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vrystalius · 1 month ago

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GI-HUN / PLAYER 456 YOUR YANDERE.

What will happen if the previous winner of the games falls utterly and sickly inlove with you?

Pairing: Gi-hun x fem!reader (x In-ho)

Warnings: non-con themes, gaslighting, unhealthy obsessions, stalker-ish behaviour, sexual/perverse fantasies, slight somnophilia if you squint, groping, violent fantasies, barely read-proof.

Summary, Gi-hun as your yandere: Falling for you, his yandere profile (with nsfw), his jealousy of In-ho

Words in total: 3.4k

In-ho’s yandere profile over here!

Introduction.

Gi-hun is incredibly careful ever since the horrific death games he witnessed and survived. Paranoia followed him everywhere, the feeling of being utterly useless crept more and more to his head as another year passes by without any useable evidence or clues that brought him even a little closer to the people controlling and allowing these games and the dread that tried to lure him into simply giving up.

As he finally managed to join the games once more in firm belief that his hired team of investigators/hitmen and Jun-ho can track his exact location before his hopes were shattered for one another time as he discovered the missing chip in his tooth.

He spotted you for the first time during the Red Light Green Light game. As Gi-hun yelled instructions on when to move and when to freeze, his eyes found your precious face.

You were horrified, that was obvious. Your eyes were darting around in panic as more and more people were shot and bodies hit the floor, your hands shaking slightly despite your best effort to hold them still after seeing a woman get eliminated for having trembling hands, a strangers blood splattered over your face and tears threatening to run down your soft cheeks.

Gi-hun’s voice faltered for a moment. Glancing around and noticing that most people were over the finish line already, he rushed over to your side as quickly as he can and hooked your arm in his, practically dragging across the large hall to force you to move. Instinctively, you clung onto this stranger as he was guiding as carefully as he can to survival.

He released a deep breath he never knew he was holding as he gently lowered your shaking onto the dirt below. Seeing you cower and bow at his feet and thanking him over and over for saving him stirred something inside of him he hasn’t felt in years.

What exactly it was, Gi-hun doesn’t really know.

“You can get up, it was nothing. I am glad you are safe now.”

Yandere profile (SFW part).

- Overcompensating Generosity -

Gi-hun shares every single meal be gets with you. If you ever refuse or kindly decline his offer so he can have more for himself, he will come up with lies about allergies or feeling sick so that you can have even more. He worries that you might be malnourished or don’t have enough energy to live through and survive the next round of games.

He quietly stalks you from the side and makes sure you eat and drink everything up. If you ever complain about being full and sharing a little with Dae-ho or Jun-hee, Gi-hun will gently scold you for not eating properly, almost like a father would in a way.

His hand would ruffle your hair slightly in frustration. The kimbab he gave you was intended to be eaten by you, not… Dae-ho. No matter how much you grew fond of him. But your kindess and compassion to share does put a small smile to his face, even if it frustrates him.

“You shouldn’t be careless. Think about yourself first. Stop sharing your food with others.”

He completely contradicts his own actions by scolding you for offering Jung-hee or Dae-ho some of your share by giving you his own food.

Gi-hun doesn’t only share food but his clothes as well. If yours ever get bloody or if he catches you shiver just once, expect his jacket to immediately be wrapped around your shoulders or offered to you to wear it instead of your bloody one. He did consider giving you his t-shirt and going without one more than once after seeing your face scrunch up in disgust at the sight of someone’s blood on your shirt.

He wants and will do everything in his power to keep that frown of your face. Your smile lights up the whole bunkbed-hall and gives one more reason to keep going. It may sound depressing, but you gave him a reason to live and fight for survival. Even if you don’t know about it yet. He planned on leaving the rest of the money he had for his child and ending his life after the games. What other reason does he have to live for anyway?

Now he has. You are his reason to live. Gi-hun can provide for you, care for you, love , protect and worship you with every cell in his body, if you let him or not, he will find a way to fulfil his new purpose in life and Gi-hun will make you enjoy it.

- Persistent attention -

He is watching you every minute, every hour, every day and all day. Gi-hun insists on taking watch during the night and shooing Jung-bae off just so he can have a moment to himself to watch your adorable sleeping face. He takes mental notes on your sleepy expression, your soft pout, squished cheek as you lay on your side, your hair perfectly falling into place and how your chest was perfectly squished by the mattress or just lift up and down when laying on your back, synchronised with your breathing.

His fingers briefly brushed over your forehead to push some loose strands from your eyes so he can admire you further, a soft smile resting on his face. Watching you and knowing that you are safe brings makes his heart race a little slower when around you. One less thing to worry about.

For some reason, Gi-hun knows more about you than you do yourself. He can predict when you need to use the bathroom by watching what and when you drink. He knows your sleeping schedule and your favourite position to lay in. He knows what food you prefer despite barely mentioning it. He knows what to say to make you smile, his favourite expression on you, and how to comfort you when you are scared. Gi-hun also constantly “helps” you in a way that includes physical touch.

He might close your zipper up, his fingers briefly brushing over your chest, or tucking you into your bunkbed as if you were a child needing constant care.

Even if it may seem sweet from time to time, it does feel incredibly overbearing and annoying when Gi-hun goes ahead and “helps” you with eating food as if you’re not capable doing so yourself (embarrassing you in front of the others during the process) or offering you to go to the bathroom with you for protection, waiting outside with the guard while you did your business.

Somehow, even the stationed guard felt creeped out by him.

⁎⁺˳ — A mini scenario starts here. —

You were afraid to fall asleep at night despite Gi-hun assuring you that he will keep watch at all times. Your eyes were tired and heavy but your mind just couldn’t relax, couldn’t rest. No matter how hard you tried your own body forced you awake, believing that you are in immediate danger.

Paranoia kept swirling inside your mind as your eyes floated around the room. Did that shadow in the corner just move? Or was your exhaustion finally catching up with you?

“Hey.” Gi-hun’s voice ripped you out of trance like state as you flinched violently in surprise. His heavy hand carefully brushed over your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you as it rubbed back and forth slowly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The soft red light of the X marking on the floor illuminated his face to the point where you could read his soft expression. Worry was etched into his face. “Can’t sleep?” His voice was mich quieter now, trying to provide a little more comfort. His hand slowly made its way down to your waist as it began rubbing gentle circles there. You slowly nodded your head as you shifted your position to carefully shake his hand off.

You rolled over onto your back and Gi-hun smiled slightly. His fingers brushed some hair strands out of your face, briefly brushing over your soft cheek to savour your warmth a little more.

“Let me…” Without asking, Gi-hun suddenly gently scooted you aside to make space for himself as he crawled into your bunk bed, wrapping his arms around your smaller body. His hand began running through your hair, untying knots and feeling their softness. You uncomfortably shifted under him. “I-I can sleep on my own—“ “It’s okay, I’ll stay here.”

His voice left little space for arguments, just as much as his arms did. They were tightly wrapped around your back and waist, pressing you so firmly against his body that you could swear he was trying to absorb you. His nose brushed over the top of your head briefly, nuzzling into your hair.

“Close your eyes, I’ll keep you safe.”

⁎⁺˳ — End of the mini scenario here. —

If you ever try to tell him about how uncomfortable it makes you when he keeps on treating you like you’re incapable of being independent and thinking/acting on your own. Gi-hun first on denies being so overbearing with you and insists that it’s all you’re exaggerating, mistaking his simple kindness for whatever you’re talking about.

“Why are you so unreasonable? I’m trying to help you stay alive in these games. Don’t you want to survive and go back home? Let me take care of this, of you. You’ll die without me.”

- Idealisation -

Gi-hun put you on a pedestal the moment you came into his life. To him, you embody perfection, kindness, beauty, patience… Everything good in the world. Whoever dares to taint your image just the slightest earns themselves a night visit by Gi-hun himself to force their eyes away from you (and everything else) forever.

He’ll downplay or outright ignore all your “bad” or “negative” traits, fully believing that you could never do or feel wrong. Even your tears, your anger, your fear makes him feel absolute euphoria since you blessed him with the opportunity to witness your emotions on full display.

He sees you as his saviour and the one who will cure all of his illnesses, mental and physical. You fill the void in the man’s heart and he believes, no, knows, that you will bring Gi-hun everything he ever longer for; happiness, stability, protection, hope, absolute love and eternal devotion.

He fantasises every hour about having a perfect future with you together; a rural house somewhere quiet and peaceful, a child or maybe children (wether you want them or not), worshipping the ground you walk on everyday and come home with a new bouquet of flowers whenever he returns from grocery shopping. A fulfilling family life.

If you ever voice something that would go against his fantasies and imagination, for example that you don’t even want to marry him, Gi-hun will become visibly depressed and deflated, going as far as stopping to eat until you comfort him and shower him in attention, encouraging his fantasies once more.

- NSFW -

Gi-hun cannot control his own body anymore to the point of constantly finding his hard on pressing against the damn pants of the track suit uniform. Concealing it is hard so he either uses your pillow to cover it up and letting it rest on his lap until it finally calms and goes down or he sneaks off to the bathrooms, basically pleading with the guard to let him use the men’s room in the middle of the night.

During masturbation, you are again the only thing on his mind. He teases himself my cupping himself by the base harshly, makes himself whimper broken parts or your name by brushing his thumb over his leaving tip and drown himself in the fantasy that you are right there, with him, your hand on his cock and furiously jerking him off while the lewd Schlick Schlick Schlick sounds echo through the bathroom.

He also likes using your belongings and things to pleasure himself. Your pillow, for example. Gi-hun secretly swapped it out with yours while you weren’t looking and now has it pressed between his thighs tightly during the night when everyone is asleep, pathetically grinding onto it, thinking about where exactly he went wrong again and again as thought of your soft lips leaving burning kisses all over his body, your soft voice whispering encouragements and praises into his ear before switching around and calling him your obedient slut as you edge him over and over.

Gi-bun bites down onto the thin blanket to muffle his pathetic whines as he coats the inside of his boxers with sprays of his warm cum, his head falling back and his eyes tightly shut, not ready to leave his fantasy just yet and open his eyes to find himself back in the damn death games. He cuddles onto the thin of his blanket as if it were you lying right beside him, comforting him after such a rough and unforgiving session of imaginary praise, edging and your soft coos.

He does get more and more perverted and rather desperate at times when his fantasies aren’t enough anymore. Gi-hun lets his hand “accidentally” brush over your backside before profusely apologising over for his honest mistake. You forgive him and wave it off of course. Your forgiveness and the way you wave it off so quickly pushes Gi-hun to go further, do more, *feel* more. His hand frequently brushed over your backside, his palms gently pat on top your chest after zipping your jacket close, his fingers briefly brushing over your soft thighs while you slept, lingering close to your core but never daring to outright touch it. Yet.

When it comes to thought of sex with, Gi-hun gets all shy when even thinking about doing it with you. He isn’t the youngest and his stamina is not the best either. It was a long, long time since he felt anyone else be wrapped around his cock than his own fist working up and down so what if he forgets what to do? What if you’ll be disappointed? What if you become disgusted by him and leave him forever? He doesn’t want to think of that so he finds himself content with just finishing inside his boxers, hand and all over your pillow.

Gi-hun gets incredibly ashamed of himself after cumming to the fantasy of you being there with him, encouraging him. He beats himself up over being so utterly in love with you, such a perfect, young woman. You would never love a middle aged man like him, he is sure of it. He knows he has to somehow make you love him, at least just a little. Make you learn to love him, accept his care, teach you how to pleasure him properly, keep you all to himself and shut you away from the world, all the perverts and men that ogle you when you simply exist.

The world is too cruel, too corrupted, too perverted for a naive thing like you.

- NSFW ends here -

Gihun’s jealousy.

The moment In-ho joined his little alliance group he immediately felt inferior to him. He is intelligent, charismatic, dependable, kind. Everything Gi-hun barely ever is. It’s no wonder you got so attached to someone like him, the way your eyes sparkle when In-ho begins to talk or explain something, how fascinated you looked after he put Thanos in his place by demonstrating his strength, how you complimented his kindness after he gave his milk carton to Jun-hee. It makes him feel sick and incredibly angry at his friend for seemingly no reason other than existing near you.

Gi-hun slouches in his seat and fiddles with his fingers as he watches you have some small-talk with In-ho during breakfast. He’ll compare himself to In-ho in every way he possibly can, from his appearance to behaviour and actions.

Gi-hun watches him closely and tries to study his gestures and the way he presents himself, subconsciously mimicking everything his does in hopes to appeal to you even more.

He’ll start over analysing every single, every small interaction between you, imagining and spiralling himself into dark thoughts. He somehow fully convinced himself that by you clinging onto In-ho during the six-legged game means that you are in love with him and will end up marrying him after the games (despite the fact that you held onto your life on Dae-ho and In-ho’s shoulders, scared you’ll trip. But Gi-hun is just focused on your touch with In-ho).

Gi-hun becomes much more irrational as he keeps switching back and forth between showering you in love and affection and accusing you with trying to sleep with In-ho. One moment he is happily sharing his meal with you, admiring your hamster-like cheeks as you chewed on the food he shared with you before passively-aggressively interrogating you about why you even looked at the other man.

“You and In-ho seem to get along really well. What’s going on between you two? Are you trying to seduce him?”

It rarely happens but Gi-hun does explode out of rage sometimes, mostly when you two are alone and after letting his chronic jealousy get suppressed. He’ll scream and yell, vividly gesturing around, accusing you of everything you can be possibly accused of; having sex with him, wanting sex from him, loving him, thinking about marriage, you thinking In-ho is soo much better than him, you seducing the man… Gi-hun would’ve gone on and on, yelling and screaming at your trembling form as you were totally confused on why he was so angry if not for a guard that stepped in and dragged him back into the halls of bunkbeds with the other players.

In-ho. In-ho. In-ho. Whenever you say In-ho’s name, Gi-hun could throw his guts out or snap his own neck. He both wants to die and murder someone whenever his name slips through your soft lips. It makes him want to break your jaw so you could never utter his name again or bash your head in to the point of not being able to think about anything but himself, Gi-hun, your caring and generous future husband you don’t know about yet.

⁎⁺˳ — A mini scenario starts here. —

“You seem awfully tense. Is everything alright, Gi-hun?” In-ho’s voice sounded sincere. He scooted a little closer to his friend and leaned forward to rest his arms on his thighs, a concerned look on his face.

Gi-hun didn’t bother to spare him a glance and kept his eyes glued to the ground below him as he kept clenching and unclenching his fist. “I’m fine. Just worried about the games and all.” He lied through his teeth and turned his face away from him, earning a hum from the man beside him. In-ho placed a warm hand on his shoulder and gave it a small pat.

“If you are worrying about your darling, don’t worry. She is too smart and fast, she’s a real fighter. We’ll keep her safe together though, won’t we?”That statement shook Gi-hun to the core. We? Who exactly is we? He turned his head to finally look into his eyes, trying to see if he was trying to joke or being serious right now. He’d thought about letting In-ho purposefully die in the next game if it means to finally end this friendship or whatever it was between you and In-ho, but he always felt ashamed to think of someone like that right after. But not right now.

Right now, staring at that man’s face, Gi-hun wished he could wrap his hands around his neck and shut him up forever. Cut off all the air and watch as the life leaves his eyes, personally making sure that he will never talk, look or even breathe your way. How dare he. How dare he touch you, how dare he make smile, how dare he make you happy, how dare he do the life-long-job Gi-hun assigned to himself and only himself.

Gi-hun’s thoughts spiralled further. Surely In-ho fantasises about you too. About how the fat of your ass jiggles ever so slightly when you walk, how your chest stretches against the fabric of your jacket, how beautiful you’d look covered in his cum, how it would feel to take and taint you as his and only his.

And yet, he forced his violent thoughts away and let out a small sigh. Gi-hun nodded and turned to look away from In-ho again, not able to bear to have bim in his sight without fantasising about bashing his skull into the bed frame until his brain was mush and never able to conjure another thought again.

“Sure. Let’s keep her safe.”

⁎⁺˳ — End of the mini scenario here. —

💠

Author’s note.

Oh wow, I wasn’t nervous about posting like this since the first time I ever posted. To be fair this is kind of my first time posting about something else than Demon Slayer, soo… Also, Dae-ho is my baby, my precious. I need to hold him and tell him that everything will be okay and that it’s okay to feel scared. 🥺 Poor baby is so traumatised. Anyways, rant about Dae-ho over.

Make sure to EAT, DRINK and SLEEP enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

2K notes · View notes

honeyhotteoks · 4 months ago

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an innocent man doesn't stand a chance (j.yh)

summary: it's halloween and your boyfriend has a fantasy. he wants to be the masked killer and for you to be the final girl, and he wants you to run.

note: this was written in a feverish haze of ghostface yunho brainrot, you can thank this fanart and this edit for making this one about yunho, but i have to give all credit for the idea to the nsfw audio creator augustinthewinter who's masked hookup audio killed me. also please read the warnings, this one is potentially very triggering.

warnings: ghostface!yunho x final girl!reader, boyfriend!yunho, hard dom!yunho, girlfriend!reader, sub!reader, sadism, masochism, knife play, primal play/chasing, threats of violence, heavy cnc that really looks like noncon because part of the play is that he wants her to struggle and say no BUT there are consent checks explicit throughout, rough sex, fingering, gloves, masks, breath play, impact play, mirrors, finger sucking don't look at me, dry humping, clothed sex, ripping off clothes, size kink, ass play, lots and lots of degredation including use of sl*t/wh*re/fvcktoy/c*cksleeve, yunho is seriously mean in this i'm not kidding, fear, forced orgasm, orgasm denial, creampie, subspace, there's more i'm sure but this one is a doozy. also lots and lots of aftercare!! after a scene like this i had to write detailed aftercare and confirmation of limits, so that's there too! yunho is v sweet when not in the zone.

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: smut and more smut, no plot in sight

word count: 7.9k

The party is in full swing when you arrive. The house bumping with music and every corner decorated for Halloween. You’re late enough that you can just slip in through the back door, and that was the plan from the start. Yunho arrived first, nearly two hours ago, and made excuses for why you were late, for how you might not even make it to the party. No one would see either of you come or go together, so when you both disappeared to play your game no one would ever know. You had come up with the plan in bed, whispered fantasies and what-ifs between the sheets as he rewarded your willingness to try something new with his tongue.

His fantasy is special, and to do it right you can really only do it on Halloween night.

You weave through a throng of drunk acquaintances, searching the crowd for him, but it’s not as easy to find him as you thought it would be. You’re not sure how a six foot something Ghostface killer could hide from you in the crowd of your friend’s house party, but no matter how many rooms you check you can’t see him. Nervousness pits inside you as you check your phone and see nothing. He could be caught up with friends, he could be changing his mind, but you can’t tell if you can’t find him.

Adjusting your very 90s costume, you dart away from the kitchen where a group of your girlfriends are pouring shots and weave your way into the back of the house. Maybe you can call him? Text him? Would that completely ruin the mood of psycho killer stalking? Maybe, but it’s been forty-five minutes and you haven’t so much as seen a sliver of his mask.

You flick through your phone, checking for any new messages, and then scroll to find Yunho’s contact card in your phone. Your finger hovers over the call button as you lean against the quiet hallway wall, and then in your peripheral vision you see it.

A dart of black, something looming, and when you finally turn your head, you see him. Ghostface, standing wide and imposing in the hall, blocking any way past him and back out into the party.

“Spooky,” You sigh, tucking your phone away.

Silently, Ghostface nods his head.

The hair on the back of your arms stands up. This is it.

“What? Are you looking for the bathroom or something?” You take a step or two towards him, leaning into the character you dressed for.

He shakes his head.

“Looking for me?” You bite the inside of your lip to keep from smiling.

Slowly, he nods.

“Mm,” You raise a brow at him, “what’s the line from that movie? You wanna play psycho killer?”

His head tilts slightly to the side and he nods once again.

“And who do I play?”

He takes a step towards you and you fade back.

Fear starts to spread through you, even with it all being pretend, you can’t fight the feeling that your subconscious drums up in your gut.

He takes another step, and then another, and then you’re running.

Spinning on your heel you push deeper into the house, away from the party and towards a line of doors down the hall. Your heart is pounding out of your chest, your stomach a bundle of nervous trembling knots, and your hands are so slick with sweat you can barely grab the door handle of the basement. It’s not as easy to run as it looks in the movies, especially not in a tight skirt and penny loafers, and you skid down the basement stairs taking them two at a time until you slip forwards and crash down onto your hands and knees.

