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trollhunted · 2 days ago

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Oh boy, now that I'm done with the rewatch it's time to air out some of the grievances I have with the writing choices made regarding the antagonists...

Starting off a little more positive – Merlin's portrayal worked fairly well overall as this arrogant manipulative old jerk of a wizard, who may have noble goals but achieves them via not so honorable methods in the name of the greater good.

It was a pretty good bait-and-switch with the way the show had built up this image of the mysterious and benevolent mage, but left enough hints to his true character via little details that quickly turn sour in hindsight once you've actually met him. He's not a villain, but they did make him a decent morally gray character in the few episodes he's around.

However, I think he should've been held more accountable for his actions and behavior, especially when his grand plan doesn't work out because he was too wrapped up in his own head to see the truth.

That leads me to Morgana, the big evil "mastermind" of the show. I have to say, I love how utterly unhinged they made her in the first half of season 3, though she loses some of that by the end of it. I don't really have many complaints about her as a villain, but rather like to nitpick aspects surrounding her character and some missed potential.

Design-wise I find her a little lackluster as someone called "the Eldritch Queen" and while it definitely was a fun idea to contrast Merlin's dark armor with all that gold, I believe they missed the mark a little. They should've gone a step further and contrasted the design even more by giving it a creepy and organic direction. Her "armor" could've been more insectoid and reminiscent of bones or dead wood.

Also, a small thing that always bothers me are the green accents on her, when that was being established as Merlin's color. It does connect them visually in a way, but mostly just feels out of place to me. Now, about that missed potential...

As a queen of shadows, I would've liked if they'd played up her insidious nature a little more. As Claire, instead of immediately trying (and badly failing) to kill the Trollhunter, they should've dragged out the possession a little. She could've used this position to destroy the team from within, test their limits, tear them apart to weaken their will, only to have it all backfire with how much they trust and care for each other. It would've paralleled Angor's approach, because considering his background, he must've picked up these methods from someone, no?

Another writing point that bothers me is her imprisonment. No matter how you look at it, sealing an ancient evil sorceress inside (or even near) the heartstone – a MAJOR source of pure energy – just sounds like an all around bad idea. Wouldn't it make sense for her to feed on that energy? And even if not that, shouldn't you be worried about her corrupting it??

I get that from an animation standpoint it's an extremely convenient way to have everything happening in one place, so you don't actually have to set up so many new assets, but man... it's just kind of stupid lol.

Honestly the way I would've rationalized this whole deal is: instead of having her sealed up in Arcadia Oaks, California of all places (why did they even end up there?) she could've been imprisoned within the previous Trollmarket in europe. Her and Gunmar have tried to bring about the Eternal Night before and almost succeeded, which led to the battle of Killahead, where both were sealed away.

Imagine Gunmar and his forces had taken the old Trollmarket and used its heartstone for that spell, draining it in the process. Although they were stopped and defeated, Trollmarket was destroyed and their rock of sustenance dead, which would prompt the trolls to leave and seek a new home across the globe.

Merlin could've trapped Morgana in the empty heartstone as a way to contain her powers, using the last of his magic. Maybe the reason he was so sure she would be weak and easy to vanquish after her imprisonment is because he had intended to slowly syphon her energy to empower himself and never considered that she would figure out how to reverse the spell to drain him instead.

And to add some flavor to this location, Morgana's presence could've twisted the old Trollmarket into something eery and barely recognizable, giving others reason to avoid this place. It could've served to show the heroes what may become of their beloved Trollmarket if Gunmar wins, given them more incentive to fight for what they have.

That's just an idea though.

Angor Rot was always a big pot of missed potential to me and his return in season 3 just ended up feeling, well, hollow lol. He was introduced as a great antagonist but in my honest opinion kinda fell off the moment they destroyed his soul and just turned him into an angry beast. Besides the overall bad taste it leaves behind, we really didn't need a Bular 2. And it's a little annoying they somewhat continued with that direction even when he was revived and supposedly got his soul back.

I like that they cared enough to dig a little into his conflicting emotions given his history & enslavement, but these moments should've been brought up in the climax of the first season. He should've regained his soul back then and suddenly be forced to reconcile with the atrocities committed in the name of his mistress. His revenge on Strickler should've conflicted with his newly regained conscience...

And, oh man, Strickler is a bit of an annoying case. It's kind of absurd to me that they would choose to give this man an easy "redemption" while tossing around Angor's corpse like that.

Angor Rot literally had his soul and autonomy taken from him and while these actions definitely twisted him throughout the ages, at the end of the day it was never his choice. Strickler was in a somewhat similar situation as a changeling made to serve Gunmar, but the major difference is that he did have a choice. Multiple even.

