarked my page, set the book aside, and slid my headphones down around my neck. I really thought he was about to bolt until I lifted one hand, curling my fingers to gesture for him to continue toward me.

He stopped short by a good several feet, eyeing the distance between himself and the chair, and took one extra step back. It seemed as if he was hyper aware of just how much he loomed over me; the way he stood was like he was trying to will himself to be smaller, and he kept his hands at his sides. “Um … hi. … Sorry, this is … this is really weird …”

I nodded, watching him. “It is a bit. … Todd, was it?”

“Jay… Jason.”

“Not Todd?”

“Jason Todd. Damian calls me Todd, he thinks using people's last names keeps them at an arm's length…” Jason Todd. The name felt familiar, but I couldn't place why. He continued to ramble about how important tone was in determining whether this Damian kid was referring to you with affection or disdain, and I watched him. He was admittedly very cute; he had a sort of a bad boy aesthetic -leather jacket, dark clothes, a white streak in his hair, some unusual scars on his face and arms-, which juxtaposed interestingly with the gentleness in his voice, bright eyes, and awkward mannerisms. That was actually the thing that made the most sense about this situation; bikers are often secret teddy bears.

“... Jason?”

He looked up at me, one hand sheepishly making its way into his hair. “Yeah, sorry, you want me to go. I'll get them to stop harassing you, so sorry-”

“Actually, I was going to say you don't have to stand the whole time.” I gestured to the chair across from me.

He hesitated, watching me. “... Y- you don't want me to go?”

I smiled softly and shook my head. “Sit?”

He quickly obeyed, a hesitant smile on his face, which was almost immediately hidden by his hand when his brothers whooped from their table. “... God, I'm so sorry … th- they mean well, really, they're not trying to be weird …”

I laughed softly, “it's fine, that's what siblings do, right?”

“... I guess so … I've been sort of … away for a while, but I guess this is pretty standard sibling behavior. … Right?”

“I mean, a little more insistent than mine, but not too far outside the realm of what I’d consider normal.” I shrugged, finishing my chai latte.

He smiled slightly, considering that. “... Hm … um … c- can I get you another?” He gestured to my cup.

“... Sure, I've got time.”

The pleased grin on his face as he looked away to flag down a server surprised me. Then again, everything about him was surprising. Still, no one had ever looked at me quite like that before…

The server sauntered over, clearly curious about my new companion. Jason smiled brightly; “Hi, can we get another for the lady? And I'll have a medium black coffee, sweet, please.”

Huh. He called me a ‘lady’. Not a girl, or a chick, a lady. That was … also surprising. We chatted for a little while, sipping our coffees, and tried to ignore his staring brothers. He was incredibly awkward, in a sweet, endearing way. I got the impression that he wasn't fully comfortable, but chalked it up to how weirdly this all started. After a while, the first one returned, a small grimace on his face.

I raised an eyebrow; “I'm pretty sure I told the little one that the next one of you to come over was getting stabbed.”

“I know, I know! I'm so sorry, but Jay, we gotta go. Bruce texted…”

That was when it clicked; why I knew the name Jason Todd. He was a Wayne … his death had dominated the news cycle for a week. His miraculous, frankly poorly explained, return was the story for at least two.

He looked, torn, between me and his brother. “Oh … um …”

The man I finally recognized as Dick Grayson leaned forward and fake-whispered, “the words you're looking for are ‘can I have your phone number'?”

Jason swatted him away, blushing bright red; “Seriously, Dick? … well, can I-”

His ears were turning red as I held my hand out for his phone. I added my contact info and, feeling unusually bold, I added ☕💖 after my name while Jason dropped a couple of bills on the table; I smiled a bit, realizing he was leaving enough to cover my first drink for me too. I passed his phone back, enjoying the look of wonder on his face when he checked the screen. The way he whispered my name, like a prayer meant only for god's ears, had my stomach doing backflips.

“thanks … I'll call you?”

“Sounds good. I'm a night owl, so not too early, yeah?”

He nodded eagerly. “Not too early, promise.”

Next ->

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holllandtrash · 1 year ago

Text

the man | lando norris (6 to 1) smau

part of the lover x 6 to 1 series | lando norris x leclerc! reader

and I'm so sick of them coming at me again 'cause if I was a man then I'd be the man

takes place a year after the original story of 6 to 1 i know this one wasn't voted for but it's been sitting in my drafts and i haven't posted in over a month so enjoy

ynleclerc

liked by landonorris, lissiemackintosh and 28,922 others

ynleclerc happy monday drink your greens

view all 813 comments

landonorris no thank u

ynleclerc hmm i seem to recall you asking me for the recipe ten minutes ago

yellowmclarens love her but why does she feel the need to post body shots like this

yvonneatthetrack full length shirts exist babe xx

lovely_sainz this is quite literally just an excuse to post pics of herself in a crop top lol

charles_leclerc

liked by scuderiaferrari, joris__trouche and 1,083,223 others

charles_leclerc gym day

view all 2,6022 comments

danielricciardo taking lessons from george?

f1emily yeeeeesh thirst trap coming in hottt

sundayscariess its illegal for a man to look this good

ferrari.florals ok 🥵🥵 more of this pls

ynleclerc added to their story

wag.spotting

liked by paddockclubs, norrisupdates and 16,302 others

wag.spotting collection of pics of y/n posted by her friends these last few days

view all 1,036 comments

whatisferrari looking a little too close for comfort with that guy in the first pic

ricciardobaby i KNOW thats not lando laying on her legs in that second pic

golden_norris it's not carlos either...why does she hang out with so many guys lol 81piastries come get your girl landonorris

ynleclerc

liked by landonorris, mlnmarta and 43,881 others

tagged: ysl

ynleclerc devils in the details ♡ thank you ysl

view all 1,600 comments

landonorris paris or london

ynleclerc montreal, im hanging out with lance - he's moved back up my ranking lancestroll oui landonorris 🤔🤔🤔

happyhamilton sorry am i reading the comments right...shes with lance?

karlaformulauno yeah...what...

paddock.updates

liked by wag.updates, landolovers and 8,400 others

tagged: ynleclerc, landonorris

paddock.updates Y/N Leclerc and Lando Norris are no more after Y/N Leclerc has confirmed to be in Montreal with fellow F1 Driver, Lance Stroll

view all 794 comments

papayaclub LOL bro not her jumping from lando to carlos to LANCE

wag.updates did not have this on our f1 bingo card

sunshinemick silly szn i guess but i can't say im surprised..

ynleclerc damn news travels fast 💀💀💀

landonorris ohh thats why you're not answering my calls yellowmercedes i can't tell if shes joking but honestly lando deserves better sundayscaries shes got the worst sense of humour if this really is fake, for landos sake i hope they actually are over

ynleclerc

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 61,029 others

ynleclerc weekly recap

view all 2,704 comments

landonorris did you crop out my face in all of these on purpose

ynleclerc its called a soft launch landonorris you can't soft launch after hard launching FOR A YEAR ynleclerc watch me

leclercsrearwing bestie even i know that lando hates fish and im not his girlfriend

ynleclerc i didn't force the sushi down his throat 🫶🏻 liked by landonorris

landonorris added to their story

landonorris

liked by ynleclerc, mclaren and 487,220 others

tagged: tumitravel

landonorris Rollin’ with tumitravel paid parternship

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ynleclerc im gonna borrow that suitcase

landonorris get your own

boxbox if driving doesn't work out he could be an influencer

albonoscats would do anything to see more of lando in his influencer era

haasbeen whatever he's selling i'll buy it

ynleclerc

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 76,205 others

tagged: carlossainz55, landonorris, arthur_leclerc, charles_leclerc

ynleclerc emptying the camera roll 📸 not ready for summer to end

view all 823 comments

charles_leclerc Pourquoi publier cela? why did you post that?

ynleclerc désolée 🤭🤭 sorry

jemmaf1 is that CARLOS in that first pic having dinner with her and her friends

ynleclerc carlos hosted the dinner montrealking18 WHY DO YOU KEEP HANGING OUT WITH CARLOS gokartboys asking the important questions ^^

fmkf1grid yes we get it you're close with all the drivers thank you for the reminder

pastriesoscar this photo dump is so pretentious lmao its just look all the drivers in my life and also look how pretty i am

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, ynleclerc and 410,495 others

tagged: carlossainz55, ynleclerc and danielricciardo

landonorris also emptying the camera roll, good idea ynleclerc

view all 2,106 comments

ynleclerc love you

danielricciardo who are those beauties in the last picture

liked by landonorris

givemef1 not lando posting the same pics as y/n 💀

schummyys he really said 'i was at carlos' dinner party too don't worrry'

hornersux wait but that pic of y/n in the window is actually so pretty

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, mclaren and 580,239 others

tagged: ynleclerc

landonorris to the love of my life, you never cease to amaze me. from the way you switch languages mid conversation with me to the way you are always curled up on the couch waiting for me to walk in the door. you are my biggest supporter, my strongest motivator and the reason my days seem brighter. i don't know how i lucked out with you little leclerc, but i promise to love you for the rest of our days

view all 4,232 comments

danielricciardo are you proposing to y/n over instagram?

pierregasly seems like it landonorris just keep scrolling

ynleclerc currently crying on the couch as i wait for you to come home liked by landonorris

summeriturnedf1 he calls her LITTLE LECLERC

happymclarens okay he LOVES her loves her

allgasnobrakes wonder how charles is doing reading this and knowing that lando is planning on marrying his sister

formulaferraris forget charles...lando is the biggest simp in the world for y/n, lets talk about that

a happy ending was deserved

#lando norris #lando norris au #lando norris instagram edit #lando norris social media au #lando norris fic #f1 requests #f1 #f1 fic #formula 1 #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #holllandtrash #6 to 1 series #6 to 1

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verycoolusername1 · 3 months ago

Text

Angel Boy

Summary: In which Luke gets a partner to call his own, making him your angel boy.

Social Media AU(fc is Olivia Rodrigo) - Luke Hughes x Singer!reader

Genre: Fluff

Warning: hate comments(they get cleared tho ofc), swearing,

A/N: I love Luke, and I love Olivia(and Louis, loved him since Enola Holmes). And yes, I did make a cameo in this fic cause why not??

And I made y/n friends with artists I like so enjoy their cameos too. And the podcast I wrote in here is not real(I wish it was) and James does not exist either, Amelia and James are lovely tho I have you know

And for the sake of this fic imagine that Louis is Luke in the photos that goes along with this please!

Also... IT'S LUKE BIRTHDAY SO YOU KNOW I HAD TO DO SOMETHING

Yourusername just posted!

Liked by conangray, verycoolusername1, and 12,854,876 others...

Yourusername: Life lately

Tagged: conangray

Comments

Conangray: Are those my glasses??

Yourusername: @/conangray I have no idea what you mean 😁

Username1: AHHH Y/N REMEMBERED THEIR PASSWORD GUYS!!

Username2: WE WANT NEW MUSICCCC

Username3: Y/N AND CONAN'S FRIENDSHIP>>>>

Tatemcrae: my favorite girl <3

Yourusername: @/tatemcrae my favorite gal <3

Username4: WE GOT TATE AND Y/N CONTENT BEFORE GTA 6 😭 (liked by yourusername)

Username5: Y/n looking as wonderful as ever!!

Laufey: missing you more than ever now 😞

Yourusername: @/laufey I'll visit you soon promise!

Billieeilish: AHHHHH WHY ARE YOU SO HOT 🔥 🥵 😍 😫 😩 😳

Yourusername: @/billieeilish: YOU THINK I'M HOT?? 😍

In real life

"Hello everyone, and welcome back to My Life is a mess podcast, I am your host, Amelia. And today we have a special guest. We have the lovely and talented Y/N Y/L/N." Amelia introduced.

"Hi guys." You spoke into the microphone.

"I wanted to be the first to say welcome back to the podcast. I missed you tons!" Amelia told you.