You don’t have time to assess the sudden sharp pain as the skin of your palm drags over the concrete floor though, so you scramble up in a flash and in a panic you weave your way deeper into the basement.

It’s familiar enough to you, your best friend’s parent’s place. You know there’s a tiny half bathroom in the far back corner, a rarely used guest bed against one wall as you descend the stairs, a collection of old video games and movies, and then around the corner to the left more and more basement, more storage, more dusty nooks and crannies to hide. You’re frozen for a split second, trying to decide the best place to go where he won’t find you, but heavy footfalls on the stairs ring in your ears like drum beats and you don’t have time to weigh your options.

You take off towards the bathroom, fumbling with the door again when you reach it.

The masked man behind you doesn’t say anything, but you hear him moving. His feet are sure and quick, the heavy fabric of his robes making a whooshing sound as he darts forwards to try and close the space between your bodies.

A panicked sound leaves your mouth as you tumble into the sink, clocking your hip hard on the porcelain and bracing yourself on the wall. Turning you reach back for the door, if you just get it latched maybe you can give yourself a second to think, to shimmy out of the very small, high set window. Pushing yourself into action you grab the door, he’s so close you can hear his breath, seconds away. Seconds away.

The door stops abruptly as you throw your body against it, six inches from closing. You push again, but it doesn’t budge, and when you look down it’s clear you’ve lost this game. His heavy black boot is firmly set in the door’s path, and you know there’s no chance for escape.

He crowds you instantly, leaving you no time to recover, his body pushing into the cramped space of the bathroom and flinging the door backwards into the adjacent wall. You stumble into the sink and he moves right up against you, the firm length of his body pinning yours in place.

For a moment everything is still, completely and shudderingly still with only the sound of your hitched breathing and thundering heart filling the room. You’re not sure what you should do - beg? Plead? Stay silent and let him do what he wants?

The masked man’s head tilts to the side as if he’s observing you, something you can’t tell through the ghostly plastic of his mask and dead black eyes. You’re trembling for real, hands shaking as they grip the cool porcelain. Ghostface leans into you, one of his gloved hands reaching for your face, a soft brush against your chin at first that turns to pressure as his fingers slide up your jaw to push you face to the side. It’s like he’s studying you, his hand slipping lower and dragging down your throat.

Your breath comes faster, stomach tight.

Ghostface closes his hand around your throat and your eyes widen. He holds you like this for a moment, his other hand locking down over your waist and gripping you tight, pinning you in place.

When he squeezes, panic bubbles through your body.

Yunho’s never choked you before. He’s never even suggested it, despite all your little jokes about how nice his hands would look around your neck. It seemed pretty clear to you that within the bounds of your relationship that was one thing he just wasn’t interested in, but whoever has you in the bathroom knows exactly how to hold your throat and where to press. Part of the fun is not knowing who’s beneath the mask, but your body still locks up, and an anxious voice inside you starts to wonder - what if? It’s not as if Ghostface is that rare of a costume choice, you see dozens of them on the street every year. It’s not inconceivable to think that at this party there would be more than one.

Your heart beats in fluttering fits and starts in your ribcage as your mind turns over this possibility, and then he squeezes. The fight comes back into you full force when you hear him sigh, his hand tightening even more and cutting off your airway. You wriggle in his arms, pushing against his chest and trying to use your hips for leverage, a startled whine ripping from your throat, but fear laces through your body as you shove against him and realize just how immovable he is.

Ghostface releases your throat, the same gloved hand slipping into the back of your hair to hold you steady.

“No!” The word tumbles out of your mouth as soon as you can properly make noise again.

He crowds you more, masked face dipping by your ear, “Shh, shh,”

You freeze.

“Safe word?” Yunho’s voice is a balm in your moment of sudden panic, his tone low and hushed.

“T-treasure,” You manage it, the realization coming back into your body that this isn’t a total and complete stranger, it’s still him. Your fear starts to melt into anticipation.

He gives you a squeeze, just one gentle pulse with his hand on your hip to communicate that he’s heard you, “Color?”

You take a second to assess yourself. This game is intense in a way that you’ve never experienced. Yunho had tried to tell you how your body might react to this kind of manufactured fear, how it would play tricks on you, how even if you knew it was him your body would still have the urge to fight and flee. You knew it, but you didn’t really understand it until this moment.

Yunho’s gloved thumb drags lovingly over your cheek for just a moment, “Color?”

If he has to ask you a third time he’ll end the scene, you know he will, but the brief flicker of tenderness in his touch reminds you of everything you already know about him. He has you. You’re safe. This is a game.

“Green,” You finally answer, “I’m green,”

One more quick pulse to your hip, he’s heard you again. More than that, he’s pleased with you.

His shoulders straighten as he draws to his full height, his body filling the space of the tiny bathroom and caging you in. You swallow tightly, audible in your ears and then he moves fast.

His hands around your waist, lifting you up and then shoving you back until you’re sitting on the lip of the porcelain sink, uncomfortably balanced and pushed back flush to the mirrored wall behind you. You yelp when he moves you, hands scrambling for purchase on something, gripping the sleeve of his black cape in desperation. Fear and anticipation pulse through you, but he doesn’t give you a rest to get your bearings.

He shoves your legs open wide and slots between your thighs and shoves your face to the side until your cheek is squished against the cold mirror, his hand a controlling brace from your jaw to the crown of your head.

“You look so pretty running from me,” He strokes your face, but this time it’s not loving, it's possessive, it’s pure control.

You grip the edge of the sink and whimper.

“Should we play a little game?” He teases, “It’s Halloween, you must like scary movies,”

Your breath quickens, “Y-yeah,”

He drops his voice low, in a mimic of the movie, “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

You’ve heard Yunho do that voice before, lazing on the couch last October when you had yourselves a movie marathon, the day he realized something about your favorite scary movie that turned you on, the day you called him out for being hard during a kill scene. It took a year for you both to work up the courage to actually act on any of those fantasies, but here and now with his mask on and his voice low, you feel that mix of terror and arousal bleeding through your body in a way only he can elicit from you.

You can’t help the little smile that passes over your lips, “Scream,”

“Meta,” He teases, pinching you hard on the thigh, “for every question you get wrong, I’m taking something off you,”

You swallow hard again.

He reaches into his black robes and then you see it, shining in the reflection of the mirror and in your hazy peripheral vision. The glint of a real knife is unmistakable, the cool sharp edge of the steel crystal clear and you can’t stop the actual fear that jolts through you. You jerk in his hold, instinct driving you for a split second, and he pushes your face harder into the mirror.

“Tch,” He makes a disappointed noise with his tongue against his teeth, “the game’s no fun if you don’t play.”

He won’t hurt you, at least not in ways you don’t already like. You have to trust that.

Settling yourself with a slow breath you summon the act he wants, find the fear within yourself and let it inform your words to give him what he wants.

“Please, don’t,” You’re trembling is real, that you know.

He shifts between your legs, drawing the knife closer, shifting it in his hand so he simply presses the cool flat side of the blade against one of your nipples. You hiss at the sensation, tightness building in your gut.

“First question,” He drags the knife a little over your nipple, “What movie franchise is Jason from?”

It’s an actual quiz, of course it is. At least he’s starting off easy.

“Friday the Thirteenth,” You reply fast.

“Correct,” He lifts the knife, and with the blade pointed away from you, he pushes up your tight tshirt until it’s bunched above your breasts.

“I got that right,” You glance down at the way he’s touching you, breaking his own rules already.

“Just getting a better view,” He insists, and then the cool knife is against your nipple again, only the thin fabric of your bralette between skin and steel.

Your body is aching in this position, but you can feel the heat off his body, and the heady tone of his voice from under the mask still has you starting to ache in different places.

“Let’s make this a little harder,” He taps the knife against you and you shiver, “what movie has a group of teenagers being stalked on an island by a killer fisherman?”

“It’s,” You start to answer but he taps the knife again and you jolt, “fuck, it’s I Know What You Did Last Summer,”

You watched it with him two weeks ago. You remember it, clear as day.

“Wrong,” The knife twists, the tip gently skating over the swell of your breast.

“Wait,” You start but he tips the knife under the center of your bra.

“I Still Know What You Did Last Summer,” He clarifies the sequel, “they weren’t on an island in the first movie. I thought you liked scary movies,”

“I,” You press back into the wall as the knife edge kisses your skin, “I… I do,”

“You’re not very good at this,” He twists the knife and drags the sharp edge out so that it severs your thin bra in half, falling open and revealing your breasts to his wandering eyes.

A little gasping sound leaves your lips, a desperate noise you try to bite back, but he hears it.

He hums a soft, amused laugh and suddenly the knife is gone, sheathed and away and he leans into your space again, “You fucking like this, don’t you?”

“No,” You insist, despite the way your stomach is in tight knots.

“Did running away get you hot?” His gloved hand skims over your exposed body, “Do psycho killers make you wet?”

“Fuck,” You whine, “no, no,”

“Liar,” He whispers, and then he delivers a pointed slap to your thigh, “spread.”

Your legs widen instinctively at his command, but he doesn’t reward you or praise you like he normally would, this is different. He reaches under the hem of your taut mini skirt, finding the apex of your thighs, and his fingers gently rub up and down from the base of your slit to your clit. A tiny gasp bubbles out of your throat.

“Are you afraid?” He all but growls.

Your stomach flips and his hand tightens in your hair, “Y-yes,”

“Tell me you don’t want this,” He finds the edge of your panties and drags them to one side.

“I don’t want it,” You answer him, body shaking now.

“Tell me to stop,” One gloved finger presses into your entrance, the softness of the leather and the warmth of his skin beneath it making you tremble.

“Stop,” You beg, “please, please, stop,”

“Why would I?” He slowly pushes inside, stretching you around his finger, “When I know how wet being fucked by a stranger in a mask makes you,”

A tense thready sound pulls from your throat as he adds a second finger.

“If you don’t want this,” He pulses his hand once, forcing both fingers deep into your slick channel, “why are you panting like a dog in heat?”

“N-no,”

“If you don’t want it,” He whispers, “don’t come.”

Your eyes shut as his hand starts moving, a steady pulse of his gloved fingers inside your aching cunt, curled just right in the way he knows gets you off fast. A pumping drag against your g-spot, the sound of his heavy breath, the unmistakable sensation of your own wetness making a mess between your thighs.

“Looks like you want it to me,” He adds the circle of his thumb against your clit and you jerk in his hold.

“Stop, fuck,” Your nails dig into his forearm.

“You don’t want me touching you, but you’re soaking my fingers,”

“N..No, no,” You babble, heat pooling in your gut.

“Fight it,” He pumps his fingers faster, drumming against your sweet spot, “don’t come,”

You hiss sharply, pleasure dropping low in your belly, the sensation of his gloves and his hot hand too much to bear.

“Moaning like you want it,” He laughs, pulling his hand suddenly out from under your skirt and yanking your head back to center.

You yelp at the position change and the sudden lack of contact but he doesn’t make you wait for long.

“Open,” He smacks your cheek lightly.

Your mouth falls open and he shoves both gloved fingers between your lips. You choke against the suddenness, at the way he presses down on your tongue, blinking to clear the haze from your eyes.

“Suck.”

You shiver, your lips closing over his digits, the sharp taste of leather mixed with your fluids assaulting your senses and you can’t fight the moan, the way your eyes drift shut as you swirl your tongue.

He hums, pleased, “Does it hurt?” He asks.

His question doesn’t make sense, and you blink your eyes back open to look up at the cool passiveness of his ghostly mask.

“Pretending you’re not a whore?” He clarifies and your mouth stills over his fingers. He pulls them out, delivering one more pointed slap to your cheek, and dives back down to plunge them back into your aching cunt, “Moaning like that, your nipples rock hard, and this pussy,”

You choke, a bubble building in your core as he abuses your slick channel again.

“Clenching around my fingers, sucking me in,” He chuckles, “I can feel you, baby,”

“Fuck, fuck,”

“Hold back,” He doubles his efforts between your thighs and you keen, “if you don’t want it, tell me to stop, don’t come,”

“Stop!” You whine, giving him exactly what he wants, “Please, please,”

“No,” His thumb rubs fast, his hand practiced at making you fall apart at the seams, “you come, you keep your eyes open, and you come all over my fucking hand,”

Your breath is fast, heart pounding, and you feel the cord tightening in your belly in a way that makes you want to rub yourself back up into his touch but he has you pinned, stuck, at his mercy just like he wants.

“Come,” His voice is clear, authoritative, and familiar. Like a trained response, your body releases and cracks open into a desperate orgasm, crumbling in his hands as you pitch forward onto his shoulder and grind your hips down to take the last little bit of what you need from his fingers.

When his hand stills, you realize you’re still clinging to him and you jerk back, one hand over your mouth as you try to recover your breath.

He steps back, his hands sliding off you and body slotting out from your thighs. You can’t see Yunho beneath the mask, but you know he’s looking. You can feel his hot gaze sliding over your body and taking in every wet and shaking inch of you. Your body is throbbing with need, but the game isn’t done, he hasn’t even made you touch his cock yet, and you know there’s no way you’re making it out of this basement without that.

“Tell me again how you don’t like it,” He finally says.

You shiver.

“Cat got your slutty little tongue?” He prompts you again, voice hardening.

You swallow hard, finding your words, “I didn’t like it,”

“Mhm,”

“I d-don’t want you to touch me,” You lie.

“Yeah?” He teases, “Well then run,”

“W-what?” Your eyes flick up to the impassive plastic of his mask.

“If you didn’t like it, why are you still sitting there?” He takes a step to the side, clearing your path to the door and you slide off the edge of the sink, your loafers making a click onto the tile floor.

You swallow hard, eyes darting out to the rest of the basement.

“Come on,” He teases, and you can hear the sick smile in his voice, “try to get away,”

You look between him and the room ahead of you again.

He leans forward and you shiver, his gaunt stretched mouth at your ear again, “I can’t fuck you if I can’t catch you,” his gloved fingers yank your top down over your exposed breasts and he chuckles, “better run fast.”

You spring forwards, adrenaline pumping through your body and blood rushing in your ears. Leaping out of the bathroom he gives you a couple steps to get a head start, but he’s so much bigger than you, his stride so much longer, and he closes the distance with ease as you scramble in mock terror to get to the steps.

Yunho’s arms close around you, hauling you up off your feet and against his chest, his touch rough and probing as he drags you up into the air.

“No!” You shriek, “Fuck!”

“You think I’d really let you go?” He laughs, “After that?”

“Fuck you!” The words bubble up out of your mouth.

“That’s the idea,” His hand slides down your belly, closing over your cunt and cupping you tightly.

Your body is reacting before your mind, and you jerk in his hold, kicking back your leg and catching him in the shin with the flat heel of your shoe.

He groans and wrenches you higher in the air, “Keep struggling,” he pants, “I like it,”

You twist again, trying to free one of your arms, but he has them pinned tightly to your body, “Get the fuck off me!”

“Not a fucking chance,” He takes two wide steps to the mattress and then tosses you down.

You collapse onto the bed, the old and rarely used springs creaking under your weight, and your scramble forwards in some kind of an attempt to get your bearings, but he’s on you just as fast. He yanks you back with a hand around your ankle and in a flash he’s on top of you.

He presses one hand firmly between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned face down to the bed, and then his body weight drops down as he straddles the backs of your thighs. Your hands curl into the bedding beneath you, rough sheets and scratchy camp blankets, nothing soft and soothing to take a moment of comfort in.

His free hand wanders, searching your body slowly. The sound of the party raging upstairs drowns out any competing noise, but you can still hear his heavy breath against the mask and your pounding heart, the sound of anticipation thick in the air around you.

Yunho presses his hips forwards and you feel the thick hard length of his cock through his costume nestled against your backside.

“Look at you,” He palms your ass, “shaking for me,”

A whimper leaves you as his fingers dig into your back.

“Do I scare you, baby?” He delivers a harsh slap to the back of your thighs and you yelp, “Are you fucking terrified?”

Another slap leaves you trembling and you hide your face in the mattress, pressing your eyes shut tight. You love when he touches you like this and he knows it. You bite down hard on your lip to keep from whining, wetness pooling in your core. He wanted you scared, he wanted you fighting, you can’t give in just because his glove on your stinging skin feels like sin.

He groans, his cock pressing down harder to your ass and you feel both his hands slide from your hips up to your back and back down again until he has a grip on your waist.

A whimper slips out from between your lips.

Yunho freezes above you, his thumbs massaging a quick circle into your lower back, “Color?”

“Green!” Your voice is muffled by the bedding but you know he heard it.

He groans, pulsing his hips to rut his cock against you again.

Even between layers of fabric, you can feel the heat of him, throbbing and ready for you. Your mouth waters as you picture it, cockhead leaking precum and Yunho’s familiar hand wrapped around the base as he directs it to your mouth.

“Little slut,” He chuckles and it pulls you straight out of your mental fantasy, “rubbing that ass on a stranger’s cock,”

Your stomach clenches, and you twitch under him.

“That’s fucked up,” He drops his body weight over you, one hand pushing your head to the side as he leans over you, “you’re so fucked up, aren’t you?”

Your breathing is fast, a thready sound in your throat.

“Aren’t you?” His voice is low, a shade away from a growl, and he rocks his hips again to rub his cock against you.

“N-no,” You try to shake your head but his hand tightens against your scalp.

“Liar,” He keeps grinding against you, his free hand snaking underneath your bodies to grope your breast, “I know a needy whore when I see one,”

You moan into the sheets as he tweaks your nipple, tears springing to your eyes as he palms you, taking you apart with every touch.

“Let’s see how you like this,” He pinches your nipple once more and you squeal at the sharp sensation that rockets through your chest, a sharp line down to your clit, and then he slides back and shuffles back to sit up over your thighs.

He pushes the stiff fabric of your mini skirt up over your ass and then you feel the cold metal again.

You jerk underneath him, and he tuts softly, the sharp edge of the weapon gently dragging over the curve of your ass cheek.

“Tell me,” He grips your flesh tightly with one hand, painfully pinching, “do you still like scary movies now that you’re in one?”

You shake your head, a whimper on your lips when the knife slips under the edge of your panties, “P-please, don’t,”

He yanks the knife up and splits one side of your panties with a taut snap of fabric, “Please?” He taunts, “Please?”

You sob softly in response.

“Is ‘please’ all you can say?” He delivers a sharp smack to your exposed ass check and you jerk under him.

“I can’t,” You shake your head into the sheets, “I can’t,”

He sighs, and you feel the knife shred the other side of your underwear and then you hear the sound of the blade clattering to the floor. With both hands free he palms your exposed flesh, squeezing you almost painfully and inspecting your exposed body.

Shivers run through you, and you try to hold yourself still for his touches.

“Which hole should I fuck first, hmm?” His fingers search you, probe you.

Your body locks up tightly, a gasp on your lips. You hadn’t discussed that, and you shake your head.

“Scared?” He ghosts his fingers over your rim.

“Please,” It’s all you can manage.

“Beg me,” He presses down with his thumb, “beg me not to fuck your ass if you’re so scared.”

You scramble in the sheets but he has you stuck, “Please don’t, don’t fuck me like t-that, you’re too big, it’s too,”

He massages one cheek and hums, “What should I do then?”

“What?” You crane to look back at him, at the masked man pinning you down.

“Beg,” He says it like he’s bored, like it’s obvious, “beg me to put it somewhere else, or I will fuck this pretty ass open and make you say thank you.”

Heat floods your belly, your body a sizzling live wire, and you fall right into step with a heady whine, “Please, fuck my pussy,”

“Again,”

“Fuck my pussy, please, I’m begging you,” Your voice sounds needy and strange even to your own ears, “I need it inside me, g-give it to me please, fuck my pussy, please,”

“Better,” His hands disappear into his robed costume and then he pushes forwards, his cock finally free and sliding up and down your slit to find your aching entrance.

“Y-yes,” You drop your head back down to the bed and in one sharp thrust, he pushes his thick length all the way inside you until his hips are flush with your ass.

Yunho groans, bracing himself with one hand on the back of your neck and the other on the bed beside you, the mattress creaking with every shift, “Needy pussy,”

“Fuck,” You moan.

“Greedy,” He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust, starting to pick up the pace now in earnest, “gripping my fucking cock like that,”

All you can do is hold on, bite down on the sheets and let him use you, focus on the sensation of his impossibly hard cock driving in and out and in and out.