Even in his predicament, Angor chose to offer the Trollhunter a deal to free both of them of Strickler's control. Whether he actually would've honored that deal is hard to say, but I think even if he'd betrayed Jim's trust, it would've made for a good opportunity to speak of who he used to be and what he's become, and have his first real choice in centuries be to spare them.

Strickler on the other hand is far more vile and self-serving at his core. At first you could argue that it's mostly the (very real) threat of Bular breathing down his neck that pushes him to harm Jim despite his soft spot for the kid. But when both Bular and Gunmar are out of the picture, instead of using this freedom constructively, he doubles down on killing the Trollhunter while finding every opportunity to get under his skin.

This man literally chooses to continue beefing with a teenager and don't get me wrong, I love it. Comedy aside, it is genuinely a fun exploration of his character and what makes him work as a complex personal antagonist. But the fun quickly stops when they try to rush him into a lackluster "redemption arc" to get him on the main team.

I'm aware that tons of people love the stricklake pairing and "lady x monster man" is very much a del Toro staple, but I really don't think Strickler should've been "redeemed" given everything he did, there should've been FAR more serious repercussions. It would've made more sense to me to put him in a "reluctant, not entirely trustworthy, sort-of-ally" position than suddenly have him be one of the Good Guys because... romance?

Not to mention the quality of their writing and characterization took quite a dip to mend their relationship and make said last minute romance happen. The drama surrounding it was cheesed up to such a degree it felt like they were putting on a play and didn't tell anyone.

Nomura's turnaround makes perfect sense narratively speaking because she was a straight-forward, impersonal antagonist, who only began to sympathize with the enemy when they were forced into the same position and she had nothing left to lose. She probably gave Jim a few nightmares, but the Lakes don't have anywhere near the number of reasons to hate her as they should with Strickler.

Oh and on the topic of changelings, let's get to the Janus Order. In my honest opinion, I think the Order was an overall waste. What made the changelings fun to me was precisely how they jumped between playing human and the cruel brutality of their monstrous nature. They weren't really a blend of these two worlds, but rather just putting on an act.

That's what made examples like Strickler, Nomura, and NotEnrique emotionally toeing the line of what it means to be human so interesting. Because they aren't human, but have learned to love the world they live in. And it's also what would've made Jim's transformation so strange/special, because he actually would've embodied joining those worlds.

The Janus Order both visually and narratively throws a wrench into that for no reason. (And don't get me started on the whole "evil, politically powerful organization secretly controlling the world" deal..........)

The way I could actually see a point to that direction, is if it had been a relatively inconsequential side-plot where the Janus Order is more like a small-scale cult of humans or even low-grade sorcerers worshipping the Pale Lady. It could've been a one or two episode issue that would've mainly served to build up some lore & foreshadowing surrounding Morgana, before she would've made her big entrance in the third season.

Ah... and even Gunmar could've been handled much better in the later seasons. Bular isn't a perfect character, but he serves his purpose as the introductory villain fairly well and for a kids show like that, it's a sensible execution.

Gunmar's character started out very strong – as the presumed endboss, they combined Bular's intimidation factor and Strickler's conniving nature with him and added some class as a millennia old monster warlord. It works fantastically. While that image falls a little here and there, his portrayal in the Darklands still makes sense as someone who seemingly lost all hope and resigned himself to his eternal prison... and even then he displayed a malicious sort of patience by wanting to break Jim's spirit instead of simply killing him.

So for that to quickly turn into an impatient old man, who just barks out threats and orders and blindly follows whatever anyone tells him the moment he's on the surface... it, well, is pretty disappointing. It's understandable for Bular, the younger and less experienced son, to be rash and impatient, but a warlord? That's a position that requires a ton of patience and tactical prowess.

I really wish they would've kept the way he was presented in the first season and give us this big villain who's not only physically scary, but observational and dedicated enough to send Chompsky back with a message saying he'll kill all those Jim holds dear for killing his son and then listing literally everyone the kid knows.

Plus, his origin as some kind of actual monster born from a corrupted heartstone should've been explored! They could've gone into that endless hunger he apparently displays, that would've made him consume countless living creatures and even drain the magic energy out of crystals...

Instead we ended up with Bular 2 again, but even worse somehow, and it just made Gunmar about as threatening as a parked truck.