"I missed you too." You smiled at her. "It's great to be back."

"So, Y/N, I heard that you're a hockey fan, and you're a fan of the New Jersey Devils. And you know I was just wondering who your favorite player was." Amelia wondered.

"Favorite player? Oh gosh!" You chuckled. "Uh, I would have to say um number forty-three, Luke Hughes. We're close in age, and he's good, really good. I think if I ever met him, I would embarrass myself."

Amelia laughed at your words. "You embarrass yourself? There's no way!"

You shook your head as you laughed. "Anyways, yeah, Luke Hughes is my favorite, and all his haters can just leave at this point."

"I have never heard more truer words." Amelia agreed. "Is there anything you wanna say to Luke if he's listening or watching this?"

You scratched your neck as you came up with a reply. "Uh, hm, I'm single? And I would love to write a song about you if I'm given the chance. A happy song not sad, I could never do that."

"Why did that come out as a question?" Amelia busted out into laughter. "Oh and yeah I'm single? I think."

You joined her in the laugher. "I didn't know what to say!"

3 days later...

Luke was just about to get on the ice before he was stopped to do a tiktok.

James, the interviewer looked at him. "What music do you listen to in your spare time?"

"Oh uh recently I've been listening to uh Y/N Y/L/N." Luke answers.

"Y/N Y/L/N? now that is definitely a shocker coming from you." James eyes widened in shock.

"I mean what can I say? Their voice is soothing and just perfect in contrast to what their lyrics are in their songs." Luke chuckles.

"How do you feel if they wrote a song about you?" James asked.

"Uh I would definitely feel great if it wasn't a sad song, can't be crying to a sad song about me you know." Luke shrugged.

"Yeah I see what you mean." James agreed. "Now get on the ice, you're done with this today."

Comments

Username6: Luke listening to Y/N Y/L/N is definitely a shocker from my little country boy

Username13: @/username6 little?? THAT MAN IS HUGE

Username7: Pushing the Luke and Y/N agenda to a 100

Username8: Hey so um this is actually crazy!

Username9: ONLY THREE DAYS AFTER THE PODCAST HE'S LIKE RETURNING THE FAVOR

Username10: If they don't date I'm gonna riot

Username11: Y/N changed him and they haven't even met yet 😭

Username12: Luke Hughes turning into a pop girlie was not on my 2024 bingo card

Username14: @/username12 I don't think it was on anyone's 😭

Username15: Y/N is gonna freak when they see this

Username16: @/username15 oh for sure lmaooo

2 months later...

Gossippage101 just posted!

Liked by ynfan101, thatshouldbeme, and 145,763 others...

Gossippage101: Singer Y/N seen out recently with their mysterious man... could we see a love album come out of this?? 👀👀👀

Comments

Username17: dare I say that's Luke Hughes?

Username18: @/username17 WAIT NO YOU MIGHT BE ON TO SOMETHING

Username19: @/username17 FROM THE PODCAST TO THE INTERVIEW THIS CANNOT JUST BE A ONE TIME THING

Username20: Already with a new man? Haven't even been a year. 😒

Username21: @/username20 Yeah, and Luke hughes? He stooped so low. He could do so SO much better.

Username22: they seem like a weird fit but if they're both happy then...

Username23: @/username22 who cares if they're happy yn is going to break Luke's heart and make him the villain like they always do with their albums

Username24: @/username23 I know damn well you ain't talking, Y/N doesn't sing about their exes all the time so just shut your mouth cause you'll never be as successful as them or Luke for that matter

Username25: @/username24 WHAT'S THE SQUARE ROOT OF 64 CAUSE YOU ATE AND LEFT NO CRUMBSSS

username24: @/username25 thanks queen <3

7 months later...

Yourusername just posted!

Liked by: lhughes_06, junialin, and 11,478,952 others...

Yourusername: Game day!!

Comments

Tatemcrae: FIRSTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Yourusername: @/tatemcrae you were literally here with me you hockey nerd

Username26: IS ANYONE GONNA TALK ABOUT LUKE HUGHES BEING IN THE LIKES?!???

Username27: @/username26 OR HOW THE HUGHES BROTHERS FOLLOW THEM NOW

Username28: it's y/n's world we're just living in it

Username29: MORE YN AND TATE CONTENT!!

Username30: I absolutely live for their friendship

Trevorzegras: the devils<<<<the ducks

Yourusername: @/trevorzegras I hate you

Username31: Y/N AND TATE CONTENT Y/N AND TATE CONTENTTTTTT

Two weeks later...

lhughes_06 just posted!

Liked by: yourusername, _quinnhughes, and 564,437 others...

lhughes_06: What's nine plus ten? 21 😝

Comments

Yourusername: Welcome to the club, angel boy!!!! ❤️🖤 (liked by lhughes_06)

Verycoolusername1: Ik luke would never say this but I saw the opportunity and took it

Jackhughes: He's growing up 🥲

lhughes_06: @/jackhughes Can't stop, won't stop 🙂

Nicohischier: happy birthday :] (liked by lhughes_06)

Trevorzegras: well someone's getting old 🤣

Lhughes_06: @/trevorzegras Haha.

Edwards.73: Welcome to the club! (Liked by lhughes_06)

lhughes_06: @/edwards.73 we need to hang out soon!!

Comments on this post are limited.

3 months later...

Yourusername posted on their story!

Vera - To be continued???

#luke hughes #nhl #nhl imagine #jack hughes #new jersey devils #nhl hockey #nhl players #nico hischier #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes fic #luke hughes fanfiction #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes oneshot #luke hughes x reader #social media au #singer!reader #lh43 #njd #nj devils

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cleo-fox · 3 months ago

Text

As the Clock Strikes Midnight - Part VIII

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: In which you lie to yourself. Chapter Warnings: Sex, p in v sex, dirty talk, praise kink, wall sex, semi-public sex, library sex, unrealistic refractory periods. Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

You don’t know what this is and you don’t know how to navigate it.

Every night from dusk to midnight, you are in his bed. He makes you no promises and you don’t ask him to. You tell yourself that it’s meaningless, harmless, a bit of fun.

You ignore the fact that most sensible people would not define bedding a prince as a harmless bit of fun. Especially not when you’re a servant. Especially not when there’s so much that you could lose.

You ignore the fact that the longer it goes on, the more the meaningless parts start to feel substantive, the more it nudges at something in the center of your chest.

You ignore it all because if you don’t, if you stop and think very carefully about it, that’s when you will realize that you’ve wandered too far down a path that you ought not to have taken in the first place and by that point, it will be too late.

It is getting late and you are trying very hard to keep your eyes open. Your head is resting on Loki’s chest, your ear pressed against his heartbeat. His fingers have been trailing up your spine and into your hair and back down again. It’s soothing and it also gives you chills—a pleasant contradiction, much like Loki himself.

“I must leave tomorrow,” he says suddenly. “I have business on Midgard.”

“Oh,” you say. You’re not really sure how to feel about that. You’re not really sure whether you’re supposed to feel anything about that. Probably not. “How long do you expect to be away?”

He sighs. “Two months, at least. Likely more.”

“Long enough to cause trouble, I imagine,” you say lightly. There is an unexpected lump in your throat, but you’re doing your best to ignore it. There’s no reason there should be a lump in your throat; therefore it does not exist. You repeat this to yourself confidently, like saying it more than once will make it true.

“Well, naturally.” He rolls over, pulling you with him so that you are on your back and pinned beneath him. “I am the god of mischief, after all.”

“I suppose you are.” You recognize that look in his eyes. “And what mischief are you planning now, your highness?”

He hums and presses a kiss against your collarbone. “The usual sort.” He is growing hard against your belly. “I must have you at least once more before I depart on my journey.”

Despite all your complicated and confusing feelings, your body is warming to his touch, that all too familiar aching need stirring in your hips. “Only once?” you say as you open your legs to him.

“I said at least once. Try to pay attention, darling.”

In the end, he has you twice more, though the last one is quicker than you’d like, motivated by the lateness of the hour. He helps you dress and delays you once more at the door with a long and lingering kiss that you will find yourself returning to many times over the next several weeks.

“I really must go,” you murmur against his lips. “I’ll be missed if I’m away much longer.”

“Surely another minute won’t hurt,” he says, lowering his head to nuzzle the place where your neck and shoulder meet.

“I’m afraid you underestimate the power of very nosy kitchen maids.”

“Well, we can’t have that. I shall speak to Fritjof about the staffing.”

You know he’s joking, but there’s still a flicker of fear that runs through you at the sound of Fritjof’s name. “You wouldn’t,” you say, forcing your voice to sound light and unbothered.

He laughs quietly. “You’re right. I avoid speaking to that old bat whenever I can.”

You are used to hiding your true feelings about Fritjof. “He’s particular,” you say.

“He’s abhorrent,” says Loki. “If I were king, he would be the first I’d release from service.”

You can’t help but feel a little relieved by this statement. Sometimes it’s easy to feel like Fritjof’s unpleasantness is all in your head, or even just an overreaction.

You can’t say any of this, though, so you keep your expression neutral and polite. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sure you do,” he says, a hint of a laugh evident in his voice. “You’re simply accustomed to being well-mannered about it.”

“I certainly wouldn’t say so if I was.”

He laughs quietly and runs a fingertip along your cheek. “I suppose not.”

There’s a beat of silence and the lateness of the hour strikes you once again. “I really must go,” you say.

“I know.” He looks at you carefully before leaning in to kiss you. It’s soft and gentle, almost tender in a way that makes you want to indulge in silly daydreams.

But the kiss ends, though his hand remains cupped against your cheek as he rests his forehead against yours. “I’ll send for you when I return,” he says.

You want to believe him, but there’s a part of you that’s afraid that this might be the end of your extraordinary little dalliance. Surely his attention will wander elsewhere once he returns. You hastily dismiss the thought and force what you hope is a believable smile.

“Safe travels, highness.”

You’re surprised by how immediately you feel Loki’s absence.

It’s not just the sex, though you certainly miss that. You miss his company, his dry and sarcastic remarks, the way that his eyes light up when you say something sharp or clever. His smile, his quiet huff of laughter against your shoulder, the way his long fingers curl around yours. The way he listens, the way his brow furrows when he’s deep in thought.

You try very hard not to think about what any of that might mean.

You resume your clandestine trips to the library, but you find it’s hard not to think of Loki in a space that you associate so closely with him: here is a book that you know he likes, there is the chair he prefers. The memory of his kiss burns on your lips, the ghost of his touch seared into your skin like a tattoo.

Deep down, you know what this means, though you won’t admit it just yet. Not even to yourself.

The first few days are difficult, but after a few stumbling missteps, you slowly find your way back into the rhythm you found back before Loki upended your days.

You’re soon reminded, though, that these forbidden trips are not without their risks.

It’s only blind luck that saves you. You are coming back from the library, cutting across the dining hall to save time when you notice the lace on your boot has come undone. You bend down to tie it and it’s only then in the sudden silence that you hear footsteps approaching.

You draw back quickly into the shadows, pressing yourself flat against one of the large stone columns. From this vantage point, you can just see the doorway at the far end of the room.

A figure appears and your heart nearly flies out of your chest.

There in the flickering torchlight is Fritjof.

You hold your breath as he crosses the room. It might be your imagination, but you would swear he looks more sinister in this light, with his beady eyes and the torchlight casting gloomy shadows across his face.

He’s a little past your column when he pauses, the sharp flare of his nostrils the only sign of life in his eerily still frame. Your heart is pounding so hard that you worry it might somehow give you away, impossible as it seems. He doesn’t know about the library, you tell yourself, willing it to be true. He doesn’t know I’m here.

His gaze sweeps over the room, his eyes squinting against the torchlight. The permanent line between his eyebrows deepens, almost as if he knows something is not quite right.

But finally, after a long moment, he seems to think better of it and continues on his way, footsteps echoing ominously in the large room.