“Are you crying for me? Hmm?” He rolls his hips, the fabric of his costume dragging against you as he fucks into you faster.

Your eyes are wet, pleasured tears bubbling up and you nod, a tiny sob passing through your lips.

“Good cocksleeve,” He presses down harder with his hand on your neck, forcing you lower into the mattress.

Your back arches instinctively, and you whine at the angle change. A few more thrusts and you’ll be done for, you know it.

“That’s it,” He pants, voice muffled by the mask, “come for me,”

“C-close,” The words tumble out.

“Come for me,” He stays steady with his thrusts, pushing your orgasm closer and closer, “come for me, come for me,”

“Ah!” You fist the sheets, legs starting to shake, “Ah, fuck, fuck!”

“Come on this stranger’s fucking cock,” He grunts, shuddering above you, his fingers digging into your skin and no doubt leaving a bouquet of bruises behind.

So close to the edge, just a little more will tip you over, and you whine, “Harder,”

He gasps, forcing his pace to clap harder, deeper, and it only takes two pointed thrusts of his cock into the deepest parts of you to send you careening over the edge.

“Coming,” You twist beneath him, moaning into your fist, “oh, god,”

“Fuck,” He curses as your muscles clench and flutter around him, “fuck, oh fuck,”

Your orgasm has your body locked up and shuddering, but when he pulls free suddenly you gasp into the bedding, “N-no, no, please,”

He yanks off any scrap of clothing you have on with frantic hands and then rolls you in the sheets so that you’re lying on your back spread open for him. You try to form a sentence, to ask what’s happening but suddenly he’s tearing off his mask and the world slows to a stop.

Yunho’s sweaty, flushed pink in the cheeks eyes blown wide with need, his plush lips parted and his chest heaving with labored breaths. In a flash he’s stripping off the costume, peeling off his gloves and kicking off his boots.

“Come here,” He spreads your thighs wider and presses down over you, his cock finding your entrance with ease as he sheaths himself again in one thrust.

You moan sharply and wrap your arms around his shoulders as he collapses over you.

“Need you,” He pumps his hips, “have to have you,”

Pleasure crackles up your body, “Yours,” you nod, “I’m yours,”

He presses his mouth to yours, kissing you hot and hard, “Fuck,” he groans.

Yunho gathers you closer, your slick bodies now flush together as he rocks into the warm cradle of your hips, “never heard you moan like that,”

Your walls clench around him.

“You wanted me to do this,” He groans between messy kisses, “you wanted to run,”

You nod, lips pressed together.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” He pumps into you harder, like he’s desperate to get as deep as possible, “my dirty girl,”

“Oh, fuck,” Your head falls back against the bed, a pleasured moan caught in your throat.

“My little fucking slut,” He groans, tipping your hips open wider, his hands tight on your skin, “so desperate to come on stranger cock,”

You whine sharply, nails digging into his back.

“Say it,” He threads a hand through your hair and tugs your head back up roughly, “say it,”

“Yes!” You whine, “Yes, I-I need it,”

His gaze darkens, the cool mask of your dominant returning, and he slaps your cheek sharply, just enough to give you a pointed sting, “Need what?”

Your brain is soft, fuzzy with pleasure, but the slap focuses you and you blink, “Need to come,” you pant as he thrusts into you, “on a stranger’s cock, need you to… fuck, need you to take it,”

He nods, lips parting open in pleasure, “That’s right,”

Your stomach tightens, pressure dropping low in your belly and you can’t stop feeling the way his cock punches into the deepest parts of you over and over again. Your eyes close tight and you hold onto him, one of your hands slipping up to his neck to tangle into his black hair.

“Oh,” You’re so close, almost there, “Y-Yunho, oh, god,”

His hips thrust forward once more, burying his cock impossibly deep and then he stops. That’s when you realize your critical mistake.

“Is my cock so good you forgot your manners?” He says and your eyes fly open.

You don’t know what to say, you don’t know how to recover, your head is too mixed up to know what’s up and what’s down and you’ve never played a scene where he’s a stranger before. You’re used to your rules, you’re used to calling him sir or daddy or master, but now you feel unmoored.

“Now you don’t get to come,” He leans back, taking your wrists in his hands and pushing them down flat to the bed.

You know better than to protest, but you’re sure he can feel you shaking.

He drops closer, pinning you open with the weight of his body, his head nudging yours to the side, “Maybe you’ve forgotten who’s in control here, baby,”

Liquid heat spreads through your body and you shake your head just a little.

“So drunk on cock,” He bites at your ear, “you forgot you don’t want this,”

Your pussy tightens, and you hear him chuckle.

“Filthy,” He maneuvers your arms above your head so that he can close both your wrists together in one of his large hands, “fucked up little fucktoy,”

Your eyes roll back and you fight the urge to move your hips, his words enough to put you on the precipice.

A sharp slap stings over your exposed breast, your nipple hardening even more and Yunho draws his hips back before slamming forwards, driving you deeper into the squeaking mattress. At the painful stretch, the sharp sting inside, you do cry out.

“Does it hurt?” He thrusts again, just as hard.

You struggle under him, a little for play and a little because it does hurt, but you love the way he groans when you please him and you can’t stop, “Y-yes,”

“Too bad,” His hand claps over your mouth and then he starts to fuck you again for real.

Pleasure and pain in equal parts spike through your body, a perfect combination to get you right up to the edge of orgasm, but you know you’re not allowed. You moan into his hot hand, the sound feral and taut, tears gathering in your eyes and slipping down your temples into your hairline.

Yunho slides the hand on your wrists up to clasp your hands together palm to palm, still pinning you to the bed but offering you a line of communication you desperately need in a scene like this. He doesn’t stop, but his eyes find yours in the dim light of the basement and he squeezes your hand once. You squeeze back just once, your silent sign to keep going.

He keeps driving into you, cursing every time you moan and clench around his thick length, the mask of dominance slipping again as he starts to rut into you with artless, needy thrusts. He’s chasing his own pleasure now, with no regard for your own release.

“No one’s coming to help you,” He groans, “you’re mine,”

You can’t hear everything he says, not with your mind spinning so close to a forbidden orgasm and his pants and groans punctuating every few words, but you hear it when he says he’s coming inside you.

Thrusting deep, he spills himself hot in your belly, hips grinding into yours to milk himself dry as he moans into your ear. The bubble of your own pleasure builds with every rock of his body and you whimper into his hand, tears spilling over as you try not to let it take you.

Yunho’s hand pulls away from your mouth and suddenly his fingers are rubbing fast and firm on your swollen clit, his cock still buried deep.

“Ah, n-no, please,” You grip his hand tightly and lock your eyes closed, trying to pull yourself back from the edge, “please,”

“Fuck,” He groans, overstimulated.

You’re going to come, there’s no way to hold back if he’s going to torture you like this and you thrash under him, “I can’t,” you’re sobbing in earnest now, “I can’t hold it,”

“Shit,” He curses sharply, “come, sweetheart, come, I’m so sorry,”

At his permission, your pleasure rips through you, a hot slice of rapture rocketing up your body. Your ears are ringing, black dots over your vision, and your body wrenches up with tight shakes in a way that only a soul shattering orgasm could do. You vaguely hear your own voice, a babbled string of ‘thank-yous’ and sobs, but it feels like someone else. All you know is warmth, and the deliciousness of earned pleasure.

When consciousness starts to creep back in, the first thing you feel is Yunho’s gentle hands on your cheeks. He’s murmuring something, but it takes your mind a second to process, and you blink your eyes open slowly to find his face.

“Hey,” He’s back to soft and warm, your tender lover, “oh, there you are,”

“Mm,” You manage.

He looks you over slowly, warm brown eyes flicking over your skin, “Does anything hurt, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, still boneless and trembling in the scratchy blankets.

“Hmm?” He nudges you, pushing for a verbal response.

“I’m okay,” You respond, but your voice is small.

Yunho, so attuned to you, looks back up and shifts up the bed to meet your eyes, “Feeling floaty?”

“Mm,” You nod, recognizing distantly that the intensity of your play tonight pushed you right into subspace.

“Ah,” He smiles warmly, “come here,”

He gathers you close, arms wrapping around you as he tucks you into his chest and pulls the plaid camp blanket up higher over both of your naked bodies. His skin feels so essential, a necessity like eating or breathing, and you nuzzle into his warm chest.

“You’re okay,” He soothes you, stroking your back, “you’re safe, you’re safe with me,”

A heavy breath releases from your chest.

“That’s it,” He kisses your forehead, “breathe with me, relax with me,”

Your muscles release one by one.

“That was just a fantasy,” He soothes you, easing the knotted up feelings in your body with practiced words, “it was just pretend,”

You nod.

“Just pretend,” He murmurs, lips tender against your forehead, “none of that was real, nothing I said. I love you, and I will always keep you safe, sweetheart,”

Your fingers relax, and you realize how firmly you were gripping his arms.

“There you go,” He murmurs, “I’ve got you,”

“Yunho?” You manage, your body feeling heavy once again as you start to center.

He shifts, cupping your cheek as he leans back to get a good look at you, “Right here,”

“H-hey,” You give him a lazy smile.

He nods, brushing your cheek with his thumb, “Tell me where you are?”

“Basement at the party,” You answer.

“Good,” He nods, “now tell me who you’re with?”

“You, Yunho,” You reply, practiced now at the routine he uses to help ground you out of the scene and bring you back into reality.

“Good,” He continues, “tell me three things you can see,”

You glance around the room, “Old playstation, bicycle,” you look back to him, “your necklace,”

He smiles as you touch the silver chain around his neck, “Good,”

You stretch your stiff limbs in his arms and try to snuggle back into his hold but he’s not done yet, especially after a scene that new and that intense.

“Any pain?” His hands slide over your body.

“No,” You assure him, “a little sore, but I feel good,”

He nods, but keeps looking you over anyway. When he turns your hands in his and finds your scratched palms a little line forms between his brows, “What’s this?”

You look down at the red skin, a few shallow cuts here and there, “I fell,”

“Fell?” His brow goes high with alarm, “when?”

“When I was running, I took the stairs too fast,” You tell him honestly, “but it doesn’t hurt, I promise,”

His fingers trace over the broken skin and he nods, “You promised you’d call the scene if you got hurt,”

For how rough this man can be with you, for how many times he’s bruised you and made you bleed, he never fails to surprise you at just how tender and soft he is outside of the bedroom.

“Baby,” You close your fingers over his, “you promised you’d trust me to know my own limits, I’m not hurt, I got a little scrape,”

His lips close as he considers your words and then he nods, leaning in to kiss each of your palms warmly, “I want to disinfect these at home,”

“Okay,” You murmur.

“Anywhere else?”

“Mm-mm,” You shake your head.

“But sore?” He confirms.

“A bit,”

His fingers find your jaw, massaging the muscle there, “When we get home, we’ll run a warm bath. I’ll take care of all your aches, I know I was rough with you,”

You sigh pleasantly, relaxing into the warmth of his hand and he nods, dipping his face towards yours and capturing your mouth in a soft kiss.

“You did so perfect for me, sweetheart,” he says softly, voice threaded with emotion, “I’m so… is it too lame to say honored? I… you were so amazing, and you trusted me like that and I,”

“Yunho,” You smooth back his hair and pull him closer, “I’m alright,”

His eyes flick over your face, “Yeah?”

“Yes,” You give him the clarity he needs to know he didn’t hurt you, “you made me feel very safe, even though I was kind of terrified,”

He stays quiet, like he’s gauging the honesty of your words.

“Even when I was scared,” You lean in, kissing him quickly, “I knew you wouldn’t take it too far, and you checked in with me. I’m okay, I liked it, I love you,”

“You didn’t push yourself too hard for me?” He always worries about that, the double edged sword of a submissive who’s desperate to please.

“No,” You smooth your hand over his cheek, “I liked it alot,”

He nods and snuggles you closer, his fingertips coasting up and down your back softly. He’s quiet for a few minutes, just letting you both come down as easy as you can with thrumming house music upstairs.

“You liked it?” He finally confirms, carding his fingers through your hair.

You nod, “A lot,”

“What I said,” He kisses the top of your head, “during, about you liking it, that was fantasy too, you know that right?”

You’re quiet, taking in his words.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” He continues softly, “there’s nothing wrong with you for wanting it, all of that was pretend, okay?”

“I know,” You kiss his chest, nodding against his shoulder.

“I love you,” He squeezes you, “you know that too, right?”

You smile, wiggling up in his arms to see his face, “I do,” you kiss him softly, “I love you too,”

He nods and sighs, “I lost my head a little at the end there,” he admits, “I didn’t communicate well when you needed it, I’m sorry about that.”

Your brows knit together in confusion.

“I should have given you permission sooner,” He explains, brushing your cheek with his thumb, “I forgot myself in the scene, I didn’t mean to push you so hard.”

“Oh,” You smile, “Yunho, I’m alright,”

“I know you are,” He dips in for a kiss, “but I’m still sorry,”

“Thank you,” You murmur, pressing your lips back to his, staying warm and still and soft in this moment together, “I know you’ll always take care of me,”

He nods, his broad hand brushing down your hair.

“How was the party?” You nudge him a little.

He smiles, “Fine,” he shrugs, “I was too focused on looking for you, I think everyone thinks something’s up with me.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” You laugh.

“Mm,” He nods, “and now I disappeared and we made a mess of this basement,”

“Fuck, I can’t believe you cut my underwear off, how am I supposed to get out of here,”

“I brought backups,” He grins wide, proud of himself for thinking that far ahead.

“You’re a genius,”

“There is a back door out of the basement though, right?” He looks up around the room trying to find one.

“Yeah,” You reach out, pointing around the back corner, “why?”

“It’s extremely obvious that you’ve been fucked within an inch of your life,” He presses a quick kiss on your forehead and stretches next to you, so casual about the way he just rearranged your insides, “and I’m not so sure you’re going to walk straight,”

You laugh sharply and shake your head, “Take me home,”

“Scary movies on the couch?” He squeezes your thigh as he rolls away, searching for his clothes.

You shiver, “Maybe, that might be too close to home,”

Nudging your knee he smiles, “Don’t worry, baby, it’s just a movie.”

#ateez smut #ateez #yunho smut #yunho #jeong yunho #yunho x reader #yunho fic #yunho ff #ateez fic #honeyhotteoks fics #honeyhotteoks #HAPPY KINKTOBER

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hcneymooners · 1 month ago

Text

⋆ and i came looking for you.

synopsis: knight!f!characters x fem!reader. men & minors dni.

characters: ambessa, sevika, vi, abby anderson, ellie williams, grayson.

cw: apocalypse au!, princess!reader, older woman/younger woman, age difference, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, reunion sex, semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, obsession, pining, forbidden love, protective!reader, protective!knight!characters, vague fantasy nonsense, devotion. this is a drabble.

notes: trying something new. let me know what you think. also i full on was inspired by @s-4pphics + her incredible arranged marriage ellie piece. my head was spinning for hours after reading it. i lowkey am dreaming of it.

the world descends into apocalypse on a sunday morning. you were with her when it happened, laughing with your head tipped back, your eyes crinkling into a scatter of lines. she doesn’t remember what you were saying—if it was a joke, a story, or some terrible card game she kept letting you win.

all she remembers is the wall exploding, a bright flash of white, then red. blood seeping through cracks like light. your scream as the floor fell, the sound of her ribs snapping like children’s bones as she flung herself toward you—only to miss your hand by inches. the castle crumbled, and you were torn away.

a bioweapon, someone at a makeshift shelter tells her later. all she knows is this: she must get back to you.

the world is a wasteland now, and her princess is without her protection. it’s not that you can’t protect yourself—it’s that she is nothing without protecting you.

the shelter is crowded with weeping and the shaky scaffolding of survival. most stare out of the tents with a distant gaze that she understands all too well. she spends her nights clawing through maps and fragments of rumors, breasts heaving against the thin cotton of her nightshirt as she attempts to plot a way back to you. if you are still—no.

you must be.

they will not let her leave. they speak of safety, of waiting. but she dreams of you. you, in your sheer shift, soft breasts rising and falling with your breath. you, your pouted mouth trembling as you cry, your heavy hips. you, shaking in the throes of nightmares she longs to dispel. and now! look! there she is in this lavish dream.

she dreams of holding your hand, of your body yielding to her touch. of your lips, wet and pliant against hers in a kiss she swore never to speak of again, though now she wishes she had. there you are—the two of you together pressed tightly as you writhe and twist against her fingers her mouth her—

she wakes screaming, the sound feral and raw. she cannot find you. she doesn’t know if you are safe. she begs the gods for mercy, for time, for you to understand why she is late.

they will not let her leave, so she practices for the leaving. she holds water in her mouth until her throat spasms and she spits it up, thick with bile. she practices not breathing. she is preparing her body to endure, for you.

one night, she slips into the lake. the water is black, the moon fractured across its surface. she swims across borders, feet blistered and bloody as she crosses moors and barren landscapes. the world is broken, but her princess is wandering somewhere within it. she hears the wail of a dragon, sees the light of the world’s final stars. your name becomes her mantra, whispered like a prayer. like a long, dizzying spell.

the nights are long and sharp-edged, predators stalking her shadow. her sword is strapped against her, the weight echoing the feel of your body on her back though it is devoid of your warmth. devoid of the undoing vibration of your laugh.

the woods now. by day, she climbs hills and twists through ancient roots. she remembers your veins, fine as threads beneath your skin, when you were upset with her. sometimes they would just out like birds, overextended. your mouth sharp, your words sharper, but she would press you to her lap and hold you until you softened. she would kiss you until you melted into her arms, your anger spilling away like water over stone.

when she lay with you, it was much like breaking into the earth’s molten core. you were so warm, so forgiving. she remembers your cries, high and breathless, as she brought you to your peak with her hands, her mouth, with toys she had never known before you.

her head swims now, fevered and blurred. she cannot stop. she feels you, a buzzing in her chest. your life runs through her, like a tunnel of bees. they are buzzing, they are a beating against her brain.

you are close; she knows this. she does not know what is real now, what is simply her hallucinations attempting to keep her comfort. she woke with her lips pressed to the gnarled bark of a tree, believing it to be your skin. she wept in her solitude.

but there—a cave. she digs and claws at its walls, sobbing when nothing yields. she considers the blade at her side, the gods above, but the buzzing grows louder. you are here. you must be. please let her in please let her please let her in please let her in.

she carves through stone with her grief, and the wall finally gives way. a boulder shifts, light spills through, and she stumbles into your sanctuary.

she drags her body through. closes the mechanism because she is respectful of you always. she sees runes glowing upon it, and understands that it is both the gods that have admitted her and prevented her from finding you. she is angry. she lets it go.

the cave is alive. a meadow unfurls before her, wild and endless beneath a fractured sky. lightning laces the clouds, but you have never feared storms. not fire, not water, not the end of the world. you refuse to bend. she hears the splash of water, and she is running again, faster than she thought possible.

she jolts forward, a broken toy with a rusted weapon and almost tumbles down the grass. she is running. she is running. her heart plods along like a horse, her breath comes quickly and harshly.

she runs until she is at the face of your cottage. it is beautiful, it is of stone. it is glowing with a thousand stars or maybe this is her hallucinations again (it is not.) she is hungry, but she must consume you before food sullies her body.

she stumbles to the back of the house and finds wild dogs cavorting, sees an empty chair. she keeps running, faster now. she knows you are there.

the lake is green and blue and true, and there you are, standing at its center. your hair is braided—she smiles despite herself, remembering how much you hated the task. your body glistens with water, bare and radiant. your nipples hard and pointed from the cold. she calls your name. your neck almost snaps as you look for her, hands trembling and half-raised.

silence. you see her and she sees you and you, in your softness, begin to cry. you are floundering, attempting to come to her but she is still running. toward you now. toward you.

she is running, shedding her sword, her shirt, her past. she dives into the water, her body cutting through it like a blade. the sword sinks into the shallow beginnings of the lake and clatters against the rocks. she too, is now bare, body older and scarred, and the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. she dives, disappears which distresses you, and then comes up for air as she arcs through the water like a serpent of a myth.

her hair is wet and slick against her forehead. you laugh, a wet warbling thing, and clap your hands over your mouth neck body. you need to touch her.

you collide beneath the surface, chest to spine, limbs tangled. the two of you are all twisted. when you break through, gasping, your hands find her face. her arms wrap around your thighs, lifting you from the water as her mouth claims yours. you taste salt and earth and honey, the residue of her journey.

you kiss her and kiss her and she is kissing you. she is holding you. she pulls way only to capture your mouth again, her tongue almost brutish as it bullies its way inside you. her hands dip beneath the water to cup your cunt. you are so wet and you cannot tell if it is all because of the water but you know all of it is because of her.

princess, she murmurs against your lips, her voice trembling with reverence.

her fingers slip inside, fucking you viciously. she is desperate to relearn, to feel you fall apart. your mouth is open, but there is no noise. you can hear birds shrieking, singing. maybe there is noise; maybe you are what you are hearing.

princess, she rumbles against you. princess. she keeps her rhythm, bounces you until your cunt is spasming and you melt against her—into her. you are crying and you feel good and beautiful and good. her name spills from your mouth as she milks you—relentlessly.

and you want to touch her too so you pull her from the water and push her onto shore. you spread her legs, thick and large, and lap at her cunt. she is pink inside, like turkish delight, but doubly sweeter.

her musk lures you in, and you suck, holding her to your mouth even though she snaps and shudders and cries. eventually, the pleasure becomes pain, so you release her, her juices slinking along your chin and collar bones.

you look wild; you look like a diety unknown. she is here with you, she has done it. she has held to her vow of protection—of following you for eternity. the foliage around her seems to surge and she cries anew, her grief and satisfaction coalescing into one bright burning star. you lay against her, feel your hearts exchange places. they crawl inside one another’s bodies, wet and red.

princess, she croaks wetly.

you raise yourself, hover above her. your hair is loose; it hangs over her face. it blocks the sky; you are now her sun. as always. as was meant to be.

princess, she repeats. princess.

your mouth opens, your teeth gleam. you are smiling. this is real life. you are smiling. you are speaking. from your plush lips come the divine words,

my knight.