#sigh. there's more that could be said about some of the lesser antagonists like usurna & co. but most of those are fine for their roles tbh #trollhunters #tales of arcadia #toa merlin #toa morgana #angor rot #walter strickler #zelda nomura #gunmar #[spongebob stopping falling truck meme] these are just my personal thoughts!!!!! it's fine if you disagree!!!!!!!!!!!#entries

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scripturiends · 2 years ago

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who in house of anubis would survive the hunger games go

#genuinely think amber would make it far through her charms she’d definitely get a lot of sponsors #sibuna would probably form a team like the careers #patricia would slowly kill everyone off once the only ones left are them lmaosksjjsh #jerome would be a solo flight #his own ambition or arrogance would kill him #like when theres a chance to get something good at the cornucopia #hes a goner #for fabian hed probably try to outsmart the gamemakers or try to understand the game only for him to be killed by a trap he set up #**sorry a trap they (the gamemakers) set up #joy would make it far by appealing to the audience for sponsors #kt would overthink too much and die by non-movement like she’ll spend too much time deciding whether to do something or not then boom #something falls on her #mick would probably be a career like in a sick twisted way i think hed enjoy being in the games #so would mara #mara actually has a high chance of winning i fear #she would have to be in a team with mick though for that to work #nina would sacrifice herself to save somebody #eddie would survive by sheer luck or by pure accident #alfie would eat something poisonous for sure #im not sure abt willow i think her friendliness will be her end actually #so just to round it up the people who i think would make it far are amber and mick #joy can make it to an extent that she stirs drama bc the audience would like it #the two people who could actually win FOR ME are patricia and mara #like theyd be final two #but as to who could actually see it through to the end #hmmm final answer mara jaffray #who would u guys pick tho id love to hear ur thoughts abt it #house of anubis #hoa #mine

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oblique-lane · 4 months ago

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Spy tf2 and his identity

Character analysis (or at least my vision on him, if you believe my reasoning)

What do we know about Spy? He's a disguise mastermind. He can pretend to be anyone in order to infiltrate into the scene to do his job - quite literally, stab people on the back. But when he's not in the battle, what is he to his teammates? A suave Frenchman, a gentleman with taste, somewhat a leader.

At least, that's the persona he prefers to show. But is he really..?

What if I tell you that this person never drops his disguise?

For a man who always wears a mask and who's identity being secret is a sacred part of his role in this job, isn't this persona too much to show if it is real? Frenchman, rich, ladykiller... Wouldn't it be too easy to decipher his identity with so much clues provided? Wouldn't it be dangerous?

While Miss Pauling and the Administrator definitely know Spy's real identity, hiding it is a major thing for whatever reason. One could assume it might be because of Scout (obvious guess) but I doubt he's a sole reason. Spy very much enjoys being the Spy all by himself. Do what's the deal?

Let's start from the beginning.

Why did Spy join Mann Co. in the first place?

Let's take this assumption as a fact: people come here out of desperation. They are professionals in their field, yet in their past/casual life there is a pattern of them having difficulties that push them into joining this service. I don't see why Spy would be an exception.

The reason for joining is usually money. Some people question why Spy, a wealthy man from higher society, would join Mann Co. if he has it all already.

Well, probably because he really does not.

Have you ever met an aristocrat? Wealthy people don't get so protective about their expensive suits, they can afford cleaning or a new one. Regardless, rich people don't usually get stingy about material goods, especially if they're mass produced.

At least, not those who were born into wealth.

Spy's defensiveness about his "wealthy stuff", his pomp-ness, disgust and arrogance towards "plebs" gives off a man who knows what it means to live in poverty and who doesn't want to be associated with it ever again.

(Not even talking about his own filthy habits such as not washing his mask and pissing on walls? Jesus Christ)

Dare I even guess that he might be not French at all? His French is so broken. (Although, so is Medic's German, but at least he uses his language much more frequently and in more complex sentences, while Spy only uses French to say some basic expressions, occasionally confusing them with other languages). Definitely not a native.

If anything, he's not giving "rich man" at all, he's giving con man. And that fits my picture perfectly.

So, poor upbringing. How old is Spy? If he's Scout's father (and he was young when he was conceived), I'd say he's no less than 20 years older than him. I'd give him a few more years actually. So, approximately Spy is around 50 at the events of the game (1968-1972). Let's assume he was born somewhere in the 1910s.

Even if he's not French, I still agree that he's probably European. Hmm, what was happening in Europe at the time Spy was a kid?

Oh yeah. The Great Depression.

See my picture: imagine, a child from a lower class family during the Great Depression, his parents were most likely to not take good care about him (both because of the economical situation AND as an echo to Spy's struggles with his own fatherhood). He has to run away from home early and start to make money. Any way possible.

Unavoidably, it leads to crime.

Petty theft, blackmail, scams. Changing identities. Selling low quality products and services. Changing identities again. When older, seducing rich women to stay at their homes overnight, be fed and supported. Running away from the police. Walking into a trap of the mafia, and then joining them as their goon.