You only let out your held breath when he leaves. You wait until his footsteps fade and then you make yourself count to one hundred before you tiptoe your way back to your room, your heart pounding the whole way.

If you were sensible, you would give up going to the library. You know that.

But with Loki gone, it’s the only thing you have to look forward to, and for that reason, you can’t quite convince yourself to give it up, though you do start taking a different route back.

And agonizingly slowly, those first four weeks pass.

On the first night of the fifth week, it occurs to you that you’re a little over halfway through. Assuming, of course, that it’s only two months and not longer like he thought it could be.

Assuming, of course, that he still wants you when he returns.

You decide that you’re not going to think about either possibility or the little blip of melancholy that creates strange tightness in your chest. It’s nothing. Nothing at all.

On the third night of the fifth week, you hear footsteps in the stacks.

It must be Fritjof.

You try not to panic as you set the book carefully on the shelf, listening intently. There was always part of you that knew that this was too risky to continue, that being discovered was always the inevitable conclusion. He’d nearly caught you once already, why didn’t you think this time would be different?

A voice comes from behind you. “And what business does a kitchen maid have in the palace library?”

There’s about a half second of terror before you realize that the voice is not Fritjof’s.

It’s Loki’s.

Before you can turn around, strong arms are wrapping around your waist from behind, a broad chest pressing against your back. You relax almost instantly, your fear turning to something that you will later recognize as joy.

“You’re shaking,” he says, pressing a kiss against your neck.

“You frightened me half to death,” you say, your heart beating wildly, half from joy and half from fear. “I thought you were Fritjof.”

“Such grievous attacks on my character already?” he tuts against your neck, though you can feel him smiling. “Any sensible man would be offended by such a comparison.”

“He nearly caught me last week. And you’re much earlier than you said—I didn’t think to expect you.”

He presses a soft kiss against your neck. “Are you disappointed?”

“That depends on how churlish you intend to be,” you say.

He laughs and it only makes you ache for him. He turns you around and before you can get a proper look at him, he’s pulling you flush against him and kissing you deeply.

The restless, yearning ache that you’ve felt in your soul since he left finally stills when his lips touch yours. Kissing Loki feels like coming home—it feels so perfect, so right that it would scare you a little bit if there were room in your heart for any feeling other than joy.

It’s a minute or so later when he finally draws back just a little—only enough to speak. “Did you miss me?” he breathes against your lips.

Happy as you are, your first instinct is to deflect. You can’t be vulnerable. Not yet. “I would ask the same of you,” you say.

Instead of answering you directly, he presses his hips against yours so you can feel the hard length of him already straining at the confines of his trousers. You suck in a breath through your teeth.

“Now give me a proper answer,” he says, his voice dipping into a slight growl that awakens that familiar, aching heat low in your hips.

A shiver snakes up your spine. “Yes,” you say. “Very much.”

His eyes flash and suddenly he’s pressing you back against the shelf and kissing you deeply. Desperately. You arch against him as his hands palm your breasts before dropping to your hips to pull you closer still, close enough that you can’t help but feel the hard press of his cock against you.

He pulls away abruptly, grabbing you by the wrist and leading you deeper into the stacks.

“Where are we going?” There’s a breathy quality to your voice that you hope doesn’t reveal too much.

“You’ll see.”

His destination is a dark, secluded corner near a collection of atlases. Before you can ask more questions, he’s pressing you up against a wall and you realize with a thrill that he intends to have you right here in the library.

“We could be seen,” you say as he hitches up your skirts and hooks your leg up around his waist. But your voice lacks conviction and you can both hear it.

“It’s late and no one ever comes back here.” His hand slips between your thighs, pushing your undergarments aside. “And I need you now.”

It’s a thrilling admission made all the more compelling by his long fingers stroking your slick folds and circling your clit.

“Oh, you did miss me,” he breathes as he slides a finger inside of you. “My poor little kitchen maid, so slick and unsatisfied.”

You are aching and a whimper catches in the back of your throat as he presses the heel of his hand against your clit. You grab his shoulders as a second finger joins the first. “Please, I need—”

“What do you need?” he purrs as he curls his fingers. “Do you need to come before I fuck you into this wall?”

You nod, panting. “Please.”

He chuckles darkly. “Darling, you know that’s not good enough.”

Your clit is throbbing as you tense around his fingers. You’re so close and his time away has left you needy and desperate. “Make me come, Loki. Please.”

His grin is wicked. “Good girl.”

His eyes take on a particular kind of focus that you only ever see when he’s got you hot and bothered and chasing an orgasm. His fingers are fucking into you with a slow precision, the heel of his palm grinding against your throbbing clit, nudging you closer.

“You’re so close,” he says, looking at you hungrily. “I love it when you’re like this, all wild and wanton.” He licks his lips. “You’re going to have to be quiet, though. Can you do that, darling?”

You manage a nod, but barely. The leg that’s not hooked around his waist is trembling.

“I’ve got you, sweet,” he murmurs, his arm firmly squeezing your waist. “Let go. Come for me.”

Your breath is coming in quick, shallow bursts. The instruction to be quiet seemed doable at first, but the feeling that’s cresting inside of you is so much bigger and stronger than you thought. You’re not going to be able to keep quiet.

“Loki,” you gasp in the last few seconds. “I can’t—”

Somehow, he understands your meaning because he covers your mouth with his, muffling your cries as you come hard, your fingernails digging into his back as you shake so hard your leg threatens to give out.

He doesn’t stop kissing you until the last shudder pulses through you.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” he says reverently. “Just lovely.”

“Please—”

You don’t have to say any more. He fumbles with the fastenings on his trousers and frees his cock. There’s no teasing, no delay as he positions himself at your entrance—he wants you too badly to play his usual games, his desire heightened by your weeks apart. He slides into you easily, lifting you fully off the floor as he sheathes himself in you. You whimper and he sighs, mumbling a string of curses under his breath.

“Norns, I missed this,” he murmurs, leaning back in to kiss you.

If you’d planned things properly, you would be back in his room or somewhere private where you could be as loud as you needed to be. This reunion has awoken something primal and hungry in both of you and staying quiet is a struggle. His hips take up a quick pace, driving into you with a speed and force that speaks to the profound need that had brought you to the corner of the library in the first place. He quickly finds the angle that makes you see stars and soon enough, you’re trembling around him.

“You take my cock so well, darling,” he mumbles against your throat, teeth scraping against the tender skin. “So good for me, so tight.”

“I’m so close—”

“I know, lovely, I can feel you.” He presses his forehead against yours, emerald eyes intent. “Come with me,” he grits out.

You keep your eyes locked with his until the force of your orgasm tips your head back against the wall, your eyes fluttering shut as you clench around his cock. He is close behind, gasping out your name as he buries his face in your neck.

It’s a good minute or so before he withdraws, and he seems reluctant to do so. There is something decadent and scandalous about his spend dripping down the inside of your thigh, but you decide you rather like the feeling. It makes you feel like his in a very raw and primal way.

You try not to think about the fact that you have any desire to be his.

He takes your hands in his and a green light spreads over the two of you. When it dissipates, you find yourself in his chambers, in front of his bed.

“You couldn’t have done that earlier?” you ask.

“It requires some concentration and my mind was singularly occupied,” he says. “I can’t imagine that you would have been very pleased had we arrived in separate places.”

He is right, but you don't want to say as much.

“I’d thought that your skill with magic was too great for such silly mistakes,” you say instead.

“I see my absence has not blunted your tongue.”

You smirk. “I hope you didn’t expect it to. I could not bear for you to be disappointed.”

He chuckles. “Not at all.”

He kisses you again and it’s slow and intimate in a way you don’t expect, in a way that warms you from the inside out.

“I’ve quite forgotten what you look like in my bed,” he murmurs against your lips.

“I suppose I could remind you,” you say.

He kisses you once more. “Turn around.”

He undoes the buttons on the back of your dress with achingly slow precision, pressing soft kisses against the back of your neck and all along your shoulders and spine. Your dress and then your shift and undergarments fall to the floor until you are bare before him.

His fingertips lightly trail along your rib cage and under the curve of your breasts. You suck in a shaky breath. You’ve just had him, but you’re already aching for him again.

His thumbs brush against your nipples and a soft moan falls from your lips.

“You can’t possibly need me again so soon,” he says, but you can tell from the rasp in his voice that this is not one-sided in the slightest. “You’re still dripping with my seed.”

You arch your back so that your ass presses against the growing bulge in his trousers. “You speak as though I am the only one with such a need.”

He hums, pressing back against you. “Perhaps you’re not.”

You look over your shoulder. “Well, your highness?”

He laughs low in his throat, one hand sliding between your legs, gently circling your still sensitive clit. “And here I thought you would be too sated for such boldness.”

“Perhaps you’ll have to try harder this time.”

You’re immediately gratified by the feeling of his bare skin at your back and you barely suppress a shiver. Typically if he resorts to magic to remove his clothes, it ends quite enjoyably for you.

“Perhaps I’ll fuck the boldness right out of you,” he says, his voice growing dark in a way that makes the muscles of your cunt ache in anticipation. You bend at the waist, bracing your hands against the edge of the bed to support yourself as he drags his cock along your dripping folds. “You speak sharply now, but we both know that you turn into a whimpering mess the moment you have my cock in your tight and greedy cunt.”

Quite suddenly, he’s at your entrance and pressing into you, his passage eased by the heady combination of your slickness and his come from earlier. Your back arches and you push up on your tiptoes, trying to take him deeper.

You can’t quite help the sigh that escapes your lips, even though it causes him to chuckle because it proves his point. His fingers massage your clit and you shudder, letting out a soft moan.

“Oh, you’ll have to do better than that, darling,” he says. “It’s been weeks since I last heard you scream for me.”

You cast a glance over your shoulder. “Like I said, highness: you’ll just have to try harder.”

His eyes darken in a way that makes you shiver. “You’ve grown bolder in my absence, love.”

You smirk. “Then teach me a lesson.”

Your intention is to goad him into fucking you hard enough to make the ache of these last few weeks disappear. His wide, feral grin makes you think you might have succeeded.

“Well, darling,” he purrs, his hips snapping hard against you in a way that makes your toes curl, “if you insist.”

He slips easily into a brisk pace, his fingers rubbing languorously at your clit. The contrast between the two is enough to make you moan in a way that’s so so wanton it’s almost embarrassing.

“Yes, I want to hear all of your lovely noises,” he purrs. “Let me hear how much you missed me.”

His slow pace on your clit is still at odds with the way he’s fucking you and it’s driving you absolutely wild. You’re only getting the added stimulation on every other thrust and while it feels good, it’s not helping you get any closer to coming.

You tolerate it for as long as you can stand, but eventually you can’t help but moan. “Please, Loki.”

“Please what, my love?” he asks and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

“More.”

He knows your body well enough at this point that he doesn’t have to ask what you mean—he simply begins massaging your clit in time with the thrust of his cock, making you keen.

“Like that?”

You can only moan in assent and he lets out a low chuckle as he continues with his new pace.

This is what you really needed, you think. His large hand firm on your hips, fingers on your clit, his movements just a little rough, his skin slapping against yours as he drives into you with hard and steady thrusts. You can feel the edge starting to approach, all of your muscles tingling and tensing in anticipation of your release.

He knows your body well—too well, perhaps—and he recognizes how your muscles tighten and twitch around his cock right before you come undone.

And he stops, withdrawing from you completely. “Not yet,” he says.

The whine you let out is perhaps the most pathetic noise you’ve ever made in your life. “Loki, please.”

He turns you around, silencing your protests with a slow, deep kiss. “I need you closer,” he mumbles against your lips.

You let him guide you down onto the bed. While you like it when he takes you from behind, there’s an intimacy to having him on top of you. You can catalog his expressions, count the flecks of gold in his green eyes. You feel simultaneously as though you are perched on a cliff of great height and peering down, but also warm and safe.

It’s a feeling that you probably ought to interrogate; instead you push it from your mind.