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w4ndal0ver · 2 months ago

Text

Members Only (Agatha x Reader) [Part 1]

[minors don't interact, 18+]

pairing: milf!tennis!agatha x student!lifeguard!reader

summary: When Agatha notices you've been watching her play tennis every day from your lifeguarding chair, she offers you tennis lessons, an offer which you can't refuse.

content warnings: nothing yet, just build up

word count: 4000

I also know nothing about tennis, I had no idea where this idea came from (I do, its the thought of Milf Agatha in a tennis skirt)

Members Only (Agatha x Reader) [Part 1]

The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting golden hues over the country club pool, the warm rays slipping through the trees and shimmering against the water as the few swimmers created ripples as they completed lengths of the pool. From your perch high on the lifeguard chair, you had a view of the entire pool, including the sunbathers basking in the glow. This job was always slightly more interesting when there were children to actually look out for, but at this time of morning no one brought them along. You’d only been a lifeguard at The Westview Country Club for two weeks, wanting to be able to save up some money while you were back from college for the summer. While it could be pretty boring, there were definitely some perks to the job.

From your chair you could just about see the tennis courts in the distance, something that you’d realised was way more interesting than watching the same few people swim up and down the length of the pool. The sounds of the ball ricocheting off rackets and the sharp, breathless calls of the players drifted across the air. You squinted into the sunlight and as you expected, Agatha was there in the same tiny tennis skirt that she always wore, the outfit that drove you up the wall. She was alone today, playing against another club member - a man who, despite his best efforts, couldn’t seem to keep up. You felt a familiar stir of admiration as you watched Agatha’s powerful, fluid movements, her every strike and pivot executed with a grace that made your thighs subconsciously squeeze together.

Her white tennis skirt fluttered with each swing, her toned legs flexing in rhythm with the force of her game. Her sweat-dappled skin caught the sunlight in a way that made her glow, every movement commanding attention. You couldn’t help but notice how well she fit into this world, this world of country clubs, exclusive memberships, and pristine courts. She belonged here, she usually sauntered confidently throughout the grounds, and you couldn’t help but keep your eyes trained on her.

You’d always admired Agatha. She’d been your Mother’s best friend for as long as you could remember - always around during family gatherings, always kind but so incredibly elegant, with that same playful smirk that she wore now, even on the tennis court. But over the years, something had shifted. The innocent crush you’d once harbored as a teenager had slowly morphed into something far more consuming, something that you couldn’t ignore.

And now, with every day you spent lifeguarding at the pool, watching her from afar, that longing had blossomed into a full-fledged fantasy. You’d caught yourself more than once, eyes lingering on her as she walked past the lifeguard station in her tennis gear, or when she’d casually from by the poolside, always making the time to check up on you, and every time she did your cheeks flushed scarlet to the point that you think Agatha must be playing on your reactions now.

As Agatha’s match came to an end, the string of tense, rapid exchanges turning into a graceful final point, you shifted in your chair, your gaze still locked on her. She took a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Her brunette hair, usually so perfectly styled, was now tousled from the intensity of the game. But there was something about the way she looked, disheveled yet composed, that only made your own heart quicken at a pace that was yet unreached. She tossed her tennis racket into her bag, and you knew she was heading your way before she even looked up.

It had been like this every day since the start of summer, you would watch her finish her early morning game and you’d sit back in your chair pretending that you’d not been watching her, brushing your own wisps of hair that had fallen from your updo back.

Agatha’s steps were slow but deliberate as she approached the poolside, her eyes flicking upward to meet yours, her hips swaying in that tiny skirt that you couldn’t help but glance at. A playful smile tugged at the corner of her lips, one you knew too well. It was the same smile she’d worn when she’d tease you as a kid.

“Busy up there?” She asked, her voice light and teasing, like she already knew the answer. She tilted her head back slightly, looking up at you as if she was taking her time to study you. Her gaze lingered on you in a way that made the corners of your lips twitch and the look she gave you made you understand that she found something amusing in the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

You swallowed hard, caught off guard by the sudden attention, and forced a smile. “Oh you know, the usual,” You said, trying to sound casual, but failing miserably, “Just keeping an eye on things.” You gestured to the calm pool, the stillness that filled the space between the two of you.

She hummed in acknowledgement, her gaze flicking over the pool for a moment before returning to you, “Mm, must be pretty dull up there all day,” She said, her words dripping with playful mockery. “Just sitting up there, I bet you get so bored,” She raised an eyebrow, the slight curve of her mouth betraying the way she was enjoying the effect she had on you.

You fidgeted with the whistle around your neck, suddenly self-conscious, wishing you could hide behind the safety of the high chair that had always been a buffer between you and everyone else. “I don’t mind,” you mumbled, your voice coming out softer than you’d intended. “It’s peaceful, I guess.”

Agatha let out a soft laugh, the sound making your pulse spike. “Peaceful, huh?” she said, her tone laced with amusement. “Seems like the kind of thing someone would say when they’re just waiting for something to happen. But then again,” she paused, eyeing you up and down, “maybe you don’t mind the stillness. You get to watch everything, don’t you?” Her voice dipped a little lower at the end, as if the words were meant only for you.

You swallowed, the heat creeping into your cheeks once more. You were certain that Agatha knew exactly what she was doing - playing this game with you, reading your reactions like an open book. The way she lingered, just close enough for you to smell the faint scent of her sweat mixed with her perfume, it was all just too much.

“Anyway,” She continued, stepping back just a little, her hands resting on her hips as she glanced at the tennis courts in the distance, “Your mum was supposed to meet me this evening for a play around, but she cancelled on me.” Agatha explained, “So what do you say? Care to take a break from watching me play all day and actually play against me instead?”

You heart skipped, you, on the court with Agatha. It felt like a fantasy, something completely out of your reach. You opened your mouth to protest the idea, knowing that being opposite her in that outfit would be way too much for you to handle, but the words get caught in your throat. “I don’t think so,” You say quickly, almost apologetically, “I’ve never played tennis before, not really.”

A smirk tugged at her lips, “Oh you’ve never played?” Her tone was almost too sweet, as if the idea of teaching you was the plan all along, “Well that’s a shame, but I suppose I could teach you if you wanted.” Her eyes flicked back to you, her mouth dragging the words out, drawing attention to each one, as if she was savoring the thought of showing you something new.

You swallowed again, your mouth dry. “I’m not sure I’d be any good at it”

“I’ll go easy on you. But you have to promise me that you’ll come play. It’ll be fun I promise.” Her eyes twinkled with something dangerous and exciting, and you couldn't help but feel like you were on the verge of something you had no control over.

You hesitated for a moment, your thoughts swirling with uncertainty and the sudden thrill of her offer. Finally, you nodded, your voice small but firm. “Fine, I’ll be there.”

Agatha’s smile deepened, and she straightened up, letting the silence hang between you for a moment longer. “Good,” she said softly. “I’ll be waiting.”

And with that, she turned and started walking toward the courts, her hips swaying effortlessly with each step, her tennis skirt fluttering in the light breeze. You watched her go, your pulse still racing, and realized you might’ve just made a promise you weren’t quite ready to keep.

The rest of the day felt like a blur. Agatha had disappeared into the club’s main building not long after her invitation, leaving you to sit in the high lifeguard chair, mind spinning. The sound of her voice, her teasing smile, the way her body moved when she turned to walk away, every detail replayed in your mind over and over. You couldn’t stop thinking about the offer she’d made, the warmth in her eyes when she’d mentioned teaching you tennis.

It was ridiculous, right? You, playing tennis with Agatha. You didn’t even know the first thing about tennis. But something about the way she had said it made it seem almost inevitable, like she knew you'd come around. Her words lingered in the air, vibrating against your skin, making it feel like everything else had faded into the background. The only thing that mattered was her, and the way she made you feel.

You tried to focus on the pool, the few swimmers in the water now lazily stretching out their laps. But the thought of Agatha, flushed from her match, walking away with that knowing smirk made it impossible to concentrate. How had she done it? How had she managed to turn your entire world upside down with a few words, a couple of steps, and that teasing look? You’d never been so unsettled in your life.

Finally, your shift ended. You had a brief moment of respite before you had to face the inevitable. The thought of changing and heading over to the tennis courts made your stomach twist with nerves. You grabbed your bag and headed to the locker room. The sounds of muffled conversations and the hum of the air conditioning made you feel oddly detached as you changed into the only clothes you had brought with you—a pair of shorts and a baggy top that barely fit over your damp swimsuit. You knew you probably looked ridiculous, but there was no turning back now.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you were nervous. Terribly nervous. Your fingers fumbled with the hem of your shirt as you glanced at yourself in the mirror. It wasn’t exactly tennis attire, and you could already picture Agatha’s teasing comment about how out of place you looked, but something deep inside you urged you to go anyway. You didn’t want to disappoint her, not after everything she’d said, not after that look she’d given you. Besides, you weren’t backing down now. You were going to play tennis with Agatha, even if you had no clue how to.

You took a deep breath, grabbed your water bottle, and made your way out the locker room door and towards the courts.

When you got to the tennis courts, there was no sign of Agatha yet. You stood awkwardly by the fence, clutching your water bottle, feeling every inch the outsider in your mismatched outfit. You could hear the faint thwack of tennis balls being hit in the distance, and when you rounded the corner, there she was, standing at the edge of the court, pulling a ball from her bag, her tennis skirt fluttering gently in the breeze.

The sight of her made your heart skip a beat. She looked even more effortlessly stunning up close, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail that framed her face perfectly, her posture confident as she adjusted the strings on her racket.

You swallowed hard, your stomach doing flips as she turned toward you, catching sight of you standing there.

“Well, well,” Agatha said, her eyes scanning you briefly, her lips curling into a smile. “You actually came.” There was a twinkle in her eyes, the same playful glint that always seemed to be there whenever she looked at you. “Not bad, considering this,” she motioned to your outfit, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “But I suppose it’ll do for now.”

You flushed but didn’t say anything, suddenly feeling very self-conscious as she walked over to you, tennis racket in hand.

“Ready to learn?” Agatha asked, her voice low and teasing, almost like a dare. You nodded, trying to keep your cool, but your mind was racing. There was something about the way she looked at you that made everything feel so much more intense.

“Let’s start with the basics.” She placed her hand lightly on your shoulder to guide you to the other side of the court, her fingers lingering just a moment too long. The touch sent a jolt through you that made your skin tingle. You barely managed to steady yourself as she positioned you correctly, stepping close enough that her breath brushed your ear.

Her hands hovered over your arms, adjusting your grip on the racket, her fingers brushing the skin of your wrist just a little longer than necessary. You couldn’t help but notice how warm her touch was, how the slight pressure of her hands on your body sent waves of heat through your chest. Her fingers slid down your arm, adjusting your posture just a little more. It felt almost like an intimate dance, the closeness making everything else fade into the background.

“You’ll need to get the ball over the net first,” Agatha said, her voice smooth and steady, but with that same teasing edge. “You don’t want to hit it into the net, or you’ll look like a real amateur.”

Her eyes locked with yours as she handed you the tennis ball. You could feel the weight of her gaze, the subtle pressure it created in the air between you. “Ready?” she asked softly, her lips curling at the edges.

You nodded, your throat dry. You tossed the ball in the air, trying to focus on her instructions, but when you swung your racket, it went completely off-target. You missed by a mile.

Agatha let out a soft laugh, and you felt your face flush. “Not quite,” she said, stepping closer, her body warm and solid beside yours as she moved behind you. “You need to angle your racket like this" Her breath was warm against your neck as her hands came to rest on your waist, guiding you into position. Her fingers lingered just a moment longer than necessary on your skin, and you stiffened, your heart pounding.

Her body was so close now, and the pressure of her hands on you made everything feel different. Intimate. You could feel her chest lightly brushing against your back, the heat of her body so palpable you felt like you were drowning in it.

“That’s better,” Agatha said, her voice low, her breath sending a shiver down your spine. “But now, you need to follow through with your arms.” She stepped even closer, if that was even possible, her body practically flush against yours. You could feel every inch of her as she moved, the soft fabric of her skirt brushing against your legs. Her hands moved from your waist to your hips, positioning you perfectly. “Let me show you,” she whispered, her voice like a velvet caress.

She placed her hands on the sides of your hips, guiding you as she demonstrated the motion, her body pressing into yours as she bent over your shoulder, her fingers brushing against your skin, lingering for just a second too long before she pulled back. You could feel the heat radiating from her, her closeness sending an electric current through you.

You couldn’t concentrate on the tennis lesson at all anymore. Every touch, every movement she made, was burning itself into your memory, making it impossible to focus on anything else but her. The way her hands lingered on you, the soft teasing in her voice—it was too much. You tried to clear your mind, but it felt like the air itself was thick with unspoken tension, with everything left unsaid between the two of you.

"Ready to try again sweetheart?" Agatha asked, pulling back just enough to give you space but still staying close enough that her presence was overwhelming. Her gaze never left yours as she handed you the ball again, her smile slow and suggestive.

“Alright,” you murmured, trying to push past the haze of nerves and desire swirling in your chest. “I’m ready.”

Agatha’s smile softened, that same teasing glint still in her eyes, but there was something else there now, something more intense. She took a step back, just enough to give you some space to swing the racket, but not far enough to lose that magnetic pull between you. “Good,” she said, her voice smooth, but with an edge that sent a thrill down your spine. “Now, show me what you’ve got honey.”

You tossed the ball into the air, trying to focus on the instructions she’d given you, but the whole world seemed to narrow down to just her, the scent of her perfume mixing with the fresh air, the soft rustle of her skirt as she moved. You swung the racket again, this time making contact, but the ball barely skimmed the top of the net and fell to the ground with a soft thud.

Agatha’s soft laugh rang out, and your face flushed. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, even though you knew she was just being playful. She took a few steps toward you, her heels clicking against the court, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“You’ve got a nice swing,” she said, her voice low and teasing. “But you’re not quite putting enough into it. Here let me help.”

Before you could protest, she was behind you again, her presence overwhelming as her hands moved to adjust your stance. She placed her hands on your hips, guiding you into position, her fingers grazing against your skin, sending a shockwave through your body. The closeness, the heat of her touch, made it nearly impossible to think straight. You could feel the rapid beat of your heart, the warmth spreading from her hands to the rest of you, the way your body seemed to react to her presence without your permission.

Her body brushed against yours as she leaned in, just enough for you to feel the soft pressure of her chest against your back. “Relax,” she murmured, her voice soft but commanding, as her fingers lightly traced the curve of your waist. “Just let go. It’s all about feeling the motion, not forcing it.”

Her breath was warm against your ear, and the scent of her—a mix of fresh linen and something floral—invaded your senses, making your pulse spike. You were hyper-aware of every part of her, her hands lingering on your skin for just a moment longer than necessary, like she was savoring the contact. You could feel the way her fingertips barely brushed the waistband of your shorts, a touch so light, but it was enough to make your body hum with awareness.

She shifted slightly, guiding your body into the right position, her fingers dancing across your skin like she was memorizing every inch of you. Her grip tightened just a little on your waist, and you felt a sharp jolt shoot through you. “There,” she whispered, her voice like silk, sending shivers down your spine. “That’s it. Now, try again.”

Your body was on autopilot as you tossed the ball into the air once more, trying to focus on her instructions, but all you could think about was her hands on you, the way they moved with such precision and care, the way her body was pressed so close to yours. The world seemed to fade away, and all you could hear was her soft, encouraging voice and the rhythmic sound of your own breath, fast and shallow.

You swung again, and this time, the ball soared over the net, landing neatly on the other side. You couldn’t help but let out a relieved breath, a small smile tugging at your lips as you looked back at her. “I did it.”

Agatha’s smile was slow and knowing, her eyes flashing with something unreadable. “See? I told you I’d teach you,” she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re a quick learner.”

Before you could respond, she was moving again, closing the space between you with that same fluid grace that made your heart race. “You know,” she said casually, her voice light, but there was an undercurrent of something more in it, something deeper, “it’s not just about hitting the ball. Tennis is about control, about using your body, your movements, to keep things in balance.”

Her hands rested gently on your shoulders, her fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your collarbone, the sensation of her touch making your breath catch. She was so close now, her body practically flush against yours. You could feel the heat from her, the steady rhythm of her breathing as she moved behind you once more. She wasn’t just guiding you anymore. She was positioning you, shifting your hips, your shoulders, all while her hands moved with such delicate precision that it was almost impossible to focus on anything but her.

The tension between you both was undeniable now. The air was thick, heavy with the weight of her presence, her touch, and her soft, teasing words. “Don’t tense up honey,” Agatha murmured as she positioned you to swing once more. “Let the movement come naturally.”

Her hands glided down your arms, her fingers lingering on your skin, tracing the muscles in your forearm with careful attention. Her touch was slow, deliberate, each contact sending a shockwave through your body. She wasn’t just teaching you tennis anymore. She was holding you, guiding you in ways that felt far more intimate than any lesson could.

You swung again, the ball landing in bounds, and Agatha smiled, her lips curling at the edges. “You’re doing so much better sweetheart,” she said, her voice smooth, but there was something more in it now, something that made your pulse quicken.

Agatha stepped back for a moment, her eyes never leaving you as she ran a hand through her hair, fixing her ponytail. “I think you’re ready,” She said, a playful glint in her eyes, “How about I book you in for some more lessons hon?”

“I’d like that,” You say, your voice quieter than usual.

Agatha’s smile widened, and she stepped closer again, her body coming into your personal space with the same casual grace that made your breath hitch. “I knew you would.” Her fingers brushed over your arm once more as she retrieved her racket from the ground, and for a moment, her touch lingered. “You’re a quick learner, I like that. But we’ll need to work on your form a bit more.”

Her hands slid over your shoulder, a warm, firm pressure that left a lingering warmth in its wake. “But don’t worry,” she continued, her voice low and almost seductive, “I’ll be here to guide you every step of the way.” Agatha moved back slightly, just enough to give you space to breathe. “I’ll make sure to go easy on you for your first real lesson. Just remember, I’m a patient teacher. But I don’t take too kindly to bad form, darling.” She grinned as she swiped her racket from the ground, the smooth movement making her look effortless, almost untouchable.

You nodded, still dazed, your heart hammering in your chest. You couldn’t decide whether to collapse from the tension or leap into the next lesson with her. It wasn’t just tennis anymore. It was something else entirely, something far more thrilling and dangerous than you’d ever expected.

“You can’t get better if you don’t keep trying,” she added with a wink, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of challenge and something far deeper.