In this nightmare of a life he just had to keep pretending to be someone else, someone better and stronger, in order to his ego to not completely shutter. He had to imagine he was an invincible mastermind trickster of some sort, not just a poor boo-hoo victim of poverty who has never knew normal life and care.

And if you pretend for long enough, you become your role eventually... Right?

His true self was long lost forgotten under many layers of new identities. Worse, his true self was never known. And he didn't want it to be known in its ugly and disgusting vulnerability. Narcissism became his lifeline.

It's so much better to be Spy. To be rich and elegant and respected. His ego rebuilt.

#tf2 spy #spy tf2 #tf2 #team fortress 2 #artists on tumblr #my art #team fortress #tf2 theory #tf2 character analysis #character analysis #tf2 headcanons #npd queen we stan #tf2 fanart

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prongsx · 5 months ago

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who are your boyfriend?

Even though you talk a lot about your sweet boyfriend, people don't understand the sign.

Warnins: English is not my first language, there will probably be mistakes, I'm more grammatically correct in my language I swear lol, f!reader, just a silly idea I had.

You're a person who talks a lot about your boyfriend, not that it's your intention to show him off or look like you're obsessed with him (maybe a little), but still, it seems inevitable to quote Jason Todd in your social circles, especially in the work.

It's a good work environment, your colleagues are nice, and you like to be communicative. However, the new co-worker, Adam, seems to be a little too friendly, your colleagues have already noticed this, but you dont notice this, lost in your own thoughts about your boyfriend.

The thing is, Adam has concluded that your boyfriend is an idiot, he listens to you talking about him, and the only conclusion he can draw is that you're dating a stupid nerd who lives in his mother's basement. It started weeks ago when you arrived with a jar of colorful cookies, offering it to your colleagues with a silly smile and saying.

"Jaybean did, does anyone want it? It's his grandfather's recipe"

Adam laughed internally at that. It wasn't right, you were too pretty to date such a weird guy who was definitely supposed to be short, skinny and silly, what kind of man cooked colored cookies? Or even worse, let yourself be called a "jaybean"?

The next day, he overheard you talking to your friend, in a worried tone, about how your boyfriend was about having physically fought with his younger brother, which only added to the comical image Adam had of his boyfriend. Definitely the guy was a banana. What kind of guy would let his little brother hit him?

Around the football season, Adam decided to show you what a real man was and ask you out, showing you the tickets he got. He called you a doll, which you registered with a slight frown.

"um, thanks Adam, but my boyfriend doesn't like football very much. And this week we're going to an arts fair in New York."

Adam let out a stilted giggle that you didn't seem to notice, the thoughts of him again calling your boyfriend stupid. Seriously, art fair? Didn't like sports?

There were other, clearer signs of how pathetic your boyfriend was, according to Adam, like when you commented that he had sewn a blouse of yours. (you didn't say that Jaosn's talent with sewing came from the fact that he sewed his battle wounds himself). Or when you called him cute nicknames.

Adam wanted to show you what he really wanted to date a guy, a real man, who had muscuslos and knew how to beat someone to protect you.

The fuse for Adam was when he approached your desk and saw a book by Jane Austen and asked, avoiding making a face at such a syrupy book.

"Do you like classics, doll?"

You looked up from the computer where you typed, a slight smile on your lips as you stared at the book brevmenete.

"A little. My boyfriend likes it, so I promised I'd try to read it. I prefer fiction books"

Adam's face drooped, you were really dating a stupid guy, you deserved to meet a real man. He rested his hands on your desk and puffed out his chest.

"You know, doll, you can get more."

You blinked your eyes limply, confused.

"Excuse me?"

"There are men… for real."

There was an arrogant smile on Adam, which you didn't like, not at all. Your posture became tense, prepared to reject him, by hook or by crook. But a voice, hoarse and thick, woke you both from the uncomfortable exchange of looks.

"Am I getting in the way?"

Adam turned, his eyes narrowing at the sight. There was a tall guy, much taller than himself, who even in a leather jacket could see his muscles. The guy had messy black hair and scars that gave him a tough look, even his blue eyes seemed like a warning, a warning to stay away. Adam was about to ask what he was doing there when your voice came out loud and contented.

"Jaybird!"

Adam stood still, his mouth wide open as that intimidating man gave you a soft smile and squeezed your waist, a chaste kiss on the forehead. By no means was that guy stupid of your boyfriend.

"That's adam," you said, a half-annoyed expression on my face, which softened when she turned her eyes to Jason.

Jason just gave Adam a suspicious look, not bothering to spend time with him before grabbing your bag and giving you another kiss on the cheek, whispering.

"Ready to go, honey?"