He kisses you as he eases back into you and you wrap your legs around his waist, urging him closer.

He’s slow and gentle with you. You thought you wanted fast and rough, but this…this is an unexpected perfection. You can feel every inch of him stretching and stroking the velvety inner walls of your cunt and every movement is somehow better than the last.

The buildup is slow and unhurried, the opposite of the library, the opposite of how he’d been driving into you mere moments before. He looks deep into your eyes, interrupted only when your lashes or his flutter shut against the rising tides within you both. It’s stirring something in your heart and you find yourself wanting to tell him that you missed this, you missed him, but the words stick in your throat and you suppose that’s probably for the best because these sort of things shouldn’t be spoken aloud when you are a servant who is bedding a prince in secret.

You shouldn’t be thinking about this. Not now. Probably not ever. Instead, you draw your focus to the coil that is slowly winding in the pit of your stomach and roll your hips up to meet his slow thrusts. You pull him down to kiss you, hoping that his focus on taking you to your peak eclipses the fact that there’s far too much feeling in your kiss.

And moments later, your toes curl one last time and you cry out as you completely unravel. He groans deeply and gives two more sharp thrusts before he succumbs to his own bliss.

He gradually slows to a halt, dropping his head to your chest as he catches his breath. You close your eyes, relishing the feel of him on top of you, still pressed inside you, the feel of his sheets on your back. You missed this. You missed him. You—

You shouldn’t continue that thought. You shouldn’t admit to that feeling, even to yourself. It’s stupid. It’s dangerous.

Don’t say it. Don’t think it.

Loki gives a satisfied sigh, breaking you out of your thoughts. “The next time I say I need to be away for weeks at a time, tell me I’m a fool,” he mumbles.

“I’ll tell you you’re a fool regardless of your travel plans,” you say.

His laughter rumbling against your bare skin might be one of the best sounds in the world. “I would expect no less.”

He eases out of you, vanishing the mess and quickly pulling you to his side. You rest your head against his shoulder and wrap your arms around his chest, draping your leg across his stomach for good measure.

“Did it go well?” you say after a moment of quiet. “Your business on Midgard, I mean.”

He sighs. “It was tedious. I’d rather have stayed here.”

You wonder if he means here on Asgard or here in bed with you. You’re not foolish enough to ask, though you are foolish enough to hope.

“I think it sounds exciting,” you say. “I’ve never left Asgard.”

“I’ll take you, someday.”

The promise in those words—and their sheer impossibility—raises a lump in your throat. “I rather think that would be frowned upon,” you say lightly.

“All the more reason for it.” He strokes a hand along your thigh. “And how did you occupy yourself without my stimulating company?”

“Oh, nothing terribly exciting,” you say. “I started reading in the library again.”

“I suppose I have been monopolizing your evenings,” he says, fingers tickling your thigh. “Though I don’t understand why you don’t simply take a book to your quarters.”

You swat at his hand. “You know that’s not permitted.”

He catches your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “Neither is this, technically.”

“Yes, well.” You clear your throat. “I’d rather not give anyone more reasons to look more closely at my evening activities for that reason.”

“Am I to understand that you prefer my bed to the finest Asgardian literature?”

“That may be your understanding, but that’s not what I said.”

“Well.” He presses a kiss against the top of your head. “I suppose I’ll have to make my bed more tempting, then.”

It’s the sort of offhand comment you write off as a silly flirtation—he doesn’t mean anything by it, surely. It’s entirely forgettable.

Except…the next night, there’s a stack of books for you beside his bed.

“What’s this?” you say, trying to ignore the lump in your throat.

“I told you I intended to make my bed more tempting,” he says.

His eyes are glittering with mischief, but the gesture itself is achingly sweet, one that plucks at your heartstrings and reminds you of all the feelings that you’re pretending you’re not having. He had retrieved the book you’d been reading last night, along with titles by authors you mentioned liking back in the garden so many weeks ago.

That night, he makes you read aloud from a book of love poems while he buries his face between your thighs, his tongue moving in iambs and dactyls on your clit until you come with poetry and his name on your lips. In the afterglow, you curl up next to him and read while he does the same, until you need each other again. It’s a new part of your routine, one that you’ll repeat many times in the coming days.

It’s there in the hazy paradise between prose and the bliss of his touch that a small, secret voice inside of you begins to admit that as much as you say it’s a harmless bit of fun, the situation has spiraled out of control in the worst possible way:

You’ve fallen in love with him. And you know it’s only a matter of time before he breaks your heart.

Next chapter coming soon

#loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki laufeyson smut #as the clock strikes midnight

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thatsdemko · 1 year ago

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maybe I’m crazy - m.verstappen

pairing: max verstappen x ricciardo!reader

warnings: slightly unedited

he doesn’t believe in love at first sight. it’s too tacky and Hallmark-y to ever happen to him. but he believes in something at first sight, because the way he feels right now might not be love, but it pierces it’s way into his head and all the way down his heart.

your smile is warm and inviting, similar to the one of your older brother, Daniel. he had a way with the people, and you seemed to be just about the same. you’d looped max in at first sight, and he felt safe under your gaze. it was something he was so unfamiliar with.

the way he was able to talk for hours and you were there to listen and piece his puzzle together, he’ll never forget that. especially years later, when he’s won three world championships and the only thing he cares about is making you proud.

the world championships didn’t matter to you, in fact, formula one didn’t even really exist much in your little bubble with max, but you couldn’t turn down his invitation. he had his own ways of pulling you in as well.

it was his bright lost eyes. the ones that you could swim oceans deep in and still be able to find your way home. max verstappen was complicated to many, but he was never more clear with you.

his arms fling around his team. it’s first instinct, after all these years he knows who he has to acknowledge first, and while his father waits beside you for his moment, he skips right past him.

“proud of you.” the whisper is so soft you’re sure you’re hallucinating, but it’s max. anything that falls from his lips tunes your ears in. you’re dialed into his station, you’re his number one listener.

“me?”

taken by surprise, you point your finger into your chest, he nods. it’s all he gets out before being whisked away by Red Bull team members.

there was nothing you did to contribute to this race. but your presence makes max fight for your attention. with Daniel out, and Liam in, it was much easier to win.

not that he ever felt the need to fight his brother-in-law, but max verstappen never got the better end of the stick with childhood validation. even just a glance his way, he’s struck by gold.

“you’re crazy.” you whisper into his chest. the silence fills the room, but his heartbeat is all your ears can hear.

“me?” he asks. lifting his head up, he has a view of your curly hair fluffed over your face, “you’re crazy for me.”

“yeah, maybe I am.”

a soft chuckle rumbles through his chest. your ears heat, and your heart flutters in a way it always does when you make him happy.

“you make me crazy, ricciardo.”

“we agreed on verstappen. I’m your family now.”

tags: @oconso @xcicix @imsorare @weasleyswizardwheezes-blog @monzabee @lpab @frreyaa @motorsp0rt @lovelytsunoda @smoothopz @jaehyunluvcult @iloveyou3000morgan @lunnnix @leclerc13 @goldenalbon

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deanbrainrotwritings · 4 months ago

Text

— AN INTRODUCTION TO CREATIVE CAPTIVITY

SUMMARY : dean wants to know more about you and takes matters into his own hands when you don’t show up at his bakery. unreasonably, he doesn’t expect you to come back home early, but his mission was mostly successful.

PAIRING : vampire!dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), baker!dean, stalking (it’s only hot if dean does it), angst, unhealthy obsession, yandere!Dean, possessiveness, soft Dean, implied panty kink, creepiness escalates, nerdy reader, reader isn’t perfect, (vague) chronic illness, voyeurism, b&e, stealing, slow chapter, and more to come

WORD COUNT : 6.6k

A/N : this chapter will lead up to the square stockholm syndrome on my @jacklesversebingo card. no baking :’(. heheh, Dean’s a lot softer and way more caring than the typical psycho-yandere type maybe some of yall were thinking of. I did research on yandere types and yandere traits, and found that it’s completely acceptable! in fact, a soft yandere is preferred, LOL. xx

Over the years Dean found that the perks of being undead included not having to sleep. That meant there were no nightmares to haunt him.. and now, that he had all the time in the world to watch you, to research you, first.

You were a fluffy cloud of love that became his companion through the sleepless, endless night. He knew seeing you again would feel like an eternity had passed, so he indulged in thoughts of you to keep him company.

He was home now and he had nothing to do as the moon bled through the windows of the place he “lived” in. He laid in his bed, unable to shut his brain off for the pretence of a peaceful sleep that he enjoyed doing routinely ever since he was a… vampire.

His four hours of nothingness.

He had too much time on his hands.

He’d already read over a thousand books, watched over a thousand films and series, scrolled through the endless stream of videos on social media, and attempted to get good at hundreds of hobbies. What was the point of it anymore, after all?

Now, he thought of you. And that was the only point that made any sense to him. The only thing that mattered in his useless life. The only reason why he even wanted the sun to rise and bring another day.

If it meant that he was able to see you again. To know everything about your existence. Then, it all mattered. The world needed to keep spinning and the world needed to be safe, for you.

He took his phone from the nightstand and appreciated the wallpaper of his beautiful Impala. He was uncomfortably restless. He wanted to keep thinking of you, but he also wanted to shut his brain off. He couldn’t creep you out, it would ruin everything. He stared at the numbers telling the time, 1:24 AM.

You were probably asleep by now.

He wondered about you again. What position did you sleep in? What colour were your sheets? What was the texture of them? Did you use multiple blankets? Were you cold, often? Were your hands and feet always the only thing that was cold? Did you not suffer that way at all? Did you wear socks to sleep? What was the temperature of your home? Did you wear baggy clothes to sleep? Or something sexy? Or something cute? What was the colour of your walls? How did you decorate your home? Was it fun? Minimalistic? Did your house already smell like you again?

He cared so much about every tiny detail of your life and the place you called home. He itched to just get out of bed and find where you lived to see for himself.

But for now, he lifted himself up slightly to rest against the headboard of his bed and unlocked his phone to find you wherever he could. He felt embarrassed to do so, but he searched your name on every app, including the dating ones he never removed despite being… Well, he hadn’t had sex since he became a vampire. He was terrified of anything bad happening to the women he slept with.

The thought made him freeze. Would he lose control with you? Would he ever hurt you? His mind overflowed with images of your blood and him standing above you. He would die before he ever hurt you. He shook the thoughts away, remembering Lenore, and the handful of monsters that coexisted peacefully with humans.

He could be with you. You could be his.

You were all he could think about. It’s a shock that he hadn’t shoved his hands in his pants and pleasured himself just thinking of you. He would have, but he felt it would be disrespectful to you.

He did try to relieve himself with those sexy vampire women in the past, but he just didn’t feel any sort of attraction towards them because so few of them even cared about humans. It was unbecoming. They were arrogant, indifferent, and it wasn’t even sexy. He just couldn’t get it “up” with bloodsuckers. So, what? He was still prejudiced and all that. Whatever, he spent most of his time as a vampire still hunting.

He killed the entire nest and hunted down anyone that managed to slip through his fingers. He tried his hardest to keep being a hunter, with Sam’s brain protected with a wall, he had hope, a reason to keep going. But that was all gone, his family was gone: Sam, Cas.

When word spread that he was a vampire, and it did—like a nuclear bomb—the fallout was massive. Somehow, the fear of the Winchesters was hundred-fold, even though, in all his time as a vampire, Dean hadn’t slipped up even once.

He didn’t know how he did it.

He really just did.

He remembered the devouring thirst of being around humans when he was in the process of turning, while he looked for the leech that bled into his mouth for the cure Samuel and Sam were waiting to have confirmed. He could smell every human’s blood, taste the delicious quench of it in the air, and he somehow walked straight past every one. And when that one vamp opened the fridge to feed him a pick-me-up, the scent of it was overpowering, but never quite enough for his stubborn ass.