Your gaze dropped to her lips, her teasing grin still there, and you felt the pull again. This wasn’t just about tennis, and you both knew it.

Agatha was playing a game, and you were already too far in to back out now. You nodded again, feeling a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. “I’ll be ready,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“Good,” she replied with a soft, satisfied hum. “Right I could use a drink after that, the bar’s open for another hour, you coming?”

You nodded quickly, the words coming easily. “Yeah, sure.”

You couldn't help but smile. Yeah, you thought to yourself with a little internal smirk. I’m sure I’ll be coming real soon.

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bananami · 1 year ago

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STFUATTDLAGG

character/s: choso kamo x afab!reader

SYNOPSIS: meangirl!reader x loser!choso is a pairing that lives in my head rent free so when you all voted for choso to be the next hot man i wrote for i knew this was what would come out of it so let’s get into it whores

WARNINGS: this is college based bc u know why. 18+, nsfw, mdni, the whole shebang, kiddos avert ur eyes IT'S ALL SMUT / also just be aware i did use fem language for reader. as always, i did not proof read xxx

A/N: delusion is like drugs for simps, and i am the crackhead

Choso isn't like a nerdy loser, more like he’s just an emo boy, he’s got that alternative look going on and in a school full of preppy rich kids he stands out like a sore thumb. Of course this leads to some not so nice kids being not so nice to him, to which like he literally could not care less. He pays no mind to what anyone thinks of him beyond of course what his brothers think of him.

And as much as people aren’t nice to him, they do not fuck with him directly, lowkey scared of his reactions. Especially following a specfic incident in which someone tried to pick a fight with him. At first he was going to just let it slide but then they said something rude about Yuuji and this man laid them out. People were sent to urgent care and everything. Choso was put on suspension and almost kicked out, but their family friend is a lawyer and threatened to sue the school and anyways (if you know who you know who) so he was allowed back at school and everyone’s a little weary of him. This doesn’t stop the mean comments from coming.

And you. You’re no exception. You made fun of him every chance you got. The way he always did his hair in that weird double bun updo, or how he had his nails painted black, his various piercings and tattoos, the way he dressed so much different, was so much different, than any of the other guys you knew at school.

And you were so disgustingly attracted to him. While everyone would sneer and make fun of him and you played along, in reality you were internally berating yourself.

Choso did his best to ignore you but to be honest in the end you were just too fun to mess with. He thought it was cute how you thought you could hurt his feelings, how you really tried, and didn’t realize that he had a thing for brats and that’s just what you were. Everyone else was too afraid to say it straight to his face ever since the fight except for you.

One time he caught you staring at him and he couldn’t help himself, leaning over with a careless smirk. "If you spent less time staring at me and more time paying attention to the lecture maybe you wouldn’t be failing the class."

"Fuck you, Choso.”

"You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You hoped he’d mistake your embarrassment for anger. He didn’t. You snapped back, as usual. "Maybe if you didn’t dress like such a freak, you’d actually have some friends.”

"Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch your boyfriends would actually stick around for longer than a few months."

The one stung, and you tried not to let it show. Thrown off your game, all you could bring yourself to reply back was: “don’t call me a bitch.”

He shrugged, as though he were bored with the conversation already. "I never said it was a bad thing, just that you keep dating dudes who can’t handle you."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He doesn't answer though, and you spend way too much time thinking about what he could've meant. Was he implying that he could handle you? Was that why he constantly found ways to poke at you? Did he like when you were a brat? Did it matter if he liked it? It led your fantasies down a deep and dark rabbit hole that you spent weeks harping on.

Things get even worse after you realize that Choso might’ve been right about your grades slipping and staring at him in class and whatnot. And (for plot reasons of course) that would mean your professor paired you up with him for the final project so that you’d stand a better chance at passing the class.

Which is how you find yourself standing outside of his apartment door, debating how much you need to actually pass the course for your degree. You kept coming to the same conclusion. You definitely needed to.

"You just gonna stand at my door like a creep or can you move so i can let you inside?” He stood at the top of the staircase up to his apartment, watching you with another bored expression.

You're reaction is second nature. "I’m the creep? How long were you just standing there watching me? Maybe I’d already knocked and you didn’t answer so I was waiting. Let’s get on with it, I don’t need anyone seeing me hanging around-”

"Alright relax, princess. No one’s around to hear you act like you hate me. Come inside and I’ll grab us something to drink.” He opened the door to let you both inside, holding it open for you to enter first.

"First off, I do hate you. And second, how do I know you’re not going to poison me?”

"Don’t worry, I wouldn’t poison you. The plan was going more in the direction of choking.”

"Choked to death? Good to know.”

"You implied killing. All i said was choking.”

"Oh, gross.” You groaned. You pushed away the images that were brought to your mind. Choso's hand around your throat, fingers in your mouth, his breathy whispers telling you what else he'd have you choking on by the end of the night.

It's not too bad for the first few hours. You start out working on the project in the living room, but Choso’s neighbors are loud as all hell and you eventually ask if you guys can move into a room away from that shared wall. And (of course for plot purposes) that would be his bedroom.

"Your bedroom is exactly as I pictured it would be."

"This is the part where I make fun of you for picturing what my bedroom looks like."

"Yeah weird and creepy, just like you.”

"Your insults are getting less and less creative.”

"Yeah well….shut up.”

He’s surprised at that, usually you’d come back at him with something witty and clever and he actually enjoyed it.

It’s quiet and he’s sitting at his desk while you lay casually on his bed when he decides now’s as good a time as ever, and he might never actually get you alone again to say it.

"You ever gonna admit that you find me attractive or keep lying to the both of us?"

You wince. "I don't find you attractive. Stop flattering yourself."

"You flatter me enough with all the staring and drooling you do over me in class."

"You're obsessive," you snap at him.

"At least i can admit it."

You're caught off guard, stuck between wanting to ask what he means and not wanting to give in to the obvious baiting he's doing. When he throws the study material down on to his desk and plops down in front of you on his bed, it seems like he's resigned to not giving you that choice.

"Tell you what, I'll tell you all of the dirty and depraved things I think about on a daily basis, and you can decide after whether you'd like to share those same thoughts of yours with me or not."

"Why would I want to hear any of the thoughts in your head?"

"Because a lot of them revolve directly around you." He's leaned so close you're almost touching one another. Your silence is enough to spur him on. "I think you've never been fucked properly before."

You can't contain the look that falls on your face. "Seriously? This what you think about? My sex life is none of your business, but I'm doing just fine in that department, thank you very much."

He ignores you. "I don't think you've ever been told to shut the fuck up and take it like the good girl I know you can be." That shut you up real quick. Choso is on his knees in front of you, hands cupping around your neck, his thumbs running across your cheeks. "You're whiney little fucking attitude not do it for your boyfriends?" He teased. "They not know how to deal with you when you're being a brat, huh?"

You're head moves without conscious effort, nodding to agree with him.

"You just want some attention, don't you?"

Another nod.

"You want my attention, don't you?"

Hesitation. But you can't help yourself, his presence looming heavy over you, pushing you to admit what you'd kept in the dark for so long.

One of his hands slithers from your throat, down your chest, under the sweats you threw on in a rush to get to his apartment. You're so distracted by his fingers that you don't notice his face moving closer until his mouth is prying yours open. That's all it takes from him to have you stroking your fingers through his hair, pulling it out of the buns they typically are held in.

"Such a little brat." He's hovering over you, pushing your hips into the soft cushion of his bed with his. "Feel how hard it makes me?" He teases as he grinds his hips down, his clothed cock sliding against your center. Your eyes flutter and he grips onto your face with one hand, squeezing firmly. "You're gonna fuck me tonight. Nod if you understand."

You can't believe how quick your head moves up and down. "You're gonna take off those pretty little panties you wore hoping I'd get to see and slide up and down my dick until I tell you to stop. I don't want you cumming until I feel you've begged enough."

It takes no time at all for him to flip the two of you and prop himself up on his forearms. His pants are shimmied off and thrown to his bedroom floor alongside yours.

Your hands are desperate to line him up, anticipation building to have him deep inside of you, but his shoot out to pull them up and place them against his chest. "No, no, no. You don't get me inside you yet, not until you prove to me you deserve it." He urges you along his shaft, flat against his stomach. "That's right, be a good little slut for me and let me feel that pussy slide against my dick."

You watch him from above, his face contorting from concentration to pleasure to near desperation. You've never felt as powerful as you did riding him. Not a single one of your boyfriends ever turning you on as much as Choso was right now. He made you work for it, praising you when you did what he asked, and you chased that praise.

"Shit, look at that baby," he grabbed your hair and yanked your face down to watch yourself slide against him. "Need to feel you squeeze that pussy around me. Fuck, slide me in, slide me in-" his loud groans matched your high pitched sound of relief at having him seated inside you. "Fuck this."

He flipped the two of you back over, gripping each of your legs and forcing them up. "Hold right under your knees for me. Good girl, keep yourself open for me, let me just use you." He fell to his forearms as he plowed into you, giving you no time to get used to any sort of pace.

You tried your best to hold your legs, but you wanted so badly to touch him. One of your hands wandered back up into his lose hair.

He could barely keep his eyes open, mumbling all kinds of truths you were sure he would've kept locked inside had he not been so drunk on the feel of being inside you. "So fucking pretty," he kissed you sloppily, "such a stupid fucking brat, just needed my cock inside you. Feel like heaven, baby. Gonna let me cum inside your little cunt, right? Made me wait so fucking long to have you, I deserve it. Don't I deserve it?"

You can barely form any coherent words, setting for nodding and breathy uh huhs.

"So fucking mean to me, and look how good I'm being to you, huh?" You feel the light slap of his head against your cheek. "Say your sorry, beg me to cum inside your pussy."

You do beg, your apology comes out in between the stuttering and slurring of your words, but you beg and plead with him until he concedes. It his own orgasm that pushes you over, his groans and relentlessness that follow, pushing himself passed the point of no return. You can see the beginning of what looks like tears in his eyes, and he has to force himself to stop, his hips jerking from the overstimulation.

He kisses you ruthlessly, letting his tongue claim your mouth in a manner more harsh than it is anything else. And when he pulls away and his eyes settle back on yours they're equally as harsh.

"No more shitty little boyfriends that can't handle you. I'll handle you. You want my cock, you ask nicely. Understand?"

"Yes," you let your lips peck his, surprising him, "what if I don't wanna be nice about it?"

He smirks, "try it and find out. Now get on your knees and suck my cock like the good girl I know you can be."

#choso x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #choso smut #jjk choso #choso x you #choso x female reader #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo #jujutsu kaisen choso

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bloddysnow · 7 months ago

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What if you were a popular anime/ game character he’s obsessed with?

Pairings: Sub! Yandere! x Dom! A/G character reader

nsfw minors dni

He would’nt have missed any opportunity to get any item related to you, and was ready to spend significant amounts of money to supplement his collection. Figures, posters, clothes, mugs and other items with your image. His room or workplace is decorated with this things. He would definitely have a whole collection of books or manga dedicated to you. He buys official soundtracks if they included tracks related to you or important moments with your participation.

He refused to be in relationship with girls. He would have difficulties in communication or negative experiences in real relationships, which would encourage him to avoid them. He feels a deep emotional connection with you, which would seem more meaningful and safe to him than real people. He could spend most of his time watching anime or playing the game where you exist, which made this world more meaningful to him than everyday life.

He would feel a strong rejection of any hint of your romantic relationship with another character. He actively expressed his dissatisfaction in comments, forums and social networks, leaving negative reviews and criticizing such stories or fan art. Often his negative comments were based on a sense of personal jealousy. He could perceive shipping as a threat and felt rejected. In response, he could have created alternative content where you are left alone or associated exclusively with him.

He reads fanfics where you are always dom and he is sub. You are his master, and he is your devoted slave or pet, humbly waiting for your orders and striving to please. You are his god, and he is your worshipper, ready to fulfil any of your wishes. His fantasies come to life when he imagines himself on his knees in front of you. Sometimes he writes fanfics by himself about how you crawl on him to cover his face with gentle, warm kisses, starting from his forehead and gradually descending to his eyes, cheeks, and finally to his lips. He was very excited by such fantasies. In the process of reading, he masturbates, presenting scenes so realistically.

His pants have been lowered for a long time, his hand is covered around a red, leaking dick. Mouth is full with a shirt that gets wet because of saliva. He holds phone that threatens to slip out of his fingers. He whines your name and begs you to let him cum.

One, two, three sharp pushes, his whole body shuddered when you poured inside him. "You are mine," you whispered, sticking your nose into his neck on the side, sticking out your tongue to lick it comfortingly and proprietaryly. "My sweet little reader."

His phone screen is sprayed with his own sperm.

#dom reader #sub character #sub yandere #sub obsessed character #anime character reader #game chracter reader #pathetic character #yandere male #obsessive yandere #sub love and deepspace #love and deepspace

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sophiethewitch1 · 1 year ago

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What We Want - Chpt. 3 - Dreams And...

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE) - PLEASE REMEMBER TO CHECK, THIS CHAPTER IS DARKER IN TONE!

PREV - NEXT

Your hands are pruned. It’s quiet in the extravagant bathroom, other than the sound of the tap’s running water and your own shaky breathing. This was all a bit much. Your hands are more than clean now, but you absolutely do not want to go back out there.

You kind of just want to go back into one of the stalls and cry. A core girlhood experience, except you were an adult with a job and taxes. Or, you were. You think you’re some rich scion or something in this dream. Which like, cool, who wants to slave under capitalism anyways?

…You wonder if anyone would notice if you slipped out the window. You’d been gone for a while and nobody had come looking for you, since you’d totally gotten lost trying to find the bathroom. Sure, you were on the third floor, but at this point you were willing to risk it. Even if you couldn’t walk in a straight line right now, much less climb the trellises. For some reason, you could not handle your liquor today like you usually could. But once again, this was all just a very vivid dream, so it wasn’t like you could die.

To punctuate that thought, you hear someone scream.

It cuts off instantly, and then there’s quiet again. You pause, then turn off the tap, listening for any more sound. Drip, drip, drip… you press the tap down again and properly turn it off. Still no noise. Immediately, you realise you are standing directly in a horror film. You live in Gotham for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t an unlikely occurrence. You’d gotten mugged just a few days ago.

And you were alone in the bathrooms. So unbelievably drunk, and alone in the bathrooms. You were actually so dead, it was crazy. A dream, a dream…!

Your head bows, staring into the white porcelain of the sink as you focus hard on your hearing. You don’t think you could hear the party before, but you’re not sure. It’s definitely not there now. You swallow the dry pain in your throat, trying to summon a modicum of courage. Your vision spins.

You slap your wet hands to your face and then blink through your fingers. God. Okay, okay, okay. You can do this. You survived a mugging just last week with only minimal bruising. To convince yourself of your badassery, you dig your fingers into the blemishes, hoping to wake yourself up with the pain. It’s a bad habit but you have lots of those.

…Where’s the pain? Oh god, where’s the pain? Wait, don’t panic, it’s a dream! Of course, you wouldn’t have your bruises in a dream. That made total sense. And you definitely weren’t panicking.

You splash more water on your face. Time to face the music, you drunken moron. If you were going to be in a horror movie, you’d be the final girl of all final girls.

One hand on the sink, you take your heels off. They’re going to get in the way, and the sound of them clicking against the marble will give away your location. Massaging your sore ankles, you try and come up with a game plan. You don’t know what’s going on, and it really could all just be a false alarm, but better safe than sorry and all that. It’s a gala full of some of the richest people on earth, and you’re pretty sure you saw a swat team of security guards at the entrance.

So this was probably a hostage situation or a villain attack. You’d hear more noise if it was a supervillain fighting a superhero downstairs. Then you’ll bet on a hostage situation for now. Depending on who had taken you all hostage, that could be a totally fine situation where you all just end up leaving with lighter purses, or it could be the Scarecrow’s shown up and he’s about to mentally traumatise you. Like you needed any more of that.

Of course, this was all probably still a dream. Maybe if you say it enough times you’ll actually believe it. You’ll just plan ahead in case this is real (which it definitely isn’t). Plus you’d proven you could feel pain in this dream anyway, with all the times you’d slapped yourself. You hoped the fucking Tim Drake didn’t think you were too weird. Because he definitely thought you were weird.

It’s cool. You’re cool. You could handle this. You were a Gotham native after all. Totally cool. You have to force yourself not to gag on your own fear. Totally, absolutely, terrifically cool.

A few deep, calming breaths later, and you’re cracking the door of the lavatory open just an inch. You peer through the crevice, taking another deep breath when you don’t see anyone in the hallway. You push the door open a bit wider, peek your head around it to look the other way. Still empty. Another deep breath, you feel your chest rise and fall, and then you take the first step out onto the wooden floors. You wince at the slight noise the bare sole of your foot makes and hurry over to the long Persian rug to snuffle any more sounds.

And then you’re standing in the middle of the hallway in your ballgown, head swivelling back and forth as you try and catch any minuscule sounds, shoulders bunched up to your ears.

The first thing you need to check is the exits. Since you are on the third floor, and the banquet was on the first, you can assume that they’re well-guarded, but probably far away from you. Still, this is the Wayne Enterprises Tower, and there wasn’t just the party happening tonight. It was mostly empty as you’d seen but there’d been a few people you’d wandered past. They’d all seemed like late-night office workers, and the female janitor you’d bumped into was the one who had told you where the toilet was.

Was the janitor okay? Was that her scream you’d heard? Concentrate, dumbass. On airplanes, they tell you to put your mask on first before you do it for anyone else. The idea was the same here. Save yourself before you can hope to save anyone else.

That was… that was if you even needed saving. This could all still just be your own paranoia. Someone hit their knee on a ridiculously fancy side table or something. Like that scream wasn’t of pure terror. Like it didn’t sound like someone on death’s door.

Concentrate! Okay, check the stairs first. Don’t take the elevator, because you’re not an idiot. Maybe. Hopefully. Slowly but surely you creep your way back towards the entrance to the third level, where both the elevator and the stairs were. There was a map, too. You hadn’t been able to figure it out earlier, but you had a bit more incentive this time.

You make sure to place your feet carefully, aiming for the carpets and rugs. Even if your drunken steps miss half the time, you’re still mostly quiet. Every time you have to walk across a crossing you spend a minute listening, and then peer around every corner too. You’re not sure if you should be running, or if you really should try one of the windows.

Deep breaths. Keep moving. That’s the best course of action. Don’t get caught, but don’t just hide either.

It’s when you’re almost at the third-floor foyer when you hear something. There’s a crash, the sound of something breaking. No voices, though. Still, you can’t convince your body to move for a full minute. There’s a part of you that wants to go hide in an abandoned cubicle and wait, but there’s another part of you that is very aware of the rates of fires in this city. You keep going, taking a longer route to avoid the source of the crashing.

Another noise. A scream. Laughter. Spine-chilling laughter.

Shit, motherfucker. Why the hell did you get smashed at a fucking Wayne gala? Everybody knew the rogues of this city were totally obsessively in love with Bruce Wayne. Especially your own personal worst nightmare. You don’t dare even think his name, lest you summon the bastard.

Was he in Arkham right now? He should be. Like you should be at home in the Narrows getting a good night’s rest. Like you should be wearing dorky Flash pyjamas, not a dress more expensive than your rent.

He should be. It’s not nearly enough.

You realise, suddenly, that you have to make a choice here. You can walk away, pretend you didn’t hear anything, that you can’t hear anything. A woman’s cries, you think. You could leave her, save yourself. Hideaway and let whatever fate she’s facing befall her. Could you do that? Could you even stomach the idea?

In the end, the universe makes the decision for you.

“And who do we have here? What’s a pretty little thing like you doing wandering around?”

You hear your doom in his slimy voice, even though you didn’t hear him sneak up on you. Shaking, you raise your hands into the air, and slowly turn around. You see your doom in the twisted clown mask’s grin. For a second you think it’s really him, but then you notice his dark brown hair and the tanned skin under the mask. God, god, god. It’s a Joker goon. Your literal worst nightmare, given flesh. Is he here? No, no, no- You swallow down the urge to scream, to run, and do your best to keep thinking like a person and not a prey animal.

You feel like one. You think he knows that. You hope he doesn’t.

“Hey Travis, I found another one!” the man calls out, raising his gun to point at you. He jerks it, moving forward, and you turn back around obediently. The gun presses against the back of your head, and you move forward, obediently.