You nodded, smiling. Saying goodbye with a slight nod to Adam, as you told for your sweet, gentle boyfriend about your day, whose acts were what really drew you in.

Just a silly thing I thought about while analyzing the things that betrayed me about Jason. Adam is just one of those guys who think women are attracted to things that – they – think should attract them. Jason is just a grandpa's little boy who has learned how to be a gentleman right under that rough surface.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood x reader #fluff #batfamily #dc comics #fanfic

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saetoru · 1 year ago

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。FAMILY SECRETS — GOJO SATORU.

contents. fem! + mom! reader, reader is referred to as “mommy” and “wife,” girl dad toru <3, family shenanigans in the grocery store that are unfortunately inescapable when your husband is gojo satoru

“ok,” you nod, looking over your grocery list. “i think that’s everything—”

“mommy, can we please get this,” your daughter looks up at you pleadingly, tugging at your sleeve as she holds a bag of candy—she has satoru’s eyes, wide and blue and so easy to give into. you look at her for a moment before pursing your lips.

“no, satoru. we can’t get this bag of candy.” you turn to the devil himself, glaring at him as he whistles innocently.

“what’re you lookin’ at me for, sweetheart? our little peanut here wants—”

“satoru.”

“fine,” he deflates. you pinch your nose as you sigh.

satoru, in his thirty plus years of life, has surprisingly never had a cavity for how much sugar he consumes. he’s good at taking care of himself, he argues, there’s no chance he’d ever get a cavity. that is, until recently. he visits the dentist and has not one, but two cavities—you think this is a rather alarming sign that he needs to cut back on the sweets, so you take matters into your own hands.

and, well….he’s not handling it very brightly.

“you thought i’d cave just because you tricked our daughter into asking?” you raise a brow, making him huff as he pouts.

“what kind of heartless soul could say no to those eyes?” he asks in disbelief, waving a hand at the small carbon copy of your husband as she blinks up at you, “i mean look at her! she doesn’t deserve the word no.”

“she definitely needs the word no so she doesn’t end up spoiled like you. and i’ve had plenty of practice,” you shoot blandly, “i’ve said no to your eyes all these years haven’t i?”

“even crazier,” he mutters, “i have the most adorable eyes, how could you say no?”

“it’s pretty easy if you ask me,” you shrug.

most people tend to call satoru arrogant—humble is not usually used in the same sentence as gojo satoru. evidently, they’ve never watched him interact with you before—you always find a way to humble him. he’s starting to think he’s the butt of every joke in his own marriage.

“please, baby?” he pouts deeper, “i’ve been good! i floss!”

“no.”

“what if i fold the laundry for a month?” he bats his lashes.

that’s tempting, you have to admit. folding laundry is a very boring job, you’re more than happy to hand it over to satoru for a bag of candy that barely dents your wallet. but then you find your resolve again, crossing your arms as you stare at him unimpressed.

“no, satoru.”

“two months?”

“nope.”

“did you only marry me for my looks?” he asks in disbelief, “because there’s not one ounce of love in that heart of yours.”

“this is for your own good, satoru,” you say firmly, “you had two cavities. how much sugar have you been consuming lately? and don’t think i don’t notice you skipping meals when you’re busy—a chocolate bar does not replace lunch.”

you’re glaring at him, drilling him for his health choices that are not his fault—he’s a busy guy, and he can’t help that a chocolate bar on his way to a mission is all he can squeeze in sometimes. maybe a protein bar would be a better option, but they’re not as tasty, and satoru thinks he deserves to be happy. and then, from the end of the aisle, you hear a few snickers coming from passerby’s. he pouts deeper at the thought of being laughed at as he gets scolded by his wife in the middle of the breakfast aisle.

“what’s the point of living if you’re gonna be miserable?” he groans, “we might as well just start going to bed at nine pm too, while we’re at it. and—”

“that’s actually a lovely idea,” you hum thoughtfully, “you certainly could use the sleep, couldn’t you?”

he glares at you petulantly, sulking as you grab the bag from your daughter’s and put it on the shelf—it’s not the right place, but taking a trip to the candy aisle to place it where it belongs is only venturing deeper into the lion’s den. you’re not letting satoru have more options to choose from.

“you seein’ this, angel?” he turns to your daughter, “you see how mean mommy is? she’s not letting us have candy. make sure you remember that when i ask you who’s your favorite again.”

you roll your eyes, snorting. satoru asks her playfully one night who the favorite parent is—it’s a meaningless question, meant to be a joke and nothing else. you’re sure he expects her to say both—but he gets his feelings severely hurt when she giggles and points to you, staring in disbelief as you grin in victory and kiss her cheeks. you even rub salt on the wound when you mumble she’s your favorite baby too.

he’s starting to really think he’s a victim in his own household.