He declined and carried on with the mission, but the world had other plans for him. When he found the guy that turned him, of course he knew that Dean hadn’t fully turned; he was the leader of the nest, after all. He was smart and didn’t let Dean make any move unless he drained one of the women he didn’t find useful for the nest.

He refused but the leader of the nest didn’t take no for an answer, and once again, forced Dean to feed on one of the women in the cages. Dean remembered that way it felt, the taste of warm blood soothing the aching dryness in his throat. Dean had planned on biting the poor girl for show and collecting the blood in his mouth to spit it out later, but once it touched his tongue, the bloodlust took over.

He didn’t know what possessed him to stop. Maybe the way the girl whimpered, because she was just a girl. Or the way she pleaded for him to stop with her weak, cracked voice. The way her body slowly sank into him and crumbled limply, but he somehow managed to push her away from him.

She thanked him, even though she was still stuck being a blood bag for the nest. Dean felt guilty, even by just remembering how it all started. His soulless brother, his idiot best friend. How was anyone supposed to know how to handle that situation?

Dean grieved his human life. Having to abandon Lisa and Ben on top of it all. Then, his brother’s life. And finally, his best friend’s life.

Sure, Cas was the one who made the mess to begin with, but what was the point of friendship if you couldn’t forgive them for the worst of the worst? Obviously, there was a line, but with the type of life they lived, what Cas had done didn’t cross the line. After all, Cas tried to make amends, even if it was too late.

Dean could stay mad forever at Cas, but he was going to be ancient some day. What purpose would that hatred serve when everyone was dead? Forgiveness was all he had left to remind him he still had some semblance of humanity.

And right now, he needed to feel human. For you.

He was more relieved than he cared to admit when he didn’t find you on any dating apps. So, he deleted every single one after he got the answers he was hoping to not find there.

He hated that your Facebook was more dead than he was. You didn’t have your relationship status updated or your birthday published. There was nothing, just an old photo of you at some Korean restaurant. And even your family members’ accounts were as dry as his throat felt after going days without feeding. They revealed nothing, but he did find your friends: Bela Levante and Daphne Jordan.

But there was hardly anything to see about you on their profiles. God, woman, why did you have to hide yourself so hard?

He carefully scrolled through Instagram and groaned at another obstacle. Your account was private. He wished to stare at photos of you. The numbers on your profile teased him, he could see the amount of followers you had, the number of people you were following, and fuck… 43 posts he could be gazing at like a celebrity’s fanboy.

He wanted to see everything “private” about your life, your hobbies, flashes, glimpses of your life, pets—if you had any, and everything about your family. All the little things that would have slowly painted you on the empty canvas in his mind.

Dean shut his phone off with a sigh and stared up at the ceiling being illuminated with the moonlight, creating shadows from the tree that creaked outside by the window.

How was he supposed to feel about you? What was he supposed to do to get closer to you? Would you see him again the next morning? Or anytime after that? Would he see you in days? Weeks?

Would you think of him at all? Or would you be too busy with your life to do so? Did you even want to see him again? Did you feel the pull he felt towards you? Was he being delusional to think that there could possibly be something between you and him?

He’d have to take matters into his own hands if you prolonged appearing in his life. If he got dozens of women to like him before, there’s no reason why you wouldn’t want him in the same way. He just needed to play his cards right.

5 Days Later

Coming into your life was more difficult than Dean anticipated.

He went out more than he would have wanted, hoping to find you anywhere in town. So, you weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t be available for the first couple of days or weeks in town as you tried to settle in. He hoped it was just something you said to avoid Andy.

At least he knew you weren’t lying about that.

He only saw you once three days ago at the grocery store. He watched you as subtly as he could, his eyes focused on your every move, his ears sharpened to your voice, every atom in his body was attuned to you, his nexus.

He wished he was standing there next to you, as your boyfriend, a lover, a partner, whatever. As long as you were only his. So he could watch your cute faces when you touched something that you didn’t like, or be there to laugh with you when you giggled at something you saw, or to be there to remind you of something you forgot and had to pull up the list on your phone. He wanted to know what it was like to have another conversation with you, about anything. Was that asking too much?

He didn’t get everything he’d planned on getting when he got there, but at least he had your plates and the car you drove. He wished he was brave enough to have talked to you, to pretend to bump into you. Although it wouldn’t have been much of an act, he really hadn’t expected to see you there.

But there was something raw and real about watching you while you were alone, and in your head as you walked through the most-likely unfamiliar grocery shop. When was the last time you stepped foot in there? You stared at the signs above each aisle with surprise when you’d walk in and didn’t find what you probably would have years ago.

He made his way to his car and thought of all the ways he could get you to be his. In any way that he could have you. All his ruminations and all his time was devoted to the goal of being with you. So much so that he felt like his entire life was on hold.

He knew it would start up again as soon as you entered his life. However, he hadn’t seen you—well, he hadn’t spoken to you in five days, and he wanted to respect you by letting you have your own space, but it was getting painful for him to be away from you for so long.

He waited to hear the beat of your heart or the sound of your voice being carried through the air and into his bakery, but he was only met with disappointment. Every time the door opened, he wished it was you walking in, he wished it was you smiling and flirting with him like every woman he regularly saw.

But you never showed up.

Did he make you up in his imagination? Was he that desperate to feel something? Were you real and simply uninterested in him? That thought hurt more than it should have. He thought he’d left a good impression on you, and after you left that hundred dollar bill, his mind didn’t allow him to believe you hated him. In fact, it was the only proof that you were real after all.

Why couldn’t you be as infatuated with him as he was with you? Why couldn’t you be as interested in him as the women who carved out time for him in their busy lives?

You were impossible to get close to. His fingertips barely tapped the surface of your life and like a fish, you swam quickly in the opposite direction to evade being captured by him. But didn’t you see you’d be better off with him? Happier? Freer? More loved than you could fathom? More loved than you could ever be with anyone else? More loved than you have ever been loved?

You were on his mind every moment of every day since he met you. Was he nothing to you? How would you feel knowing that everything new he baked was because you had inspired him in his daydreams. He wished he could ask you how it tasted, what you liked, if he should make more of whatever new invention he had created. If he should add it to the menu. He’d make them all again for you to try them and give him these insights and suggestions.

Mostly, he needed to know more about you. He just couldn’t bear the thought of you being a mystery. Or the fact that you’d never let him into your life to know the things that you inhibited within the safety of your home. Would the things in your house reveal your psyche? That’s all he wanted, to worm his way into you by knowing these things about you.

Sure, he could be himself, but he needed an advantage first. He needed time with you where it wasn’t obvious he was imposing himself on your life without reason. Where could he accidentally or coincidentally find himself in order to spend time with you? So that it could all fall together perfectly as he has fantasised every waking moment of his existence since he met you.

He could only acquire that information by infiltrating your home.

Dean didn’t expect this.

It was all he could think when he tracked down your scent to where you lived—and he relaxed when he didn’t find your car parked in the driveway in front of your home.

He blinked.

He was astonished as he gawked at your home. The light of the stunning peach sunset was reflected on the tinted glass that made up the outer walls of your home. Those glass windows, from floor to ceiling, also reflected the breathtaking forest surrounding the area. How convenient that your house was surrounded by thick green trees.

He stepped closer to your home to the surrounding area, the giant space that was entirely yours. There were a few plants, and despite being grateful about the lack of surveillance, he clicked his tongue in disapproval at the lack of it.

You needed to be safe.

He’d have to check out the glass, make sure it was shatter proof and bulletproof—even though there was no reason why your house should be armed against anything like that. He needed to make sure no creeps had made their way to your home, squatters or even people who may be infatuated with you.

You hypocrite, part of his brain accused. But he huffed, pouting and narrowing his eyes straight ahead at the reflection of himself, scolding his brain for trying to compare him to those who were more selfish and probably more dangerous than him. He pushed the small voice that reminded him that there was nothing scarier or more dangerous than a bloodsucker being around a human.

Dean pushed every thought away and had to quickly become familiar with the outside of your home before deciding it was safe to enter, to really get to know you.

Were you going to clean this whole place by yourself? Did you have someone else do it? Did you cook? Or did someone else do that for you, too? He needed to know. How much freedom did he have to be in your home whenever it suited him?

He made his way to the porch and brushed his fingertips against the lock of your door. He may not have had a heart to race at the thought of being where you always were, where you felt safest, but his body still thrummed and tingled with excitement.

Dean searched his jacket for the pick-set he carried in the inner pocket over his chest. He thought about how he hadn’t picked locks in a while. He didn’t have any reasons to, just the occasional need for it if he caught a case nearby. And ever since he became a vampire, he found that it was easier than before, easier to listen for the clicks of each pin falling as he slowly turned and prodded with his tools.

He apologised to you under his breath once the door unlocked.

He shoved the pick-set back into his jacket pocket while standing at the entrance of your home, and deeply inhaled the scent of you rushing outwards to greet him. Yes.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, surprised by the emptiness and the smell of newness that mingled with your sweet aroma.

You were still way behind on unpacking.

He found a shoe rack by the entrance and decided to respect your house rules by kicking off his boots and placing them neatly into an empty spot. So, that’s what it would look like if this were his home, too? His shoes, right next to yours. It looked right.

He curled his toes inside his socks, feeling the cool floor against his already cold skin and smiled. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it up at the coat rack, making himself at home. He could pretend for a few hours that this was how it always was.

He stepped deeper into your home, looked around and deflated.

There wasn’t much to explore. Most rooms he walked into were empty, or they had boxes that had yet to be opened by you. Maybe it would scare you if he tried to help by taking everything out, so he left the boxes as you had them.

Why hadn’t you made yourself at home? It’s been days and you haven't really done much. Was this just part of your indifference or was this because of the secret illness you had? Were you that busy with work? You were pretty vague about it when you were talking to Andy.

For now, Dean sighed, he knew nothing.

There was no indication of what was to be your living room. No furniture, no television, no tables. Unless he opened the boxes to peek inside and find out what each room would be, he would have to wait until you got to it yourself.

At least your kitchen was easy to explore. Though most of the cabinets were empty. Only three glasses, four plates, two bowls… God, woman. Should he get you some things? He shook his head and quickly pulled open every door and drawer to peek inside the completely uninteresting contents.

But finally, he got to your pantry. You had lots of snacks. Dean chuckled at the type of organisation that you had put them in. By colour. He smiled and reached out to touch them. He missed being hungry for this type of stuff, not that it stopped him from indulging in it every now and then anyway.

His brain nagged him: Which ones were your favourite? Well, he had to guess that they were all your favourite to some extent. But maybe it was the Rice Krispies, they were nearly all gone. There were some spicy peanuts, too, and some other spicy, but still sweet, Mexican candies he had tried before—some, he hadn’t tried at all.

His mouth would have watered if he were still alive.

He snorted, moved on to read each package and box; he needed to try whatever he hadn’t already tried before, just to see if he could have that in common with you.

He didn't have to, but he wanted to be able to say: I have tried it before. At least. Maybe that would mean something to you, maybe it would matter. On the other hand, he already had a lot in common with you—in terms of preference for snacks. He liked your taste.

He shut the pantry door and opened your fridge.

He pulled out the freezer and lifted a brow at the lack of contents. No frozen, microwaveable food. Just vanilla ice cream, some shrimp, salmon, halibut, and steak. That’s it? He frowned. Did you rarely eat at home or did you already cook whatever else could’ve filled your refrigerator? Maybe he was overthinking it; you looked healthy when he met you and when he saw you at the grocery. But looks could be deceiving—you were sick after all, and he had yet to find out what you had.

Is that why you became a geneticist? Was your disease genetic?

He closed the freezer and opened the horizontal middle door. He found two bottles of mineral water, four bottles of water, and one can of Sprite. Was there any point to the giant refrigerator if you hardly used it? He snickered.