“Shithead, don’t say my name out loud!” another voice replies. You get to see its owner when you come around the corner and find the foyer.

There are five other people here, all tied up. Four seem to be exhausted office worker bees, who just stayed too late on the wrong day, and the last is the janitor who helped you. The kind lady gives you terrified eyes, but she’s the only one not crying among the hostages.

“Man, you worry too much. Like there aren’t hundreds of Travis’s in the city.”

“Just shut up, my god! If we leak info and it gets traced back to us, he’s docking our pay.”

Who’s he? Who’s fucking he?! He can’t be here, right? He fucking can’t be. You can’t, you can’t. God, you're going to vomit right here and now.

“Whatever. Anyway, this is the last person on this floor.”

“Check the feed again, dickhead,” the second one commands, obviously the leader between the two.

The one who caught you groans, and then you hear the sound of fabric shuffling. Is he looking at his phone? You wish you could turn around and look. You don’t dare with the barrel against you.

Your teeth dig into the side of your mouth. So did they have the security feeds? That meant you were doomed from the start. The only other option would’ve been to actually jump out one of the windows. They would’ve probably found you anyway. Hunted you down to meet their quota.

Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. This is looking like a big deal. And everybody knew Joker never left out on his big deal jobs, he enjoyed them too much. He’s probably downstairs demanding the Batman come meet him and have tea or something. Shit.

All of a sudden these goons seem like the much better end of the deal.

“Checked, checked, double-checked, triple-checked… There’s nobody else here,” the man behind you grumbles, and the one in front of you sighs.

“Alright, alright. Bring her over, I’ll tie her up, and then we can blow this joint,” the man says, and you really, really hope he’s not being serious about blowing this place. You’d had enough of explosions, thank you very much. Especially ones organised by the Joker.

The gun digs harshly into your skull, “Well, go on.”

Swallow, swallow down your fear. Don’t let it stop you. You walk forward to the other man, arms in the air shaking. When you’re in reaching distance, the second goon roughly grabs you and shoves you to your knees. He pushes your hands in front of you, not bothering to tie them behind you. You don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

The rope cuts into your skin. It’s going to leave marks, and bruises. The man finishes tying the knot and then pulls you back to your feet. Then he shoves you towards the elevator and turns to start picking up the other hostages. You turn so your back is toward the wall, not willing to have your eyes off the monsters for even a second.

It’s when he’s pushing one of the office workers towards you, that the second man speaks again.

“Hey, the boss said we had to kill one of ‘em.”

What? What did he say?

“Oh yeah, oops.”

The gunshot goes off before you can process the words. Before you can process the gunshot, the janitor’s body is crumpling to the floor. Before you can process her fall, blood is starting to seep from the wound in her chest. Before you can process any of that, the man behind you laughs.

He laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs.

The janitor lies on the floor, blood seeping into her hair and uniform. You squeeze your eyes tight, tears slipping over the lids. You refuse to look at the wound. At the gaping hole in her chest. And despite yourself, you know why they shot her, not you. Not any of the workers either.

Because she wasn’t worth the cash.

Yesterday, that would’ve been you on the floor. You were a fake wearing a fancy dress, who didn’t belong here at all. Still, they didn’t know that. You didn’t think anybody knew that. Not anyone but you, who had woken up in a world a little to the left.

“I’ll be down in a minute, Trav. I wanna play with this one for a bit,” the shooter says, and all of a sudden you’re thrown back into your body, into your frail mortality. You’re cold, your spine gives a shiver, and your horrified eyes find the wretched clown mask.

Like you said, your doom. You wish you weren’t right all the time.

“No way. She’s one of the high-profilers, we need her,” his leader replies, and you’re desperate to stick by his side. You didn’t think a Joker goon would be your saviour, but here you were.

“I’ll give you five K of my split,” he offers, not willing to let go of it. Of you.

The other one pauses, glances at you assessingly. There’s a glint of something in his eyes, something that tells you you’re not making it out of here unscathed. It’s something you recognise, something you even recognise inside yourself.

It’s greed. And it’s going to kill you. You always knew it would, you just didn’t think it’d be like this.

“Make it seven,” he finally announces, the deal for your soul made without any fuss or fanfare.

“You’re such a hardass. Fine, fine, seven it is.”

“Alright, and only thirty minutes, tops. Not a hair on her head, you understand me?” he says over his shoulder, waggling a finger at his coworker.

The group leaves through the elevator. It dings, and you watch in mute, stunned horror as the other hostages refuse to meet your gaze. As they abandon you to save their own asses. You couldn’t really blame them, as much as you wanted to. You were ready to do the same earlier.

“I think not even a hair is pushing it, right?” the creep says, finger reaching out for said hair. You jerk back out of his reach, an instinctual flinch. He grins, and lets his hand fall back to his side. You take a shaky step backward.

You’re trembling with fear. With the need to get away from this terror, this situation.

He gestures with his gun, pointing back in the direction of the branching hallways.

“Well, go on. Run.”

And God help you, you do.

Spinning on your heel, you flee to the echoing sound of his laughter. Your feet fall rhythmically against the marble floors, the sound of your bare soles far too loud. You can’t even do anything about it. There’s no option for stealth here, only the sort of hunt you’d expect to find in the woods.

Not here in civilised mankind’s territory. But this was Gotham, and the monsters often looked human.

You dart into a large room filled with tiny square cubicles. A call centre or something, a maze of low walls that are too small to hide behind. You keep going, teeth-gritting when his laughter cuts off. He’s taking this seriously, hunting you down. You think he’s done this before. ‘Played’ with people.

You can’t worry about those other poor victims, lest you become his next one.

Another crash, this time to your left. Your head snaps to the side, eyes wide, but when you look there’s only a broken lamp on the floor. You have to swallow down the urge to cry. He is. He’s playing with you. He’s having fun with it.

You keep running, passing by halls and offices and don’t stop running till you can’t. Out of breath. You’re out of breath. You bend over, the stitch in your side too much for you to stand. Why are you out of breath? You can run more than this. You often run more than this when you’re late for your morning train.

What’s going on? What’s happening to you?

A bang, behind you. You spin around. Don’t see anything.

He’s nearby. Right under your nose. You need to keep running, you have to. Through your panting you hear his laughter again, and that’s enough fear to get you moving again. Maybe you were in Arkham, arms strapped to your side and screams wailing down the halls.

You didn’t believe it. No, not in this moment. Not right now, as you run for your life. If you lived through this, you’d probably go back to thinking it was all a dream or a delusion.

But with that monster nearby, there’s nothing this could be but real. With sweat dripping down your neck, smearing your makeup. With the feeling of your heart beating out of your chest, in your ears. With the blind, all-consuming panic you’re in.

He’s real. And he’s coming for you.

You lift your tied hands and press them to your lips, muffling the sound of your harsh breathing and soft sobs. Heart beating out of your ribcage, you push your body even as it screams for you to stop. You’re flagging. Vision’s swimming, and you can feel bile creeping up your throat. You can’t keep doing this. You need to keep doing this.

For a moment, you stop to catch your breath. And he catches you too.

You scream, tugging at the rough grip on him. He swings you around into a wall, and again, you cry out. Side throbbing with pain, singing with it. Still, you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not safe, not safe, not safe. You push back against him, and he pushes back against you. Your drunken state is no match, and you tumble down onto the carpet. When he laughs, you look up at him, and he down at you.

The goon’s plastic mask merges with the Joker’s mutilated face, until you can’t tell the difference.

You aren’t the type to fight back. It’s just not instinctual to you. But when you hear his belt buckle clack, your foot kicks out before you can even think. You hit him squarely in the stomach, knocking him backward, and then you scramble away from underneath him.

“You bitch!”

He grabs you by the nape of your neck, yanking you backwards. You choke, hands grasping desperately at the grip around your throat, but he offers no relent. You’ve pissed him off. That doesn’t mean you can stop, can give up. You can’t stop fighting. Can’t stop struggling. Can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t stop-

The gun clicks. You freeze.

“Yeah, figured you’d be more obedient if I did that. Now, get up,” his voice is breathy, from the high of the chase or the hit you delivered, you’re not sure.

You hope it’s the latter. You hope this fucker drops and dies, right on the spot. You’re not that lucky, though.

Ah, your hands are hurting again. Not just the one, but both. Maybe you touched something. An allergic reaction of some sort. It shouldn’t be distracting you, it shouldn’t even be noticeable in the situation you’re in but god. The itchy heat is nearly as unbearable as the evil cretin in front of you.

“You think you’re gonna get away with that? I’m so fucking sick and tired of you whores who think you matter anything. You don’t, and I’m going to help you realise that,” he rants. His eyes are red through the tiny slits in the mask. Angry, dangerous, on the edge.

“Please, look I’m sorry,” you stutter out, stinging hands in the air. You want to run, but you think he’ll shoot if you do.

“You’re lucky I don’t fuck corpses.”

No, that doesn’t sound very lucky at all, actually. No, this seems like maybe it might turn out to be the new worst moment of your life. You don’t think it can get much worse than this, than the next moments that will pass. And it’s too much. It’s too, too much. Your palms are itchy and there’s a gun pointed between your eyes and the goon’s licking his lips and oh my god you’re going to die from an allergy before the bullet and-

And you just want it all to stop. You want it so desperately. You want the man in front of you to disappear, to never exist again, to go right down to hell where he belongs. You just want him gone.

Your hands stop hurting. The burning heat disappears. It’s quiet again. You can’t hear him laughing, the awful slick sound of him licking his lips. You can’t feel the cool iron on your forehead, the heat from his body so close. You can’t smell his sweaty stench. Your eyes open.

…There’s no gun. There’s no man.

You crumple to the ground with a relieved sob. Fisted hands lift to your eyes, as big blubbery tears stream down your face. Your shoulders shake with your cries. Your heart is screaming in your chest, trying to beat out of it. He’s gone, somehow. You’re alive, somehow. You’re not dead with a bullet in your brain, somehow. Somehow, somehow, somehow.

An impossibility. It’s an impossibility, and you’re so goddamn grateful for it.

As always, you don’t give yourself long to cry. Even as your tears still fall, even as you lick them off your mouth, tasting salt and lipstick and fear, you push to your feet shakily. You almost fall over with your hands still tied, shouldering the wall next to you for balance. You don’t have time to cry. No time to process what just happened. You need to get to safety.

You creep back into the main area, heart pounding in your ears, breath hiccuping. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get there. Ten minutes, thirty, maybe even an hour. When you try the staircase door, it doesn’t open. You yank on the handle, grab a chair and try and smash it in, but it stands strong. Fuck. You try the elevator as a last-ditch effort, but the buttons don’t respond.

You press your overheated forehead to the cool metal. Okay. Okay. Okay, okay, okay.

You turn around and storm back into the cubicle space, find one at the edge of the room with a clear view of all the doors, and tuck yourself under the desk. Pulling your knees to your chest, you resist the urge to rock yourself like a baby.

And you sit there, and you watch, and you wait. It doesn’t matter how many hours pass, you are not moving from this spot. It doesn’t matter how heavy your lids feel, how the adrenaline leaving your body has you sagging.

You’re not going to sleep. It’s not safe, and you’re not dying today. You’re simply not.\

You’re not allowed to.

A hand touches your shoulder, and you snap awake. Your fist slings out at the would-be attacker, but they dodge it smoothly. When you rear up for another, they move back, hands in the air in a show of surrender. Panting, you don’t lower the fist, your vision swimming.

It’s the Joker. But the Joker wouldn’t back up, right? And the Joker isn’t red, he’s green and purple.

It takes a while for the Joker’s pale, laughing face to disappear. But when you blink and he’s gone, you find someone else underneath. A red mask, a man you think you recognise from TV. A vigilante. God, you hated the vigilantes in Gotham.

Not more than the Joker. Not more than him.

The man stays a safe distance away, gloved hands firmly in the air. He’s tall, really tall. Broad-shouldered, scary. But he’s a vigilante, right?

Is he here to save you? Someone should've by now. The bastard's late then.

He says your name, you think. You can’t hear him properly. Wait no, it’s a nickname, one you haven’t heard in years. You could barely remember your mother calling you that as she tucked you in, as she told you she loved you over the phone, as she disappeared from the world entirely.

You hadn’t let anyone call you that since.

How does he know that name? How does this bastard know your name?

“-hurt? Hey, hey. Listen to me, are you hurt anywhere?” his voice is deep and warbled through the red metal mask, his eyes peering down at you through his domino. You just stare at him, eyes wide, barely breathing.

You need to know how he knows. Unconsciously, your hand reaches up to him, and after a moment, he takes it in his own firm grip. It’s awkward, as you’re still sitting half under the desk and he’s trying to stay as far away from you as possible. Still, his hand is warm through the leather, grounding, keeping you from drifting off into panic and fear. Into your worst nightmares come to life.

Because this was real. It didn’t matter that it was impossible, it was real. You simply couldn’t deny it any longer, this was all real.

You stare at this stranger’s gloved hand like it holds the answers to the universe. It might, in the end. It really just might. It wasn’t like the universe was making much sense at the moment.

“She seems fine. Uninjured, if a bit shocked. Doesn’t seem to have a concussion. Hardly responding anyway,” Red Hood speaks, but not to you. An earbud, you think. Superheroes used wiretaps and things like that all the time, right?

If you could even consider Red Hood a superhero. Everybody knew he had his own gang. Of course, even as your very life is being saved, it’s by a morally grey hero who runs around with crowbars and guns. Ah, you’re crying again.

You told yourself a long time ago that you wouldn’t let yourself cry anymore. And you’d managed it, mostly. You think you’ll give yourself a pass for today, just a little one. You hold this stranger’s hand, and you cry.

You just cry. You cry, and you hold the hand of some stranger you hate, because you have to.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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takes1 · 9 months ago

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p.2 asahi x feral reader w/ a size k!nk

this is gonna get so fucking good ya'll i love thisss!! it's fun writing this sweet guy be a little dirty lmao

warnings. nsfw. minors DNI info. nsfw / build-up to more smut / phone sex / mutual masturbation / blue balls / suggestive conversation / gentle giant!asahi / mutual size kink / sweet asahi / long-mid distance issues / kuroo's sister!reader / kuroo cockblocking / kuroo being protective / 2.3k words / multipart series so reply to be added to taglist! haikyuu collection. more hq here! part one here. part three here. final part here. more links. my ao3. masterlist. requests open!

Your pencil twirled, tap-tap-tapping against your half-filled page of notes as you searched for the next header to copy for this dreadful, draining history class.

Anything to distract you from the fact that he hadn't called you.

The game was Tuesday- now it was Friday evening, and still, no word from him. Maybe you had something in your teeth when you spoke to him, or you smelled bad, or he just didn't like your hair. You had dedicated hours trying to figure it out.

A phone call was hard evidence he was interested in you. Practically a 'yes' to your fantasies, which had only gotten more unhinged with the hurt of this perceived rejection.

He still remained just a few minutes worth of your real energy on some ordinary day. But God, how you mourned for what could've been. How he would've filled you up, wrecking you with the satisfaction and excitement you yearned for.

buzz buzz. buzz buzz. buzz buzz. buzz buzz.

The sound initially deepened your already lackluster mood, because you learned to be disappointed with every call that wasn't from a Miyagi area code.

You were grateful that your eyes happened to glaze over the screen before you completed the swipe to ignore it.

A piercing scream of delight filled your entire house through a cracked bedroom door.

Tetsuro's unwanted, grating voice across the hall shattered your elevated state of bliss:

"SHUT UP!"

"YOU SHUT UP! I'M ON THE PHONE!"

You took a deep breath on the fifth ring and, shaking off the nerves by standing up out of your swivel chair, you swiped across the screen to answer.

"Hello?"

"Hey, is this (Y/n)?" A deep, rumbly voice made your knees weak.

"Y-es," Your voice cracked, tummy tingly, "Is this- Asahi?"

His name left your lips so well. You fell onto your back on your bed, pressing your thighs together at the sound of his reply.

"Yeah, that's me."

You hadn't heard his voice before, thinking hard about it now, because he didn't say anything to you in person.

"I thought you wouldn't call," You bit your lip in restraint, but kept the tension in your belly, "Why'd you keep me waiting for so long?"

A grumbly sigh on the other end gave you a full-body shiver. You crossed your legs.

"I was nervous," He admitted.

The giant did have a heart, after all. Curious, you smiled and looked up.

Your face fell.

"Get out of my room!" You shouted at Tetsuro, who was lingering in the doorway.

"How long have you been in here?!"

"I'm not in your room," He tested you by putting a foot inside, and didn't answer your question, instead pressing his own, "Who the hell are you talking to?"

It reminded you: A quick 'Hold on' and what you thought was the mute button--

You scrambled across your bed to the doorway to close it, but he dove out of the way and you ended up shutting him in. You flung it open again.

"Get out!!"

The demon-spawn was making for your phone, so you leaped onto his back and weighed him down to the floor instead.

"It better not be--," He grunted with effort as he shoved you off by the face, "Some country-bumpkin prick!"

There was no contact on the screen, so he couldn't be sure who you were talking to even with your phone in his hand.

"Who is this?" He interrogated, his torso leaning on your bed, his knee on your chest to keep you down.

You punched his leg over, over, and over again. He swatted at you while looking at your phone to figure out why nobody was responding to him.

It gave you the opportunity to push him off while his balance was uneven. You slapped your phone out of his hand and it clattered to the floor.

There was a violent hush over the two of you.

Tetsuro rose of his own accord, dodging a slap, and kicked your phone far under your bed with a grumble.

"Like I'm gonna just let that happen."

The door slammed behind him. You skittered up, opened it, then called after him, "Stay out!!"

You made sure to lock and barricade it this time.

When you leaned down to find your phone, it was impossible to reach with your hands or legs from either side of the bed. That asshole had made sure to kick it just far enough to make you get creative.

You had to tie together a ruler and a clothing hanger to retrieve it, then use your foot to leverage it out.

To your relief, the call was still active. But it wasn't muted.

Heart sunk halfway down your ribcage, you asked a grim question, "How much of that did you hear?"

His chuckle lifted your spirits instantly.

Almost as a conditioned response, you glanced to the door. It was still secure.

"I'm so sorry, my brother is the worst." You grumbled, climbing back into your bed with a sore face, hand, and knee.

Asahi's tone was clear and smooth.

"It sounds like he just wants to keep you out of trouble."

Your body jumpstarted again at that word. You wanted all the trouble he had to offer. You couldn't help but giggle, since his response sounded as if he was referring to himself.

"I know how to handle myself," You grinned, "I'm only a year younger than him."

"He's a senior, isn't he?"

"Mhm."

"So you're a second-year."

"Mhmm," You could listen to him talk all day. Your hand rubbed over your prickled chest, savoring his voice against your ear.

"Good. I feel like less of a creep, now."

In his admission you could hear his lips curl into a smile- your covered your mouth and kicked your legs in the air.

"Don't tell me you thought I was a first-year," You teased with false surprise.

"I-," He sighed, a little labored, and something shifted against the receiver, "Knew it was a possibility."

His standards aside, your interest moved to the extra sound on his end of the line. You prayed it was something risque.

"What else do you wanna know about me?" You stretched your legs up and watched your blank ceiling, biting your lip in wait for his response.

The way he towered over you- his frame was perfect for your fantasies. You imagined him leaning over you now, legs draped over his massive shoulders.

"What made you want to give me your number?"

Another shift, a heavy sigh. You couldn't raise the volume any higher, nor could you hold the phone any closer to your ear to try to hear what he was doing.

In the hopes that he was dirtier than he wanted to let on, you smiled at the freedom to paint his imagination.

"Hmm..." You drawled.

An eager hand dipped between your legs, with one last glance to the door, and you palmed yourself through your shorts while you spoke.

"Your serve really did it for me," As you recalled that last hit, you heard him shift again, "I like your look- y'know, the whole samurai vibe--,"

Asahi laughed a little, making you grin.

"-I think it's really hot."

A pause. "Wait- really?"

"Yeah!" You giggled, "You're a good mix of cute and scary, that's a huge turn-on."

"Wow."

Maybe it was a bit forward of you to say, but so was everything else until this point. Your breath stalled, hoping that was a good wow. It felt so quiet for so long. Everything was still on both sides.

You sat up after a few moments, pulse quickening, and you bit your finger to keep from blurting out another stupid claim. It must've been too much- you were just about to hang up when you heard a quiet, different tone through the speaker.