“but mommy gives me candy,” she tilts her head in confusion.

oh no. she’s not supposed to say that—she promised not to say that. why can’t children ever keep a filter on their words? and why can’t they keep their promises?

almost like in slow motion, both of your eyes widen. satoru pauses. you start to sweat. he turns to face you slowly, in abject disbelief.

“what?” you laugh nervously, “no i don’t! we don’t have any candy at home—”

“she keeps it in her drawer!” your daughter adds, as if she wants to see your downfall.

you love your daughter, you really do—but sometimes you think motherhood is a punishment for whatever sin it is that you’ve committed in your previous life. satoru crosses his arms and taps his foot.

“what happened to we’ll all give up sweets together so you’re not alone, toru,” he mocks your voice, squinting at you accusingly. “so we’re a family of liars now?”

“toru, listen—”

“i trusted you.”

“baby—”

“what happened to our wedding vows? what happened to in sickness and in death? a little cavity is enough to change all that? i’m scared to think what you’d do if i lost an arm.”

“well, you’re not the strongest for nothing,” you point out, chuckling nervously, “so we have nothing to worry about there.”

“i can’t believe you,” he spits, turning away from you with crossed arms and a quiet hmph.

“toru, you can’t expect us all to give up sugar just because you can’t stop making poor health choices,” you argue exasperatedly.

so what if you secretly enjoy a kitkat here and there? you deserve it for dealing with not one, but two children at home every single day—sometimes three if shoko comes over, her lifestyle choices aren’t any better. satoru should let you enjoy a piece of candy or two until he fixes his terrible habits that could very well set a terrible example for your very young and impressionable daughter.

“well, i have adult money of my own,” satoru huffs, “and as an adult, i’ll be purchasing my own candy to hide in my own drawer that i won’t share with you since we’re now apparently a family that doesn’t think sharing is caring.”

“i don’t know if i’m raising one child or two,” you sigh tiredly, rubbing a hand over your face.

satoru grabs the bag of candy off the shelf, promptly placing it in the cart before walking off ahead of you as he pushes it. your daughter grabs your hand and smiles, tugging you along.

“c’mon mommy,” she says brightly, “you said we can go to the park!”

—————— BONUS ——————

“are you serious, satoru?” you ask incredulously, watching as he comes back to sit on the other end of the bench, ice cream cone in hand.

he didn’t even bring you one—what an asshole.

“oh sorry,” he shrugs, “i figured you and our daughter were planning on getting ice cream on your own without me. since, you know, apparently you guys love to have lots of things without me.”

“you’re being so dramatic—”

“i want ice cream too!” you hear a small voice call from the distance, making you turn to your daughter as she sprints over to you from the playground, eyeing the cone in satoru’s hand.

“you heard her,” he drawls, licking at his strawberry ice cream mockingly, “why don’t you go buy her a secret cone. i won’t look.”

being a single mom of two is a full time job, you think, you didn’t sign up for this.

guess who has two cavities ?? a certain brother of mine. guess who’s entire household has to give up sweets now for their brother’s inability to have proper dental hygiene ?? if you guessed me, you might just be psychic :O

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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sceletaflores · 7 months ago

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where there’s sparks, there’s fire!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.

—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.

word count: 4.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.

Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.

You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.

It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.

Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.

Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.”

You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.

You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.

He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name.

“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.

You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.

Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.”

You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?”

You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.

Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves.

Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”

You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face.

You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.

Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts.

Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”

You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose.

His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.

Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.

"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."

You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.

Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils.

You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.

You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup.

Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.

His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."

Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."

His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.

It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you.

You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.

“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.

Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you.

Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around.

He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”

You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach.

Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.”

You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.

Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”

You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off.

Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.

He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat.

You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.

He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness.

It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.

“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.

Yeah fucking right.

“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”

Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”

You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso.

You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.

“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.

Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.

You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.

“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.

Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.

His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.

You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.

“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.

He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.

“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.

“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in. You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”

“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.

“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”

Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.

He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass.

The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock.

You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly.

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.

Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.

He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.

You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts.

The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks.

Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door.

“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.

He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted.

Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.

You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.

Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.

arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???

tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!

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nicka-nell · 7 months ago

Text

How they act when they have a crush on you

Pairing: Atsumu x, Suna x, Kuroo x, Ushijima x, Daichi x, Hinata x, Iwaizumi x, Oikawa x reader

Warning: fluff, mdni

Part 1 | Part 2 (end)

A total bully. Constantly in teasing mode.