After he finished checking out the kitchen—and after washing a bowl with traces of Greek yoghurt, honey, and oats and the spoon you’d used—he began making his way to the next room, trying to find more information about you.

He made a mental note of the softener and detergent you used for laundry and all the other cleaning materials you kept in the laundry room. He checked out the washing machine and dryer to make sure they worked properly—so you wouldn’t have to struggle.

He frowned the whole time. He wouldn’t be bumping into you at the laundromat, that was slightly disappointing to think about.

He made his way upstairs, giddy to find your bedroom once he got to the top of the stairs. He held his breath in anticipation after opening each door down the long hallway, always to an empty room, but he exhaled when finally found your room.

Your scent embraced him when he opened your bedroom door. Now, he’d definitely find out things about you that were much more interesting. Much more intimate.

He was thorough with his search.

He checked out every item on your shelves and your desk, your figurines and other collectibles. He took a picture of your bookcase to become familiar with your books the next time he visited the library. He opened each drawer and your dresser to review the contents thoroughly, your clothes and keepsakes and trinkets hidden beneath—and stole a pair of your underwear as he bit his lip; he knew it was wrong.

He made sure to steal your pink lace underwear that didn’t match with a bra you owned. He easily discovered which bras weren’t part of a set and memorised your cup size. You chose comfort over sexiness—even the sexy lace you owned looked comfortable. You were so cute.

He turned to your closet and examined every article of clothing—which was organised by colour as well. From sexy to cute dresses, old and new t-shirts, sexy and cute cropped shirts, and so much more he wanted to see you wear for himself. He found a few of your scrubs and imagined the way they’d hug your curves, even if they were hidden below a lab coat. You were so sexy. So fucking hot, he couldn’t believe he was touching the things you’d wear at some point.

He went through your shoes to memorise your foot size, but made a mental note of your favourite type of footwear.

He closed the door and looked over your vanity desk and the limited amount of makeup. Mostly, you had hair products. Gel to enhance the volume, different brushes for different uses, a multi-use hair dryer or something like that, cute hair ties and hair clips and a small bundle of what he’d label as boring; they were just brown, black, and tan hair ties.

He slipped a brown hair tie onto his wrist—one that was loose from usage. He pocketed the mini-lotion bottle that was half-empty—a miniature version of the larger bottle you owned. And after peaking through your extensive jewellery collection, he stole a thin silver necklace with a cute little charm.

He searched your nightstand, glanced at your cute lamp, a small mirror, a water bottle and a pill bottle. At the sight of the orange container containing a month’s worth of medication, he instantly picked it up and snapped a quick picture of the name to do research later. He wanted to look out for you.

He opened your password-locked laptop and the tablet beneath. He wouldn’t be getting into those anytime soon. He had no idea what your password could be or what set of numbers mattered to you. It was frustrating.

He opened the single drawer and pursed his lips—amused. God, you were so naughty. But you did live alone, why would you hide it? It's not like you knew he’d be inspecting every object you owned.

Dean leered at each sex toy with a smirk and imagined—the fact that you probably used them more than once fueled his daydreams—the way you’d pleasure yourself with them. How many times could you come? Which toy was your favourite? Who did you fantasise about when you were in the midst of immense pleasure? He hoped it was someone unattainable or fictional.

His hand twitched at the metal handle he’d pulled to open up the drawer. He was tempted to touch and kiss each toy that had at some point touched the depths and outer skin of your sweet pussy. But he exhaled shakily and closed the weakly concealed Pandora’s Box to move on with his investigation of your life.

He checked the bottom space of your nightstand, open to the world. He found an extensive collection of sticker sheets and sticker books, empty A6 notebooks, one that was full, and another that was halfway worked through. He pulled the two of them out, but turned his attention to your bed.

His mind inquired things he simply couldn’t figure out without you telling him. Did you pleasure yourself here? Do you ever pleasure yourself on the chair of your writing desk? Or the backless seat of your vanity desk? Did you plan on doing it downstairs on a couch you’d set up in the future?

He slid his hand down the soft cotton sheets of your bed and picked up one of your silk pillows, accidentally knocking off a weighted dinosaur and a tiny shark the size of his palm that rested on its back. The other small stuffed animals remained undisturbed as he lifted your pillow to his face and inhaled slowly, deeply the scent of your shampoo, softener, and detergent.

He sighed softly, eyes closed. You smelled so good, he could probably bite you if you let him. He’d never want to purposely hurt you. He just needed to feel you.

He pulled your pillow away from his lips and nose to fix it back in place along with your woolly companions and blindly set down the two books he’d begin reading once he was done with his exploration.

Was this the same bed and the same sheets you’d slept in when you were a teenager? Were you as horny as he was at that age? Did you sleep with anyone at any point in your life—on these very sheets? Were they new? New as in bought here once you moved in? Were these the ones you used when you left home to go to university?

Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking of that.

He stomped away to your bathroom and rifled through over-the-counter medication behind the mirror—allergy pills, Benadryl cream, ibuprofen. He found your pink with green toothbrush, your toothpaste, floss, and mouthwash. He quickly glanced at the shrinking bar of honey-coloured soap by the sink inside a small bowl.

He rubbed his fingers against the beige hand towel and then your olive-coloured towel by the shower door. He inspected the scent and brand of your shampoo, body wash, face washes, and conditioner.

Why was he so drawn to learn all these things about you? He never cared about any of these things before. Sure, to some extent he tried to learn stuff about Cassie and Lisa, but never like this. Why couldn’t he take it slowly? Couldn’t he be normal about you? You were just a woman. Just a woman who made every withering seed suddenly bloom in his desiccated heart and desolate soul. Of course he’d turn to you, like a sunflower turning toward the Sun. It was his destiny, one he wouldn’t dream of fighting.

He returned to your bedroom and slowly plopped down on your bed. He smiled instantly, swallowed by your soft mattress, and laid down on your pillows with your notebooks in his lap. He lifted the one that was full and became wrapped up in the story of your life.

He was only partially disappointed that you’d only begun writing a year before. He only knew about that and still nothing of your past. Only through subtext and vague statements could he decipher events of your past life. And every now and then, something would bring up the past and that’s how he discovered small details about you.

Inside your half-filled journal, he found your work schedule.

“Residency,” he mumbled and glared at the extensive, ridiculous hours listed for you to work. No wonder he hardly ever saw you. No wonder you were so behind on unpacking.

Dean’s ears perked up when he heard rocks and dirt crunching beneath tires. His heart would have stopped if it were beating and his blood would’ve run cold if it still ran through his body. He was instantly at the window of your bedroom watching you drive towards the house.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean muttered, watching as your car pulled up into the driveway. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He scurried to shove your books back into place before legging it downstairs to retrieve his jacket and shoes and panicked momentarily. He wasn’t ready to leave yet!

Did he touch anything else? Did he move something he wasn’t supposed to? He was so enthralled with his expedition around your home that he’d completely blanked out anything he should’ve been mindful of.

He made his way back upstairs and quickly threw his shoes and jacket into the farthest empty room down the hall. There’s no reason you’d check out every room. Were you paranoid? Wait, he hadn’t accounted for this. Damn it, he was way in over his head.

It was too late. You were already making your way up to your porch. Dean could hear your quiet sigh, the sleepiness of it made him feel warm—at least the illusion of it.

He quickly rid the bed of the form his body had made atop your sheets by pulling carefully at the edges and smoothing his hand over the wrinkles that remained until your bed looked untouched once more.

Dean’s ears perked up at the sound of your car keys and your shoes being kicked off carelessly. Dean was suddenly excited to see what you wore. So, we should hide? his mind questioned. We? Dean scowled and looked around before picking the cliché of all hiding places: the closet.

It felt like an eternity before you began to make your way upstairs.

Much to Dean’s dismay, you’d discarded your lab coat at the coat rack, so he wouldn’t be fulfilling his fantasy tonight. But he could hear the material of your scrubs brush against itself as you shuffled lazily up the stairs and into the hallway leading up to your bedroom.

Your door creaked open, you stretched, and then began to push your pants down your legs. Dean’s eyebrows shot up and he leaned forward to gently prod the closet door open enough to watch your black scrubs get pushed down your bare legs.

You kicked them off along with your socks and left them on the floor to lift your shirt up. Beneath it, you wore a grey thermal shirt. Dean watched, his mouth parched suddenly as your body stretched upwards, just in your violet coloured underwear.

He bit his lip to stop himself from saying something under his breath about how sexy you were. He couldn’t risk you somehow hearing him. But soon, you were completely naked.

Dean peered lewdly at your bare body. The way your hair came loose over your shoulders to brush against your warm skin, the shape of your breasts, the way you shivered and your nipples tightened as you collected your clothes to throw it into the hamper. Your proportions and the entire beauty of you captivated him.

He wanted to fuck you, yes, but he also wanted to know what it felt like to hold the elegant dip of your waist. To know what it felt like for your body to curve up and mould itself into his body when you hugged him. To know how your fingers felt when they were weaved through his, as you had sown yourself into his dead heart to give him the illusion of life, of warmth.

What did it feel like to cup the back of your head when he kissed you? Or to hold your jaw as he tilted your head for the perfect angle to kiss in? What did your fingers feel like when they skimmed over his cold skin and twisted into his hair when you got lost in the kiss?

What did your mouth taste like if his tongue brushed against yours? What did your plush lips feel like against his? Where would your lips trail off to and how would you kiss him?

Dean was dazed at his vivid fantasy and then you disappeared into the bathroom and he finally ripped himself from the perfect twill of his daydream. Disheartened, he leaned into your clothes, sinking deeper into your closet and briefly relaxed as your soft clothes overwhelmed his senses.

Dean considered leaving now that you were home. He sort of got what he wanted, information about you. The rest of your house may have been mostly empty, but your bedroom wasn’t. And your bedroom revealed more about you to him than the rest of your home would have.

Still, maybe you’d get on your laptop and he could discern your password. Yeah, that would definitely be ideal. He could stay in the closet. There was nowhere else he could hide and the bottom of the bed was pretty useless. Besides, there was no reason you’d check in here, none at all.

He waited thirty minutes for you, on his phone looking up what he could about your medication. He learned quickly the side effects, what not to take with your medication, when the best time was to take it. Then moved on to the minuscule list of diseases the medication was used to treat.

He was thrown deep into the research, reminding him of the days when he would have to search things through libraries and files for lore on monsters and to brief himself on the case he’d taken. It wasn’t too different: he wanted to get closer, he wanted to solve you. The only difference was you weren’t dangerous and you were beautiful, and he actually felt motivated to willingly delve further into the rabbit hole that was your life.

The shower turned off and Dean shut off his phone.

It wasn’t long before you walked out of the bathroom and Dean moved closer to the closet door, peeking between the small crack as you walked into your bedroom. You were patting your hair dry with a smaller towel and had your back to him.

You threw the small towel successfully into the hamper and sighed exhaustedly. You were so silent. He wondered if it was only because of the fatigue of your job or if you always wordlessly completed tasks.

He would only know once you completed your residency. Or if he found you on a day where you didn’t have to work. But he didn’t think you’d have the energy to go out, even on a weekend or vacation, after working such laborious hours.

He continued to watch you expectantly as you made your way to your dresser where your underwear was, he watched you sift through the neatly organised garments before you plucked something out and then your towel came undone slightly.

“Stupid fuck,” you muttered angrily and adjusted it. He grinned at your short temperament, but he wished you’d just let it fall completely so he could see you again. You bent over and looked through your sock drawer, picked a comfortable pair and finally pulled the towel from your body and threw it over to the hamper where it only made itself halfway in.

Dean bit his lip at the sight of your ass; he traced the long divot of your spine down your back and the curve of your waist with his gluttonous eyes. He mouthed a ‘wow’ and licked his lips as you slid your underwear carefully up your legs.

You picked out a tank top and matching pants from the middle drawers and made your way to your bed with your socks in hand. So you did sleep with socks on. Ankle socks, fluffy loose ones with pink and white patterns.