"What are you wearing right now?"

Mouth open, you made sure to click mute before squealing into your pillow-- when you came up, teary-eyed from the pressure and excitement, you had to catch your breath.

Your voice was slightly hoarse when you unmuted yourself and asked, calmly, "Do you want me to lie to you?"

Thrown in a dumbing whirl of arousal, you went to reach for a vibrator, but realized the sound would probably be too much. You opted for your own fingers instead and tried hard to visualize his heavy hand over yours.

"Shit-," He huffed an uneven sigh, "Go for it."

Did he have any idea how sexy he sounded? You hoped he did- you hoped he knew exactly how to touch you, pleasure you, break you, then put you back together.

Your raised, flirty tone didn't match your answer, "Nothing."

The rumble of his laugh guided your hand to swirl small, soft circles around your clit. Your chest rose and fell a little faster, chasing the budding tightness that was finally coming back to you.

"What are you doing right now?" You couldn't help but ask. It was too tempting to wait around for him to tell you.

"Mm, I'm talkin' to you," He evaded. His smirk was audible through the phone.

His slight regional accent was so perfect. To Hell with city boys, you wanted this big, gruff countryside boy.

He laughed at your whine.

"I wish you weren't so far away," His tone lowered to a bare mutter- it was dripping in lust, but he covered it with a thin veil of wariness.

Your fingers felt so good, but his reminder only made you more sensitive to how you could never fulfill the ache deep inside without him right here, in Tokyo.

You could appreciate how he still kept his cards close. You weren't as patient as him- but upon your inevitable frustration that he wasn't as candid as you, the realization that it was the safer outcome dawned on you. If he wasn't so careful, he might hurt you.

Still, you were riding gentle, pleasant waves while you daydreamed through your response.

"How long would a train ride be?"

He didn't have to tell you how pretty you sounded for you to know. The little raise at the end of your sentence, the tiny waiver in your voice, you knew he liked it.

The quiet seethe on his end confirmed this. He told you without having to look it up, "Hour and a half."

Your pussy practically shut down.

"I could do that," You lied. Your brother would explode if he found out you hopped on a bullet train by yourself to go see some Karasuno boy- and he would. He always did.

Another low laugh. It fixed everything. You threw your head back again, fingers in your mouth so your fingers could slide a little better.

"Don't sound so disappointed," He cooed, "Me and the guys are gonna be in town for the weekend- and I was just thinkin'--,"

"Oh my god, yes. Whatever you're about to say, yes."

His distant 'Damn' away from the phone made you blush. You stopped touching yourself, just for the time being.

"There's just one problem."

You waited for the reveal without responding, then realized he wanted you to ask him.

"What?" You giggled at the weird pause.

His laugh was faint through the rest of his point, "Your brother."

You squinted at your ceiling again with a grumpy sigh. He was right. In fact, you were sure he didn't know the extent of how right he was. Your family was on Life360, and he had your location at all times.

If you turned your phone off, or deleted the app, or put it on 'battery saving-mode' he'd know, and it would be more ground to question you on.

It wasn't the tattling that bothered you, it was his nosiness in the first place.

The last time you snuck out to go see a boy further in the city, he followed you and ruined your movie date by kicking the back of his chair for half of the film. He drove you home and grilled you the entire way back.

"Fuck," You sighed, sitting up with a bit of a tummy-ache from your abandoned orgasm, "Yeah."

It sounded like he was moving again, but he was less flirty, and it made you think he maybe put his dick back up to think better.

"He actually called our team captain, Daichi. We were uh, still on the way back from the game. On the bus. And he put it on speaker."

Your jaw dropped again.

"Said he'd- ha-ha, he said he'd castrate anyone who touched you."

An annoyed sound left you.

"Don't tell me you believe that," You laughed pitifully.

Part of you believed it, so you wouldn't blame him if he did. That same days-long disappointment was creeping back.

Asahi considered his answer. He landed on, "I think... ah, I don't know. I think being cautious is smart."

You nodded slowly, but he couldn't see.

"I still wanna see ya," He added.

You grinned, relieved, and a little aroused again at his drawl, "Good."

It still left the obvious problem. You deliberated on what you could do. A glance to the locked door gave you one idea. Another glance to the window elaborated on it.

How could you see him, not leave the house, and have your brother not know at the same time?

Your question was slow as you slid off of your mattress and started to test the reliability of your window frame.

"How good are you at climbing?"

taglist.

thank ya'll for supporting this!!! i love this series it's so fun to write so i'm glad other people do too!! reply to be added to existing list :)

@valiantqueengarden @rinheartshyunlix @alpha-mommy69 @yuyunhoo @insertamazingnamehere @kreishin

masterlist.

requests. (including what you might want to see in the next 2 parts)

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bytemee · 1 day ago

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EVERYTHING I WANT — yu jimin.

"i had finally figured out, you were just around the corner."

synopsis. you’re just the wedding planner for your brother’s wedding, trying to keep it all together. but karina, his fiancée, keeps slipping under your skin. she’s perfect—everything you’ve ever wanted—but she’s marrying your brother.

pairing. brothers!fiance!karina x wedding!planner!fem!reader

warning(s). angst w a mixture of fluff, love triangle, cheating (im sorry), angst with a happy ending.

words. 5.7k

authors note. i remember watching a gay movie like this.

navigation. main masterlist.

karina has a way of capturing the attention of everyone in a room, and her presence alone is enough to make the world pause. she walks in, all bright eyes and effortless grace, and somehow the entire room shifts to accommodate her. it’s almost like she belongs in a space much grander than this, but then, that’s karina—always radiant, always a little untouchable.

you’ve noticed it countless times before—it's part of the reason why your parents are so calm with the idea of your brother marrying her only months after they've met. karina—your brother’s fiancée, the one they think is perfect in every way. karina—the one who is everything they always hoped for in a partner for him. karina—the one who practically begged you to plan her wedding.

you have to admit, they make a beautiful couple. the way karina and your brother stand in the kitchen, laughing over something she said while she chops vegetables, her hands moving easily, like she’s done this a hundred times. your brother’s smiling at her like she’s the only person in the world. it’s all so natural, so effortless. you can’t deny that they love each other—it’s one of those things you just know. like the feeling of the ground beneath your feet or the wind against your skin. it’s just a fact.

it was the first time in a while you've been to their house, but your brother practically forced you into staying at his while you planned the wedding. they don't seem to mind, which is probably good considering you've taken over the living room as a workspace, with papers and decorations and fabric samples spread out across the coffee table and the couch.

but regardless, the two haven't decided on a venue yet, so the planning process is still in full swing. you had a list of about five venues you thought were promising, and you were hoping they'd settle on one soon so you could stop having to lug around your binder everywhere.

karina finishes up her task and sets the knife down, washing her hands off before she turns to you.

she walks over with that signature smile of hers, the one that makes everything seem like it’s shining just a little brighter. “hey, can we talk about the venue options for a sec?” she asks, her voice smooth like velvet, like it always is.

you glance up from the pile of papers in front of you, your gaze meeting hers for a second too long. the way she’s standing there, close enough to reach out and touch, makes it hard to focus. you blink, trying to get your head back in the game. “uh, yeah, sure. what’s on your mind?”

she leans against the back of the couch, her arms crossing lightly over her chest. “i know we’ve got some good options, but…” she hesitates for a moment, as if carefully considering her next words. “i’ve always wanted a wedding on the beach. you know, like those dreamy ones you see in magazines?”

you freeze for a moment, your fingers lingering over the corner of your binder. the beach. you can’t help the pang that hits you when she says it, because it's something you've always imagined for your own wedding one day, not anyone else’s. it’s silly, of course—you shouldn't have gotten so attached to a fantasy. but you can't help it. you'd always imagined a wedding on the beach, with the sun setting over the waves and sand beneath your feet.

she tilts her head a little, as if trying to figure out what's wrong. when you don't say anything, she speaks again, her tone more gentle. "are you okay?"

you try to shake it off, but karina always seems to notice everything. it's a little bit impressive, really. "oh, i'm fine. just a little tired." you quickly speak again before she can question you further. “you know, your fiancé’s pretty set on that greenhouse. it’s a pretty big deal for him.”

she nods, a small frown tugging at her lips. “i know,” she says softly. “i just can’t help but dream of the beach.” she pauses, then her eyes soften, and she adds with a little more playfulness, "i’ll let you handle the tough decisions. you’re the expert here, after all.”

you hate to let her down, but the odds of convincing your brother to change his mind are low. the greenhouse was his idea, and it means a lot to him, since your father married your mom there years ago. he had talked about wanting to recreate that day, the way the light filtered in through the glass, the flowers all around. his eyes had sparkled as he spoke, like he could imagine the entire scene unfolding before him. you couldn’t bring yourself to say no, not when he had been so excited.

you give a small laugh. “i’m just the wedding planner. you’re the one who has to live with the choice.”

she grins at you before walking away.

but even though you tell yourself it won't be your fault if she doesn't get her dream wedding, the guilt doesn't go away. you just hope she won't hate you for not being able to deliver the perfect day she's been waiting for.

you watch as she heads back over to the kitchen, your gaze lingering on her a little longer than it should. her smile is bright as ever, the one you're not sure you've ever seen her without, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

you swallow, then return to your work.

the venue. you can't get distracted. you're good at your job. you can do this.

the next few days pass in a flurry of phone calls and emails, and you're barely keeping track of which venue you're supposed to be going to see next. you've visited a handful, but it seems like they've all had the same issue—they don't have the space for the kind of wedding karina's dreaming of.

the pressure is starting to wear on you. you’ve been juggling so many details, from flowers to photographers to caterers, but every venue just feels off in one way or another. some are too big, some too small. others don’t have the kind of beachy vibe karina’s been dreaming of, and you can tell she’s starting to get a little discouraged.

you can see the way her shoulders slump when another place doesn’t meet her expectations, the way she tries to mask her disappointment with that perfect smile of hers. it’s hard to watch. but you also know this is her dream, her wedding. she deserves to have everything she’s envisioned for years.

“i swear, if i see one more ballroom…” you mutter under your breath, flipping through another round of emails, trying to see if any of the new suggestions could work.

karina, seated across from you in the café, lets out a small laugh. “you’re telling me. but we’ve got to keep looking, right?”

you look up, meeting her gaze for the first time in a while. she looks exhausted, her makeup a little faded from a long day of venue tours, but her smile is as warm as ever. it makes your heart ache.

you swallow, then turn back to your phone. "yeah. yeah, we do." you take a sip of your drink, not even removing your eyes from the screen. "i've been hearing a lot of good things about this one place, though."

karina leans forward, her elbows resting on the table. "which one?"

but before you can reply, a giggle leaves her lips, and she points to the side of your nose. "oh my god, you've got whipped cream on your nose. let me…"

her hand reaches out, and then she's touching you, her thumb brushing over the tip of your nose, sending shivers down your spine. she pulls her hand back, a little whipped cream on her thumb.

she smiles. "got it."

you blink, and your brain short-circuits for a second. her touch was so fleeting, but the warmth lingers.

she doesn't notice, already turned back to your phone ready to see the venue you were muttering about.

you exhale. the venue. right. focus.

and then, it happens.

when you get back home, an hour later you hear it from the other room—a loud argument, your brother's voice booming, and karina's pleading for him to just listen. your eyes widen. you'd never heard her raise her voice like that before.

they’ve always been so perfect together, but now, the disagreement over the wedding venue seems to be pushing things too far. you can’t make out the exact words, but you catch a few—the beach, the greenhouse, and your name a couple of times. the door slams shortly after, and everything falls silent.

you glance at the door leading to the hallway, torn between going to see what’s going on and staying out of it. the last thing you want is to get caught in the middle of their argument, but part of you can't help but feel concerned. this isn’t like them—karina, always the picture of composure, and your brother, usually so patient. it doesn’t add up.

you hear footsteps and then a quiet knock at the door. "are you awake?"

you take a deep breath. "yeah, come in."

the door opens, and karina walks in, looking as stunning as ever. her face is still flushed from the argument, but her hair is swept to the side, the light catching on her earrings. even in a moment like this, she's effortlessly beautiful.

"hey," you say softly, motioning toward the couch. "are you okay?"

she sits down beside you, her body relaxing a little, like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. she nods, taking a deep breath before speaking. "i'm fine. we're fine."

you tilt your head, not fully believing her. you've been friends for years, after all. you can tell when she's holding something back. "are you sure? because i heard—"

"we're fine," she repeats, a little more firmly.

you nod, but you still feel unsure. it's clear they need some time to themselves, and you can't force her to tell you what's going on. “you know,” you say, shifting beside her, “if you need a break, we could do something completely different. a distraction. a moment just for you.”

she looks at you, eyes wide, clearly intrigued by the offer. “like what?”

a slow grin spreads across your face. “let’s get food for starters. and then…"

she cuts you off before you can finish. "as long as it involves wine, i'm in."

the smile is back, and your heart aches with it. you've missed seeing her smile, the way her eyes crinkle at the edges, her whole body seeming lighter. it's a feeling you never want to let go of.

without missing a beat, you get up and grab your keys. “perfect. let's go!"

you hold your hand out, and her fingers are warm in yours as you lead her out the door.

the two of you end up parked in front of a small, neon-lit burger joint tucked away on a quiet street. it’s one of those old-school places with a bright red roof and a hand-painted menu board by the drive-thru. it looks like it hasn't changed much since it was built decades ago, but that's exactly why you love it.

karina’s sitting cross-legged in the passenger seat, the bottle of wine you impulsively grabbed resting between you. you’d managed to snag a couple of burgers and fries to go, and now the two of you are tucked away in the car, sharing fries like you’re the only people in the world.

“this is so random,” she says, laughing softly. she’s still got a bit of a flush from earlier—whether from the wine or the argument, you’re not sure. but for now, you try not to think about it. you don't want to ruin the moment.

“that’s what makes it perfect,” you reply, passing her a fry. she takes it with a smile, your fingers brushing briefly. your heart trips over itself at the contact, and you reach for the bottle of wine to take another sip. it’s not the fanciest vintage, but it’s doing the job.

karina takes the bottle next, swiping at the neck before drinking straight from it. when she lowers it, her eyes are sparkling with something mischievous. “i always liked the idea of writing my vows on something unconventional,” she says suddenly, resting her head against the seat. “like in the movies. you know, scribbled on the back of a napkin or a burger wrapper. something spontaneous and real.”

you can’t help but laugh. “we’ve got burger wrappers right here.”

her eyes light up. “you’re kidding.”

“i’m not.”

she sets down the bottle and grabs the crumpled wrappers from the bag. “alright. let’s do it. right here, right now. our mock wedding.”

you raise an eyebrow. this was not how you thought the night was going to go, but then again, karina has always been full of surprises. she looks so excited at the idea; you can't bring yourself to say no. you're already in this deep, after all.

you grab a pen from the glove compartment, the tipsy energy between you growing contagious. you hand it over, and karina carefully smooths out one of the wrappers on her lap.

“alright,” she declares, biting back a grin. “i vow to always share my fries with you. even the crispy ones.”

you snort. “that’s a big promise.”

“and i vow to never judge you for eating burgers at midnight,” she adds, her grin widening.

“okay, my turn,” you say, leaning in. “i vow to always keep you stocked up on wine and burgers. and fries. all the good stuff. just in case of an emergency, of course. or for a spontaneous road trip. whichever comes first, i guess."

you're both giggling, and then her smile softens. she looks at you with those eyes, and for a moment, the rest of the world falls away. then her expression shifts. she takes a deep breath, fingers toying with the pen. “one more,” she says, her voice quieter now. “i vow to always be someone you can turn to, no matter what. even when things get messy or complicated.”

her eyes are still on yours, and you can't bring yourself to break the contact. you feel like the air has been knocked out of your lungs, and it's almost too much, too fast.

you finally manage to get the words out, your voice coming out a little strained. "i promise too."

karina smiles softly, reaching over to brush a strand of hair from your face. “let’s go somewhere,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“where?” you ask, still breathless.

she glances at the horizon, where the stars are just beginning to scatter across the night sky. “the beach.”

without another word, you put the car in drive and head toward the coast. the streets are quiet, the hum of the tires against the road the only sound as the town fades behind you. it feels like the rest of the world doesn’t exist—just you, karina, and the open road.

when you arrive, the beach is deserted, bathed in moonlight and the soft crashing of waves. you both kick off your shoes and walk toward the shoreline, the sand cool beneath your feet. karina stops just shy of the water, turning to face you.

“alright,” she says, holding out her hand. “let’s make this official.”

you laugh, taking her hand. “this is the most spontaneous fake wedding i’ve ever been a part of.”

her grin is wide, a little wild, like she’s already planning something outrageous. “just wait until our real wedding. then it’ll really be a show.”

the words hit you harder than expected—our real wedding. your mind flashes with an image: karina walking down the aisle, her dress swishing with every elegant step, her smile lighting up the whole room.

karina squeezes your hand gently, bringing you back to reality. "are you ready?"

you give her a tiny nod. “i’m ready.”

she turns to face you, her smile dimming just enough to make the moment feel serious. she takes a steadying breath before starting. “i vow to always share my fries with you—even the crispy ones.”

you grin. "i vow to not get jealous when you share your fries with someone else."

"that's a fair point." she pauses for a moment, glancing at the moon overhead. when she speaks again, her voice is softer. "i vow to not forget about all the nights we've stayed up talking, the sun just starting to rise, and how i could listen to your voice forever. and i vow to always be someone you can count on, no matter what."

her words make your heart ache. you swallow, trying to push down the feeling. "i vow to never give up, even when things get tough. even when everything's changing around us. and i vow to always be a place you can run to."

the words hang between you for a moment, and you feel like the whole world has stopped. everything feels surreal, like a dream, the kind you're afraid of waking up from. then she steps closer, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off her. her next words are softer, more serious, the playfulness stripped away. “do you vow to take me to the best burger joints at midnight?”

your voice is quieter now too. “i do.”

“do you vow to share your fries with me, even the crispy ones?”

“i do.”

she takes a small, shaky breath, her gaze locked on yours. “and do you vow to always be my friend? to stand by me, even when things get hard or messy?”

your throat tightens, but somehow you manage to speak. “i do.”

karina’s lips twitch, but she doesn’t smile fully. there's something vulnerable in her expression, like she's revealing a piece of herself she's never shown before. "do you promise to always remember tonight? how special this moment is?"

"i do."

she nods, her eyes shining. "good. because i do, too."

her gaze drops to your lips, and you realize what she's doing a second too late. before you can even process what's happening, her mouth is on yours, warm and soft and sweet. it's the kind of kiss you feel all the way down to your toes, the kind that makes the rest of the world disappear.

it's everything and nothing all at once.

then the moment passes, and she's pulling away, a little breathless. "i'm sorry. i just…"

you blink, trying to find the right words, but nothing comes out.

she swallows, then steps back, her cheeks flushed. "i'm sorry, i don't know what came over me. that was stupid. we should go."

she turns and walks off, her footsteps echoing through the darkness. you watch her leave, not daring to say anything, because if you speak, you'll break the spell. you'll wake up from this dream, and it'll all be gone, and this moment will be lost forever.

karina speedwalks to your car, her ears hot and her head spinning. what the hell did i just do? she opens the car door and climbs in, her body feeling weightless. the kiss was an impulse, a split-second decision, and now she's left wondering why the hell she thought it was a good idea.

you get in the car a moment later, your expression unreadable. you're silent for a few beats, then you clear your throat. "here take my jacket," you say, reaching over to drape it around her shoulders. "you look cold."

her chest tightens. of course, you're being kind and sweet. god, why did she have to ruin the moment?

she takes the jacket, but it does nothing to warm the chill that's seeped into her bones. she's so confused. one minute, she's getting engaged, and the next, she's kissing you, the one person who's never given her a reason to doubt. she feels like she's falling apart, piece by piece.

"let's get you home," you say quietly, starting the car.

karina nods, her eyes focused on the window. the rest of the ride is silent, neither of you daring to say a word.

a month passed since that night—the kiss that left you spinning and karina’s unexpected confession. you’d both fallen into a strange rhythm after that. conversations were shorter, more careful, as if the words had to be handled with gloves. and though things seemed okay on the surface, there was a distance that neither of you knew how to bridge.

she was still okay with the greenhouse. you’d finalized every last detail together, but it felt like neither of you were talking about what really mattered. instead, you both threw yourselves into the wedding planning like it was the only way to keep moving forward.

it was just after midnight when you found yourself back in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water. it had been a long day, and your mind was still racing. you stood there for a while, sipping slowly, mind wandering.

the front door creaked open. your brother stumbled in, his suit rumpled, tie hanging loosely around his neck. his eyes were bloodshot, and he reeked of whiskey and something faintly floral—perfume. you could guess what had happened.