Whether it’s in class and he throws little paper balls at your head, pulls your hair while you’re tying your shoes in the gym, or “borrows” your homework to copy it and give you your notebook back with a scrabbly drawing next to your exercises.

Atsumu takes every free opportunity to pick on you, thinking that you take it as a form of pleasant affection.

You’re chatting with some friends in sports class when you get hit in the back of the head with a ball. It wasn’t a powerful throw. In fact, you barely felt it, but you know immediately who the ball came from when you turn around with a grim expression and see the wide-grinning blond Miya brother running towards you. “Sorry sweetheart. But ya were standing in my throwing lane.” he grins and picks up the ball. Oh, how you’d love to hit him in the face with the ball.

After school you just want to go home, the umbrella is already open as it is pouring like hell, when you feel two strong hands snatching the umbrella from your hands. “Hey sweetheart, I’m sure ya won’t have a problem if I borrow the umbrella, will ya?” Atsumu smirks at you again, already holding the umbrella in his hands so that he doesn’t get wet. You’re next to him, but half your body still gets wet as you try to take the umbrella away from him. “Hey, I’m a damn superb athlete. Can’t risk it to get sick,” he complains, putting his arm around your shoulders and pulling you towards him so that you don’t get completely wet. You walk home together for quite a while until Atsumu leads in the opposite direction to his own home. With your umbrella, of course. You can prepare yourself to arrive home soaked and chilled. Awesome.

Atsumu would never think of telling you that he has a crush on you. He assumes that you already know this and that you also have feelings for him, but are too shy to tell him.

When a guy invited you out for ice cream and you agreed, Atsumu complained to Osamu. Osamu first had to make it clear to him that you two are definitely not a couple and that you certainly don’t assume that he has feelings for you, because Atsumu is also just an asshole towards you.

Atsumu interrupts you sulking while you’re eating ice cream with the guy, completely ignores this dude and tells you that you shouldn’t eat ice cream with other guys because he likes you and it annoys him when you do things with other guys who aren’t him.

Suna is probably more of a secret, very laid-back admirer who takes things rather slowly.

He doesn’t behave any differently towards you in everyday life. That’s why it’s not obvious to outsiders that he has feelings for you. Even for you.

You’re in the same circle of friends. He’s not particularly jealous when you talk to other men. Possibly also because he knows exactly what he has to offer and is convinced of himself to a healthy degree.

But after a while, you notice that he’s more interested in you. He always likes your pictures on social media. Sometimes he comments on them with emojis. A fiery heart, or a smiley looking mischievously to the side, or even a smiley with heart eyes. Sometimes he also speaks to you directly about your pictures.

Rarely does he tease you.

“Saw your picture yesterday. Looked good,” he says calmly, his legs up against the wall as he lies on his back on the bed, his head hanging off the edge of it as he looks at his phone in his hands. You’re sitting on the floor with your back against his bed, still finishing up a few things for your group work for school, when you look sideways at him. “Thank you, that was with Tsumu. We played CoD,” you answer him. “A game date?” he replies with an almost arrogant look, still scanning you from his casual position as you shake your head and roll your eyes. Suna wouldn’t admit it, but deep down, he’s glad you denied his question.

Your free classes are for learning. But sometimes you use them to just relax, chat or do nothing. While one or two of you are studying in the school's common room, you approach Suna, who is sitting on a bench with Atsumu and Osamu. Both boys are looking at Suna’s phone, who’s playing a game, when you approach him and ask curiously what he’s doing. All three boys look at you before Suna grabs your hand and casually pulls you onto his lap while resting his head on your shoulder. His hands are around your waist while his phone is in his hands in front of you. “It’s a new mobile game that came out. It’s based on a webtoon,” he answers, still focused on his phone.

Suna would probably confess his feelings to you first. However, his confession is rather spontaneous.

For example, in a store when you buy some fruit sticks on the way back home and he also pays for your stick. Outside, you tell him that he didn’t have to do that and that you can pay for it yourself, but out of the blue, he just tells you that he did it because he likes you. “So what does it matter? I did it because I like you. So bad?”

Like Atsumu, Kuroo is someone who would tease you to get your attention. But not in that childish way with paper balls in your hair.

But at the same time, Kuroo would also help you and is very attentive.

In sports class, you are currently learning the basics of basketball - how to dribble, make a lay-up and so on - before your sports teacher tells you to practice on your own for the next 30 minutes. Kuroo grins at you and throws you the ball. “Do you think you can beat me in a one-on-one?” he smirks, knowing full well that you can’t. Nevertheless, you accept his challenge, start to play and quickly lose the ball. “You need to be less stiff. Try to move with the ball. And... try to keep the ball at about waist height when you dribble,” Kuroo says as he dribbles past you to make a smooth 3-pointer.