You lazily lifted your sheets, your expression more somnolent than he expected. Your feet, covered in clean socks, hid beneath your thick warm sheets. Your whole body was covered and your cheek pressed into the same pillow he’d grabbed.

He waited as your breathing slowed, faster than he expected, you were out. Your mind shut off, tired from long hours of work. He envied you for a moment and then allowed his affection for you to bloom in his chest as he pushed the closet door open and shut behind him.

He made his way to you carefully, and watched your peaceful expression. You lips were parted slightly and your breathing was so low and deep that your heart slowed down serenely.

He considered kissing you as you slept, but he’d rather have your consent when you’re awake some day; that’d really show him that you wanted him.

Instead, he pressed his lips to your jaw, then dragged them hungrily to your quiet, gentle pulse and kissed you there. His lips lingered, promising the blood that would travel to your heart, that one day, it would be all his.

-> life ain't easy when you're a mythical creature

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chxrrysangel · 5 months ago

Text

Conflict of Interest

Pairing | Plug!Choso x fem!reader

Words | schmedium

Summary | Choso never quite does his intended job when you meet. Special treatment is what they call it, not that he’d outright admit to it. One day, you request his services outside of your normal routine. And things get, well, complicated.

Tags | 🍃, hotboxing, car sex, dub con (both parties are under the influence), overstimulation, kinda dom! Choso, no protection, praise kink, no use of y/n, overstimulation, creampie

Notes | I’ve had this in my drafts for so fucking long that I was getting sick and tired of going back to it instead of just posting. Overthinking is an understatement. (I’ll probably end up editing it again later)

You called up Choso a week early, stressed out of your fucking mind. It seemed like any problem the universe could throw at you, it did. You watched with anxious fingers tapping against the steering wheel as his deep blue car rolled into the empty parking lot. An abandoned mall is easily the best place for your exchanges, you both liked it that way.

He had his hair down today, catching you off guard for a moment. It’s not the first time he’s done it, but the stark contrast to his usual hairstyle was always surprising.

“Miss me?”, he asked with a smile as he closed the distance. You scoff and chuckle.

“I miss what’s in your bag. You’re not that special Kamo.”

“Oh but I am. We both know it.” He didn’t mention the break in routine, knowing it was probably something personal. You didn’t share much with one another, choosing the “basically strangers” dynamic to be a smarter option. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t break the agreement every once in a while. Even as he stands before the hood of your Jeep Grand Cherokee, your eyes can’t help but glance down at his playful smile when he talks or the movement of his fingers while he rolls. Your breath caught in your throat as he brought the paper to his lips, tongue flattening against its edge. Brown eyes glinted with mischief as they made contact with yours, a hum of satisfaction leaving his lips at catching you in the act. God if the earth could just open up and swallow me, that’d be great.

“Wanna smoke with me today?” You snapped out of your daze of distractions at the question, disbelief washing over your features.

“Really?” The large man shrugged, in a why not kind of way. How could you say no?

Choso could taste the berry in your gloss as his lips wrapped around the blunt, inhaling the strain and feeling his chest grow warmer. It hadn’t been long, but the windows of Choso’s car had already begun to fog, despite the cracked windows.

That’s how you two spent the next hour, sharing two blunts and chatting together as your high began to wash over.

“Fuck, that’s strong.”

“Isn’t it?,” you softly whisper, head lolling towards him.

The two of you talk about anything and everything, minds expanding to limits you hadn’t even realized existed. Somehow the conversation drifted to the more personal aspects of your lives, such as your romantic lives.

“You’ve got a boyfriend?,” Choso whispered across the dash. You shook your head, waiting for his next question.

“Girlfriend?”

“If I didn’t know any better Kamo, I’d think you wanna date me.”

“God you fucking wish. Just curious.” Sometimes, you did wish. Not that he could ever know that.

“What about you, smartass. Dating anyone?”

“Nah, don’t have time for that.”

The car developed into a comfortable silence, neither of you feeling eagering to speak. It was like this with Choso, always has been. He understood the need for shutting up sometimes, no unnecessary pressure to converse.

“I think I need a haircut.” His random outburst prompted a barking laugh, caught off guard by the irrelevancy.

“I’m serious. It’s getting too long.” You looked over at him,pouting. You liked his hair, in fact you loved it. When he hung his head, the layers encased his face like a halo. It was the perfect haircut, not that you could really say so. Any allusion to your thoughts could ruin everything. So you settle for something simple.

“I like your hair.”

“Yeah?, he questions with a head tilt. You murmured a hum of agreement, leaning over the console to put a hand towards his face.

“I think your bangs could use a little trim though,” you remarked with a ruffle of his hair. You began to pull away a few seconds too late, eyes settling on his features and feeling yourself get too caught up. Choso’s eyes caught yours, grabbing your wrist to keep you close.

“Willing to cut it for me?” His eyes flickered across your features, analyzing them with an intensity you’ve never seen in him before. It was unnerving.

You nodded, swallowing a large gulp of nerves.

You sat outstretched over the console, not making any attempt to sit back properly on your side. He broke the silence before you could consider a regrettable choice, going on about munchies and making you laugh. That comment is what led to your current argument on the best type of cake as you unwrapped a cupcake in your hands.

“It’s very easily vanilla,” he argued, “it’s the most versatile option.” You scoff mid-bite.

“Didn’t know you were so boring, Kamo.” He looked offended at your comment, putting a hand on his chest like it hurt.

“Oh yeah? What’s your favorite then?”

“Red velvet. Hence why all of them are on my side of the tray.”

“You think you’re so special, picking red velvet over all the other options,” he teased.

“I know I’m special,” you mocked. Something shifted in the air when you said that, Choso growing quiet with no comeback prepared. The tension was so thick, you could cut it with a knife.

“You uh…you got something,” he whispered distractedly while leaning in. His thumb wiped at the corner of your mouth, dark eyes staring into yours. You watched as time slowed, his thumb reaching up to his lips and sucking.

“Frosting.” The two of you just stared at one another, high out of your minds and scared to breathe. Instinctively, you glance at his blush lips, not even remotely afraid that he would notice. His tongue darted out between the folds, covering the surface in spit and you nearly moaned.

“Fuck me,” you whispered to yourself, almost in pain.

He leans farther over the center console, putting a hand on your neck. Nothing was said as you stared into his eyes, bouncing back and forth between his irises as he wrestled with his thoughts. You leaned in , the gap between your lips just barely a sliver. You could kiss him easily, that much was obvious. But fear made you hesitate, breath fanning across his cheeks in anticipation of the next move.

“Choso,” you whispered in a barely audible tone.

“Don't talk,” he said before making the brave choice.

His lips capture yours, hesitant but curious. It takes a moment to find rhythm but soon you’re moaning softly into his mouth and gripping onto his arm for dear life. Choso was a good kisser, the soft muscle of his tongue bullying its way past your lips as he explored your mouth. He broke the kiss, staring at you with need. His lips were glossy with spit, pupils massive with lust.

“Back seat. Now.” You didn’t need to be told twice.

You watched as he impatiently pushed the seats forward, as far as the mechanism would allow.. He climbed into the backseat, a boyish smile adorning his features that you’ve adored from your first meeting.

“Choso, need you.”

He manhandles your body, grabbing your thighs to guide you into his lap.

Choso pushed your hips down on his crotch, your clit grinding against his rough zipper with earnestness. His plush lips peppered kisses down your neck and collarbone, smiling into your skin at the thought of seeing all this tomorrow. The two of you had crossed the line of friendship and he was quite intent on never going back now he’s gotten a taste. You whimpered, as though on the verge of tears, desperate for relief from the throbbing of your cunt.

“Oh, that’s cute.”

“Shut up. Not funny,” you retorted.

“Whatever you say sweetheart.” He thrust upwards, the outline of his erection rubbing so perfectly against your clit. A pathetically desperate whimper slips out, and he chuckles.