“company celebration,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes. “big news… big, big news.”

you wrapped an arm around him and helped him upstairs. he leaned on you heavily, his usually confident demeanor dulled by the alcohol. when you sat him down on the edge of your bed, you noticed it—lipstick stains on the collar of his shirt, faint but undeniable.

your stomach twisted. you swallowed hard, forcing the lump in your throat down. it was none of your business. after all, she cheated as well...with you.

after he passed out, you quietly shut the door and went back downstairs. there was no sleep to be found, not when your thoughts were tangled in the events of what's happened over the past three months—the kiss, karina’s sudden agreement to the greenhouse wedding, the lipstick stains. it was too much.

you sat at the dining room table and pulled out your laptop. the wedding planning documents filled the screen, emails flooding in with suggestions and changes. you worked mindlessly, letting the repetition of it all keep your thoughts at bay.

the hours bled into one another, and before you knew it, pale sunlight was breaking through the windows. your eyes burned, your muscles ached, but you couldn’t stop.

footsteps behind you made you freeze.

karina.

her hair was a mess of loose waves, and she wore one of those oversized pajama shirts she loved. she had two mugs of coffee in hand, the familiar scent of hazelnut filling the room. without a word, she placed one in front of you.

“you’ve been up all night,” she said quietly.

“i had things to do,” you answered, not meeting her eyes.

karina sighed, taking in the dark circles under your eyes and the tension in your shoulders. “you’re burning yourself out.”

when you didn’t say anything, she walked around the table and stood behind you. her hands found your shoulders, fingers pressing gently into the knots there. she massaged in slow circles, her thumbs working out the tightness you hadn’t even noticed.

her voice was soft as she spoke, barely more than a whisper. "you should get some sleep. you can't keep doing this."

but you were too tired, too worn down, to respond. you couldn’t focus on anything other than the feeling of her hands on your shoulders, the warmth of her touch sinking into your skin.

she leaned down, her breath tickling your ear. "can we talk?"

"yeah," you managed.

karina let go and moved to the seat across from you. she looked like she was struggling with something, the same look from the night at the beach, when she had asked you to promise her to remember. her fingers tapped on the mug. you could tell she was stalling, trying to decide what to say, but eventually, the words came.

"i'm sorry."

you were sorry too. for so many things, but you didn't say them out loud. instead, you just nodded.

"i never meant for this to happen," she said. "but it's all getting a little too much."

you were exhausted. tired of everything—the wedding, the kiss, the feelings. tired of being the planner. tired of pretending everything was fine when it wasn't.

karina's gaze dropped to her hands, her voice small. "i didn't mean to make things weird between us. i just didn't know what to do."

"it's okay," you replied, because it was all you could say.

"it's not," she insisted. "you're my best friend. i don't want to lose that."

she was right. you were her best friend. she was supposed to be marrying your brother, not making out with you at midnight. the thought sent a shiver down your spine.

"we'll get through this. together." you tried to sound convincing, but it fell flat.

"will we?" her voice was barely audible. "you've been pushing me away for weeks. i can tell."

you shook your head, but it was pointless. the truth was staring you in the face, and it wasn't pretty.

karina sighed, her gaze lifting from the table to meet yours. "i'm sorry. i don't want things to be awkward between us. i don't want this to change things."

her eyes were filled with such honesty and vulnerability, it made your chest ache. you wanted to reach out, hold her, and reassure her that everything was going to be okay, but you couldn't. you couldn't bring yourself to lie.

you rubbed your hands over your face, trying to ease the tension building behind your eyes. the words were stuck, clawing at your throat, desperate to escape. but what could you say?everything was so tangled.

“i’m not pushing you away,” you finally managed, though it felt hollow. “i just… don’t know how to handle all this.”

she gave you a weak smile, but her eyes were still sad.

the silence stretched between you, growing heavier with each passing moment. neither of you knew what to say.

“i don’t want to hurt you,” she said suddenly, her voice trembling.

your stomach twisted, and you had to look away. “you’re not hurting me.”

it was a lie, and you both knew it. but what good would the truth do?

karina sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. she looked exhausted, like she hadn’t slept in days. maybe she hadn’t. “i just want us to be okay. like before.”

“before,” you repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. before everything. before the kiss. before you saw your brother stumble in last night, lipstick stains betrayed his lies.

she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "yeah, before. like we promised in our vows."

you let out a breath. was she really bringing this up now? "our fake vows."

karina flinched, as if your words had physically struck her. she looked at you, her eyes pleading. "you promised to always remember that night. that's not nothing."

you closed your eyes, trying to block out the memory. it was a mistake. a stupid, impulsive decision. one you shouldn't have made. one you shouldn't be thinking about.

"look, it's fine. we'll just forget it ever happened. like we're supposed to."

"are we?"

you stared at her, your throat tightening. "yes. because that's what's best. for everyone."

she swallowed, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. "okay. if that's what you want."

"it is." the words were heavy, weighing on your chest, crushing the air from your lungs.

"alright. then i guess we should go back to planning."

she forced a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. the conversation was over.

and that was it. you tried not to think about the kiss or the way her hand had felt in yours. but the memories lingered, refusing to let go.

the day of the wedding arrived. you stood at the back of the greenhouse, feeling out of place as the carefully chosen flowers, delicate white drapes, and twinkling fairy lights filled the space with a sense of serenity that felt foreign to you. everything about this moment was supposed to be beautiful, perfect, just as your brother had imagined. but you couldn’t shake the unease that knotted in your stomach.

the ceremony was supposed to feel like a celebration, a milestone in their lives. but it wasn’t. the sight of your brother, standing at the altar with the priest, waiting for karina, made something inside you tighten. he was smiling, his hands clasped together in anticipation. but the thought of him with her—knowing everything that had happened between the two of you—suddenly felt wrong. not to mention what he did himself.

and then, she appeared.

karina entered, her arm linked with your father’s, walking down the aisle with the grace of someone who belonged in a dream. the flowing ivory gown clung to her figure in a way that made your breath catch. the soft music playing in the background seemed to fade as you watched her approach, unable to tear your eyes away.

her gaze flickered to you for the briefest of moments. it was only a glance, but it held so much. the quiet acknowledgment that things weren’t the way they were supposed to be. that this wasn’t how it was supposed to feel.

you could barely breathe. you had promised to be strong, to be there for her. but seeing her like this, walking down the aisle toward your brother, was impossible. all the promises you had made, all the words you had told her in the days leading up to this, suddenly felt so hollow. she wasn’t yours. she never had been, and yet, everything inside you screamed that she should be.

you couldn’t stay.

without thinking, you turned and quietly slipped out of the greenhouse, avoiding the curious glances of your family. the sounds of the ceremony, the murmurs of the guests, faded as you walked, faster and faster, until you were outside, out of the view of the guests, heading straight for the beach.

the water was cool, the sand soft beneath your feet, the gentle breeze soothing. but it wasn't enough. you could still feel the ache in your chest, the heaviness that had settled there the moment you saw karina walking down the aisle.

you had been so certain that you could do this, that you could keep your promise and be there for her, no matter what. but now, standing on the beach, the waves washing over your feet, you realize how foolish it had been to think that.

you sank to the sand, burying your face in your hands. how had things gotten this far? how had everything become so tangled, so complicated, so fast? and why did it feel like your heart was being torn in two?

you were torn in so many directions, your mind spinning with thoughts of karina, of the kiss, of your brother, and of everything that had led to this moment. you wanted to scream, to let the confusion and frustration pour out of you, but you couldn’t. you couldn’t make sense of it all.

everything felt like it was unraveling, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. the hurt, the guilt, the love that you couldn’t seem to let go of—it all washed over you, suffocating you. you loved her. you had always loved her, but it was wrong. she was marrying your brother. it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you weren’t supposed to be the one to feel this way.

but the feeling was there, as real as the sand beneath your feet and the wind against your skin. you couldn't deny it, no matter how hard you tried.

"y/n."

your heart skipped a beat. you looked up, and there she was, standing at the edge of the sand. karina, still in her wedding dress, the fabric flowing around her as she stepped toward you, barefoot.

"y/n," she repeated, her voice soft, almost pleading.

you were frozen, unable to move, unable to speak. your throat tightened; the words stuck.

“what are you doing here?” you managed to ask, your voice wavering.

“i couldn’t let you go,” she said, her voice breathless. “i can’t let you walk away from me. not like this.”

you stood up, unsure of what to say, but before you could form any words, karina was running toward you, her wedding dress trailing behind her. she didn’t stop until she was right in front of you, her hands trembling as she reached for yours.

"i can’t marry him," she whispered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "not when i feel like this. not when it’s you i want."

the words hit you like a punch to the gut. your mind raced. "karina, this isn’t—"

"i don’t care," she interrupted. "i can’t pretend anymore. i’m sorry. i should’ve told you sooner. i should’ve never let you go, even when i knew how wrong it was. but i can’t marry him when i’m in love with you."

you blinked, staring at her. in love with you. she was in love with you. the words echoed in your head, and you couldn't find the strength to speak.

"y/n, please. say something."

karina’s face crumpled, and she stepped closer, her hands trembling as she cupped your face. “please,” she whispered, “don’t let me lose you. you're everything i want."

her touch was warm, and you couldn't help but lean into it. she was so close, and you could feel her heartbeat, her breathing, her warmth. it was intoxicating, and before you knew what you were doing, your lips met hers, gentle and tender, as if she was afraid of breaking you.

but you couldn't break. not when she was kissing you like this. not when her lips were so soft, and her arms were around your waist, pulling you closer. it felt like the world was shifting, the ground giving way beneath your feet. but she was there, holding onto you, her grip tight and desperate, like she was afraid of losing you.

the kiss deepened, and everything else fell away. all you could feel was her. all you could think about was how right it felt, how perfect it was, and how this was the moment you had been waiting for. you were home, in her arms, and nothing else mattered.

the kiss broke, and karina pulled back, her breathing ragged. her eyes were bright, full of emotion, and you knew yours were the same.

"i love you," she whispered, her voice cracking. "i love you, and i'm sorry i didn't realize it sooner."

the words washed over you, and for the first time, everything felt right.

"i love you too," you breathed, not caring that it was wrong or that you shouldn't be saying it. you couldn't stop yourself, and the feeling of finally letting the words out was overwhelming. "you're everything i want…and more."

her eyes widened, and then a smile tugged at her lips, wide and bright, as if the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders. she kissed you again, fierce and passionate, and you could feel her joy, her relief, her love. it was the kind of kiss that made your heart swell, that made you feel like you were floating, and nothing could ever come between you.

"i'm yours," she whispered against your lips, her voice breaking. "i'll always be yours."

340 notes · View notes

fear-is-truth · 6 months ago

Text

void. ── patrick bateman x reader

⟢ WARNINGS: fantasying about violence, sex & murder ・ foul language・sexism・ reader discretion is advised .ᐟ

⟢ TAGS: bateman’s pov・fem!secretary!reader ・“y/n” used i’m so sorry

⟢ WORD COUNT: 1,875

a/n: english is not my first language, but i loved the book & movie sm (might write a part two.)

VOID

I flip through the pages of GQ, my attention divided between an article on the season’s latest must-have suits and the image that keeps surfacing in my mind.

Paul Allen’s assistant. She started working here a few weeks ago, and ever since, I can’t seem to get her out of my head. It’s irritating as hell. She’s not like the women I usually deal with—clones of one another, in varying shades of blonde. This new girl is different.

It’s not like she’s anything special—at least not in the usual sense. I remember watching her, studying the way she fumbles with a stack of papers, fingers trembling slightly. I wonder how they’d feel like wrapped around my cock.

She’s not like the others. Not like Evelyn, with her relentless neediness, or even Jean, who’s dependable but she is, well, Jean. Reliable, dependable, and utterly forgettable.. y/n—there’s something about her that feels different. Unspoiled. Innocent in a way that’s almost laughable in this city, like a virgin lamb wandering into a den of wolves, completely unaware of the danger that surrounds her. And it makes me want to ruin her.

It’s intriguing. It’s also fucking annoying.

I toss the magazine aside, the pages crumpling as they hit the sleek surface of the desk. My eyes drift to the window, where I can see the city stretching out below, a concrete jungle full of meaningless, vapid people.

My reflection stares back at me from the mirrored wall, and I adjust the knot of my Charvet tie, admiring how it complements my gray wool suit by Cerruti 1881. Everything is meticulously in place: my Valentino loafers shine under the soft glow of the overhead lights, and my skin is flawless, practically glowing from the morning routine of an intense workout and the application of a moisturising mask from Jean Paul Gaultier. I run a hand through my slicked-back hair, appreciating the perfection I’ve crafted.

I feel a pang of something—sadness? Anger? No, it’s more like emptiness. A void that no amount of money, no designer suit, no fucking (and later slaughtering) prostitutes can fill. I’ve been feeling it more often lately, especially when I’m alone with my secretary who’s in love with me. She’s always there, always willing to please, but she doesn’t challenge me. She doesn’t excite me. She’s just… there. I pity her, in a way, though I doubt she even realises it.

“Van Patten,” I reply coolly, leaning back in my chair. I feel the leather creak beneath me, a sound that irritates me more than it should.

“Going to Harry’s Bar later?” he asks, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. Typical. I stare at him, considering the offer. Harry’s is fine, but the thought of spending the evening listening to these idiots prattle on about which bar serves the coldest martinis or which girl they’re planning to fuck next, makes me want to drive a nail through my skull. Still, there’s a game to be played.

“No,” I say finally, my voice flat. “I have plans.”

Van Patten shrugs, clearly not giving a shit, and turns to leave. But then he stops, his gaze shifting to the hallway behind him. I follow his eyes, and there she is—her, holding a stack of files that looks too heavy for her.

“Oh, by the way, have you seen Allen’s new assistant? McDermott’s been talking about wanting to fuck her her non-stop. I’d like to fuck that pretty little thing too.”

I don’t react outwardly, but inside, I feel a flicker of something—anger, perhaps. Not for her, but for myself. For the fact that I’m letting this get to me. Because I too want to fuck her. “McDermott’s an idiot,” I say coolly, eyes narrowing slightly. “She’s not his type.”

He snorts. “She’s not anyone’s type. Too shy, too pure. She looks like she’d freak out if you even touched her. You know how some guys love that innocent act. Wouldn’t last a day with someone like Bryce or Preston. They’d eat her alive.”

“Get out, Van Patten,”

My thoughts drift to Allen’s last dinner reservation—Dorsia, of course. Bastard. I can’t even get a table there without months of planning, but Paul Allen—stupid, oblivious Paul Allen—walks in like it’s nothing. It makes me want to crush him, to take everything from him. Including her.

Once he’s gone, I stand up and adjust my suit jacket, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles. I step out of my office, my eyes scanning the hallway until I find her.

She is standing near the copier, a stack of files in her arms, her head tilted slightly as she tries to figure out the machine. She isn’t flaunting anything, and yet, she still manages to catch my eye. The black dress she’s wearing is Donna Karan, I’m almost sure, though the cut is a bit too conservative for my taste. It clings to her figure, revealing just enough to pique my interest but not enough to satisfy it. Her shoes, I note with some disappointment, are Manolo Blahnik. Not quite as stylish as something from, say, Azzedine Alaïa— not predictable choice, though not without merit. The impression of someone trying to fit into a world she doesn’t fully understand. Cute.

“y/n,” I say, my voice cutting through the hum of the copier. She jumps slightly, looking up with wide eyes that are both fearful and curious. Interesting.

“Mr. Bateman,” There’s no coyness in her voice, no flirtation. Just that same goddamn innocence. My mind wanders, imagining what it would be like to run a blade across her soft, supple flesh and watch the light fade from those innocent eyes Her skin parting under the sharp edge of a knife, the warmth of her blood spilling out, the sound she would make. But as quickly as the thought comes, it dissipates, leaving me with a hollow emptiness that I can’t quite explain. It’s a thought that would normally excite me, but with her, it feels… wrong. Unnecessary. Maybe even wasteful.

I realise I don’t really want to hurt her. At least not in the way I’ve hurt others. Quite unsettling, I feel… disappointed in myself, as if I’m losing my edge.

“Call me Patrick, or Pat.”

I correct, though I don’t know why. I’ve never cared about what people call me before. I glance down at the papers she’s holding.

“Your boss is not in yet?” I ask, knowing full well he isn’t.

“No, he’s not,” her voice is breathless, carrying a slight tremor—I wonder how my name would sound on her tongue when I’m fucking her. I also wonder what sounds she’d make. Soft kittenish noises, maybe. Doesn’t seem like the type to spew profanity, but one can really tell.

“I’m just trying to get these copies done before he arrives.”

I nod, pretending to care.

“He’s lucky to have an assistant like you,”

A blush spreads across her cheeks, and she stammers out an thank-you, though I barely register it. My focus shifts to the gold chain around her neck—Tiffany. Cheap, sentimental. It doesn't belong here, but it suits her somehow, in that unsophisticated way.

“Though, if I were you, I’d be careful. He’s not exactly known for his discretion.”

“I’m…sorry?”

I smile, she’s taken the bait. “Paul’s habits aren’t exactly… discreet. Let’s just say he’s not very particular about who he spends his nights with. Or what he picks up from them.”

She blinks, the implication sinking in, and I see a flash of something in her eyes—concern, maybe disgust. Good. Let her think about that. It’s too easy to manipulate her, to plant seeds of doubt in that pretty little head of hers. I flash her a smile, one I’ve perfected over years of dealing with people who are far beneath me.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors,” I continue casually, “about what’s going around these days. AIDS is a nasty business. You can never be too careful.”

“But don’t worry,” I add quickly, my tone lighter. “You seem like someone who’s smart enough to avoid trouble.”

She doesn’t respond, just nods slightly, still processing what I’ve said. I can see the effect my words have had on her.

“Did you know,” I say, shifting to something more conversational, “that Ted Bundy once worked at a crisis hotline? Spent his days talking people out of killing themselves. Ironic, isn’t it?”

I don’t expect her to catch the reference—most people don’t. It’s just another way to distance myself from them, to prove my superiority. But then, she surprises me.

“Yes, I read about that,” she says quietly, looking up at me with a mixture of curiosity and something else—understanding, perhaps?

“It’s strange, how someone can seem so… normal, but be so twisted underneath the mask of sanity.”

I pause, taken aback by her response. She got it. She actually understood. For a moment, I feel a flicker of something—something almost like respect. But it’s very fleeting, quickly replaced by the familiar emptiness.

“Exactly,” I reply, my voice smooth as glass. “People are rarely what they seem.”

There’s a brief silence, and I let it linger, watching her as she processes our exchange. I’ve rattled her, but I’ve also piqued her interest. It’s a dangerous combination, one that I’ll need to manage carefully. But I’m feeling bold.

“By the way,” I continue, “I was planning on having dinner at Dorsia tonight. Why don’t you join me?”

She looks up at me, confused, unsure, and I feel a twinge of satisfaction. She’s still trying to figure me out, to understand what I want. It’s amusing, really, how little she knows.

“I don’t know, Mr. Bate– Patrick,” she says, her voice faltering. Her innocence, her reluctance—it’s intoxicating like pure, uncut cocaine.

I smile again, this time more warmly, but it’s just a mask. “Come on, doll. It’s just dinner. Besides, it’s not like your boss will miss you for one night.”

“Okay,” she agrees quietly. There’s that softness in her voice again, that genuine gratitude that I don’t understand.

“Excellent,” I say, satisfied. I turn to leave, but not before giving her one last look. She’s already turned back to the copier, but I know that she’s not thinking about the papers anymore.

She makes me feel… something, though I’m not sure what. It’s frustrating, maddening even. But it also gives me hope. Maybe she’s the key to filling that void. Or maybe she’ll be another disappointment, like the rest. But tonight, at least, she’ll be mine to toy with.

Hopefully that will be enough to stave off the void for a little while longer.

read part ll here

#jackie writes ⟢#american psycho #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x reader #slasher x reader #Patrick bateman fanfic #patrick bateman x female reader

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