“I know baby, I know.” Choso continues to mark you, his featherlight touch on your skin sending tingles up your spine.

~~~

Had he not pushed his seat back, your ass would be pressing uncomfortably into the leather right now. Choso’s hands engulfed your hips, guiding you on his cock with every thrust. Your skin buzzed with the effects of indica, hot with desire as he fucked your brains out.

“Shit, Cho. So fuckin—ngh—good.” You whined into his neck, trying to muffle your sounds.

A chuckle reverberated through his body, dark with knowing.

“Don’t hide those pretty moans from me, baby. Wanna hear you.”

You leaned back, coming face to face with Choso. He was so pretty like this, a light sheen of sweat making his bangs stick to his skin in a pleasured bliss. Your pussy squeezed around his shaft, making him whine with need.

“Fuck that’s good,” he cried. Watching you bounce was like nothing he’d ever had the pleasure of seeing.

Just then, an idea formed in his mind. Choso angled his hips more upward, hitting your g-spot and pulling a pleasured sob from your lips. He watched with satisfaction as your eyes crossed for a moment, going dumb before his eyes. The glossed out look said everything, too lost in the pleasure to be remotely coherent.

“Feel good, pretty girl?” You could barely whimper out an affirmation, feeling your impending orgasm. You mewled incoherently, a jumble of curses and praise. With a shaking hand, you rubbed your clit as your stomach began to tighten in need for release.

“Right there baby. Fuck don’t stop don’t stop.”

Choso pushed off his own orgasm, wanting to watch you make a mess on his dick first. He grinned, taking in your fucked out state with great pleasure. The little you had shared with each other revealed that your sexual experience with men had been rather disappointing. Your last ex had no clue how to please you, too concerned with his own orgasm to ever worry about yours. He was selfish in that way, as well as many others.

He grabbed your hair, pulling you down in a sloppy kiss. If it wasn’t for how well he fucked, this kiss alone was enough to make your head spin. Your body felt miles away, the combination of the thc and the best fuck of your life making your skin tingle.

Your limbs began to tense, signals of how close you were. Your vision was blurry, teeth searing into your bottom lip with focus.

Choso felt your walls grow tighter, filling his chest with pride. He maintained his pace, pushing harder with each thrust. Your nails dug deep into the hard skin of his shoulders, imprinting moon-shaped marks.

“Close aren’t you?”

“So fucking close baby”. You stumbled over your response, struggling to say every syllable.

With a few more thrusts, your toes curled as you came. The squelching sounds in the car increased tenfold, a sound Choso was eager to revel in. He fucked you through your orgasm, thrusting getting sloppier by the second. His balls tightened, body buzzing as he fucked his cum into you. Before you could say anything, he didn’t stop. His mouth formed into an O, tip extremely sensitive.

“I think I can get one more out of you.”

A statement that felt more like a demand.

You began to shake your head, feeling the creeping discomfort of overstimulation begin to course through your shaking body.

He whispered sweet praises as you squirmed. Your body wasn’t sure of whether to lean into his touch or pull away, confused but pulsing with need. Your cunt choked his shaft, tense as you pushed through the masochistic pain. But soon enough that pain turned into pleasure, attempting to meet his thrusts to chase your orgasm.

He grinned with knowing, cheeky like a cat who got the cream.

“Shut up,” you uttered between gasps. He winked, satisfied with his clear victory. Even during the most intimate moments, he couldn’t help but be his usual annoying self

“Gonna cum Cho.” You whispered into his neck.

“Fuck. Can feel it. Doing so well for me, baby.”

His praise made you squeeze harder around him. Now that he’s had a taste, he’s unsure of how he’ll be able to let you go. Every touch, every look, every smile led up to this moment.

Every muscle in your body tenses as you cum, ears ringing as Choso praises you. His thumb rubs your clit in firm circles, the pleasure making your walls spasm around his sensitive cock.

“That’s it baby, doing so fucking good.” Choso slurred his words, head sensitive as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm. The base of his spine tingled, pushing him back towards the edge again. He blabbered incoherently as you came down, mumbling about how good your pussy is.

His hips stilled as he shot white ropes into you, filling your cunt with his warm seed. Your tired quick breaths as you gasped for air quickly faded into light laughter as you watched each other come down. Choso smiled lazily, dazed and completely out of it. With a delicate hand, he pushed some of your hair out of your face before pulling you in for another kiss. This one was much softer, gentle and unrushed. Romantic even.

“We just made things really complicated, didn’t we?,” you question against his lips. He didn’t answer really, murmuring in disagreement as he deepened the kiss.

“Choso! I’m serious”.

“So am I.”

#choso kamo #choso x reader #choso smut #choso x you #choso x female reader

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shibaraki · 1 year ago

Text

PAS DE DEUX ┊ GOJO SATORU

tags: GN reader, no curse au (ballet), principal dancer gojo, reader is a photographer for his ballet company, fluff, flirting + casual touch, barre exercising, getting together, first kisses

wc: 2.4K

Gojo Satoru is just a man.

Albeit a coveted man, able to do anything on stage exactly as he would in rehearsal. High arabesques and tight pirouettes. Otherworldly form. Broad hands able to memorise another’s centre of gravity within the first twenty seconds. Swan-like and slender. All agile limbs, a body brazen with self-assurance and packed with strength, reflected in how effortlessly he can catch, spin, and dip his partners. Low, on perfect pointe.

A beautiful, talented, annoying man. That which has chosen to breathe down your neck as you fiddle with your camera, rather than occupy any other corner of the large studio.

“You’re distracting me, Satoru”.

“How am I distracting?” he asked, inclining his head. You gave him a look, and emphatically motioned at him from head to toe. Satoru cracks a grin, those piercing blue eyes gleaming, “By existing?”

“No, because you're all up in my space. I’ll show you the pictures in a second so back up,” you snap, your hand fluttering dismissively at him. “And put a shirt on!”

A low, vibrating hum, and a smile that holds a sincere gentleness to it that you wouldn’t have expected to find. He looks almost boyish. You turn from it and feel his presence move away like the sun being blocked out, steady warmth then the absence of it.

He does not put his shirt on. Instead Satoru takes position at the barre and walks his fingers along the top. Dawn filtered in through the small windows, casting a spotlight onto every dip and curve. You resolutely do not look at that narrow waist, nor how closely his tights clung to his hips, his thighs. Pulled over his soft soled slippers are a pair of grey stirrup leg warmers, bunched around his calves. He’s—

You draw a sharp inhale and refocus on the LCD screen, the neckstrap suddenly uncomfortably heavy.

Satoru is a bit older than most of the other dancers you photograph but no more mature for it. Granted he’s gentler in his discipline, more experienced, and always less eager for the practice to be over. He liked the day to drag on and on, especially if someone was watching him.

People said he was arrogant. Maybe that was a little true and with good reason. But your lense saw through the veneer that Satoru wore. Session after session, through rehearsals and classes and auditions, you saw pride for his craft, and how deeply he loved imbuing that love into his juniors.

You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so, but watching him dance felt transcendent. Whoever the pair, he made every pas de deux seem seamless, like two halves of the same entity coming together. Solo he was in a league of his own. Sometimes he danced as if he loved beyond the scope of his skin. Sometimes he danced as if the whole world had betrayed him.

“How’d I do this time?” you hear him ask in that very cavalier way that betrayed his interest immediately, becoming antsy in your prolonged silence. “Pretty good, right?”

Today you managed to shoot him demonstrating a particularly heartbreaking variation of a grand jeté. He reached the peak and fell so gracefully that you’d felt the whole room hold its breath. Another beep and the camera screen flickers to that very photo. Right leg stretched anterior, his left posterior to his body, evenly split into a horizon as he soared through the air. Rather than poise to mimic an elegant wingspan he had curved an arm into an arc over his face, almost as if in anguish, while the other draped behind him.

“Why ask if you already know?” you deflected, switching to the next photograph. “You definitely have a flair for the dramatic”.

“Maybe I want to hear it from your mouth,” you can hear the layered petulance behind his words. It makes you restless to think your praise could hold any significance to him. “Tense today, aren’t we? You should do some barre exercises with me. Loosen you up a little,” he continues, clicking his tongue. “I could even teach you some steps”.

You snort lightly, “That’s a ridiculous idea”.

“I don’t think so,” Satoru disagrees, a contemplative tone to his voice. Intensity returns to his gaze as it roams over your form. “You’re the only person in the company I haven’t danced with yet. Can you blame me?”

“It wouldn’t be dancing, Satoru. You know I can’t dance,” you insist, or so you think, the weak response barely audible over the heartbeat flooding your ears. “I’d look like a fucked up marionette”.

A hand crosses your line of sight. You hadn’t even noticed his approach. Satoru plucks the camera from your slackened grasp and slips the neckstrap over your head in one swift movement. “Then let me pull your strings,” he teases, proffering his open palm. Your throat grows dry.

“That was awful,” you tell him, clutching to whatever dignity you have left. Then you take it. Long fingers enclose over your knuckles and he smiles.

Sometimes when you want something you’ll take it in whatever manner the universe is willing to give it.

“Ha. Worked though”.

As mercy would have it, Satoru guides you as he would a beginner. You’ve lived and worked amongst dancers for years. Your mind is familiar with the lifestyle, the lingo and the routine, but your muscles are not. “Another rep. Heels together with your toes turned out—that’s it, bend slightly,” your pulse rockets at the light touch to your hip, firm yet gentle in encouraging you to bend. The room is much hotter than you recall. “Place one foot in front of you. Point. Now sweep it around to the back in a C-shape,” warmth lingers where his fingertips had been as he steps back. “Point your feet,” he says, his lips suddenly close to your ear.

“What—?”

“As you circle,” Satoru repeats. “Point your feet.” You exhale and repeat. “Hm. Good at taking instructions, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to kill you,” comes your shaky response, already feeling clammy. It doesn’t escape you that he still hasn’t put a shirt on. Your inner thigh muscles are burning. Satoru laughs and the irritation ebbs away because he sounds happy. Giddy, even.

“This one will open your hips nicely,” Satoru finds your waist again and pivots you to face the barre. His body heat seeps through your t-shirt where he’s pressed against your back. Hands slide beneath your arms and down to your wrists, delicately placing them atop the barre. “Keep taking deep breaths for me. Bend your knees—hold,” the ache forces your eyes shut for the five seconds he keeps you inert, plunged into fleeting darkness with just his low, honeyed voice to guide you.

This really was a terrible idea.

“Rise to plié,” Satoru murmurs. “Up into demi-pointe. There you are, now hold again”.

Shadows pool into the studio space as the evening draws on. You’re rendered a sticky mess, and not in the manner you’d have liked. Wondrously, and despite the soreness that will no doubt wear in tomorrow, you had begun to feel you were working with your body and not against it.

Satoru had barely broken a sweat. You take comfort in the splotchy flush covering his cheeks and how his chest rises and falls, both signs of exertion. Equally as distracting. “You’re almost a natural,” he says, running a hand through his silky white hair.

Unsteady on your feet, you roll your eyes skyward while the burning in your lungs dwindles. “Sure. We’ll be onto our own pas de deux in no time,” you joke offhandedly. But Satoru’s expression wanes into something like longing in your periphery. Fondness, and then to amusement.

“Maybe not. Your pointe needs work,” he says.

“Well excuse me, big shot. I’m not even wearing the right shoes—”

“Want to try some lifts?”

A stone of dread drops into your stomach. The barre digs into your lower back as you lean against the wall, “We do some—some routine warmups and you think I’m ready for partnered lifts?!”

Satoru’s voice remains steady but his lips are starting to purse as he mirrors your posture, “I can take your weight”.

You didn’t doubt it. Satoru’s ability appeared to defy physics all together and that translated well with his counterparts too, whoever they may be. You’ve seen him lift people of every different shape and weight. Each one would become weightless in his embrace.

“No. No lifts,” you tell him, trying for a cadence that inspired authority. Satoru arched his brow and you got the sense that to him you were akin to a small disgruntled cat. Whether it’s the fatigue that lowers your inhibitions or plain pettiness, you hear yourself say, “I think you just want an excuse to touch me more”.

A pulse of magnetised desire rippled through the atmosphere. You don’t miss the way his breathing hitched, or how the hand absently rubbing the back of his neck stilled only for a moment before falling to his hip. Satoru swallows. Your eyes follow how his thumb strums the waistband of his tights—tights that leave very little to the imagination.

Anticipation prickles through your belly when he takes a step forward, then another, until his nose bumps your own. “You’re not supposed to say the quiet part out loud,” he murmurs, a little breathless. It ghosts across your lips. There’s trepidation in his gaze, searching your expression for rejection or discomfort, neither of which he will find.

You are reminded again that for all his apparent confidence and talent, Gojo Satoru was still very much human.

Your hands lingered in the narrow space between your bodies. Restlessly clenching, uncurling. Not knowing where to put them. The bare skin of his abdomen brushes your knuckles. “Satoru,” you begin.

He hums, palms coming to rest on your hips. He leans into you, emboldened by the invocation of his name, and echoes yours back.

“Did you seriously…” your thoughts drift as he dips lower, lingering. The blood rushes to your head. You could easily tip your head, align your mouths, and bring him into a kiss. Somehow the simplicity of that makes this whole charade even more laughable. “Don’t tell me you made me do a workout instead of just asking me on a date like a normal person”.

The response registers visibly on his face. He blinks, delicate pale lashes fanning over his cheeks, and in the next breath he’s lighting up, eyes first, glittering urainian blue. “That was hardly a workout,” he says, warmth bleeding into his voice. “It was a warmup”.

“Warmup my ass”.

“Can, if you want”.

Laughing, you cradle his jaw and say, “Stop being annoying and kiss me”.

Satoru’s hands have slipped beneath your shirt. He squeezes, smiles at the feel of soft flesh yielding under his thumbs, “Alright”.

Always has to have the last word, you think amusedly. Satoru pressed impossibly close. The barre has since become numb where it prods at your back. Your lips part as he tilts and your mouths brush, want knotted deep in your belly. It is slow at first, hesitant. But every movement of Satoru’s lips turns into sweet affirmation. Quick, then long, then greedy.

You wrap your arms around his neck and feel him shudder as you suck gently at his plush bottom lip. He paws at you with more fervour, languidly licking into your mouth. Soft wet sounds reach your ears and a contented hum reverberates through your skin that you can’t help returning. You feel his lips stretch thin into a smirk.

When you eventually part for breath your chest is pounding. He watches you closely. Half lidded and entirely too pleased. Something about the certainty and satisfaction stunned you then. Coloured the world around you in roseate. “You really do like me, don’t you?”

Satoru doesn’t falter. Quiet and deeply amused, he replies, “What gave it away? The constant pestering, the always staying behind after hours, the never wearing a shirt, the—?”

“Okay, okay. I get it,” you sighed, smoothing your palms down his bare chest simply because you can. “…I like you too, you know”.

“Yeah?”

You hummed. “What gave it away? The constant pestering?” you kissing the corner of his mouth, “The always staying after hours?” and then his cheek.

Satoru turns quickly to chase as you recline, nipping at your mouth. “Point taken,” he rumbles, pinching at the fabric of your shirt and lightly tugging it. “Pattern dictates this should go, next”.

“You know we need to lock up. If I let you start we’ll never stop,” you laughed, wriggling out from his embrace. The studio will be shrouded in complete darkness soon, and now you both need to shower. Satoru reluctantly lets you go, trailing after you as you collect your camera and pass it between your hands.

The screen flickers on, back to that incredible grand jeté. Satoru hooks his chin over your shoulder. “You really do photograph beautifully,” you think aloud. His jaw shifts and you can tell he’s smiling. “What were you thinking about, when you jumped?”

Satoru sniffed, not even pretending to think of something profound. “Mochi stuffed with whipped cream and zunda”.

You sigh fondly, eyes falling closed. Beautiful, talented, annoying man indeed.

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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