You’re sitting on a bench in the shadows during your break. It’s a hot summer day and you just want to get somewhere where there’s air conditioning. “You should drink more. It’s pretty hot today and you’re not an oryx antelope that can go without water for long,” says Kuroo, who suddenly stands next to you at the bench and holds out a small bottle of water.

He always acts so tough around others, but he cares about the people who are important to him.

Would he tell you that he has feelings for you? Probably not, but at some point you would notice it yourself and ask him casually.

If you asked him about it, he’d start off by rambling and beating around the bush, but then eventually admit to having feelings for you.

Ushijima would probably behave the same way towards you as he usually does. At least that’s what he thinks.

But you can actually see him looking in your direction from time to time and subconsciously observing you.

He also subconsciously thinks of you, asking Tendou, for example, whether he could imagine that you might also like certain things.

In class, you are all already in the classroom waiting for the teacher, while you talk to Semi about the new shop next to the school and Tendou tries to tell Ushijima about the latest manga he has read. Tendou quickly realizes that Ushijima isn’t paying any attention to him, but that his gaze is instead wandering toward you and Semi. “Wakatoshi? Were you even listening to me?” Ushijima barely visibly flinches, noticing that his thoughts were somewhere else when he looks over at Tendou again. “Can you lend me the magazine? They always have such interesting promotions on the last page,” he says, completely forgotten that his attention was still on you earlier. Unlike Tendou, who purses his lips and narrows his eyes.

“Uhhh, tell me, did you watch the new K-Drama series? The one with the lawyers and the forensic scientist? Mmmh, the lawyer’s secretary is sooo cute!” Tendou chants as he walks with Ushijima towards the gym for training. “No. Do you think Y/n would like the series? She likes watching these things, doesn’t she?” Ushijima asks dryly, not realizing that he’s only thinking about you again. “Mmm, I don’t know, maybe you two should watch the series,” Tendou replies, hoping to finally get a little more out of Ushijima, but he doesn’t respond to his statement anymore.

It would take so long for Ushijima to realize that he has feelings for you. Whether he finds out on his own, because he realizes that this rapid heartbeat is not because of his “suddenly worsening condition”, or because Tendou gives him a few clues to think about his feelings for you.

However, Ushijima would tell you as soon as he recognized it for himself. But not with a bouquet of flowers and a romantic dinner.

No, he would simply ask you at the next opportunity, if you were interested in him, because he is pretty sure that his interest in you goes beyond friendship. Not caring if you were alone or around friends during his confession.

Sawamura is a little gentleman. He would show his kind of affection through small things. The typical “act of kindness”.

Whether it’s opening the door, holding your school bag while you put on your jacket, or simply walking home together, even if it means a ten-minute diversions for him.

“Ah damn...” you curse quietly as you sit in your seat in the classroom and realise that you’ve forgotten your pencil case at home. “Dai-“ you’re turning around to ask Sawamura if he can lend you a pencil only to see him holding one out to you already, with a slight smile on his face. “Thank you.” You whisper quietly and turn back to the front.

You’re on your way home after a pretty exhausting day at school. All of you stayed a little longer in the school library today to study for your final exams. So it’s already dark when you go home and you’re upset about not bringing a jacket. “Here. Next time you should remember to pack something warm. You never know when it might rain and the temperature could drop,” Sawamura says calmly, holding out the jacket he wears for volleyball training. He himself is still wearing his school uniform jacket. After all, he doesn’t want to catch a cold. You gratefully accept the sports jacket and put it over your shoulders. Sawamura wouldn’t admit it, but he wouldn’t mind if you forgot your jacket next time as well, and wore his instead, because seeing you in his way too big jacket somehow makes his heart beat faster.

Sawamura would think long and hard about whether to confess his feelings to you, because he wouldn’t want to ruin the friendship between you. But in the end, he would be the one to confess his feelings to you first, in the hope that you would return them.

Unlike Ushijima, however, he would do it at a moment that suits him. For example, when the two of you are alone, on the way home together, in a quiet and laid-back environment and a relaxed atmosphere.

Hinata is so clumsy and although he tries to hide his feelings a little bit and keep them under control, even a blind man would understand how much he has a crush on you.

As soon as you enter the room, he gets all nervous and his vocabulary suddenly shrinks so much that it feels like it only consists of 30 words.

Even if Hinata appeared nervous towards you, he would never be someone who would tease you or have a cheeky remark on his lips. Nor would he ignore you. He would also be the cheerful and friendly whirlwind towards you, just a little awkward. He would try to support you, even if it was just carrying the bench in the gym together with you.

“H-hi,” Hinata stutters and turns away, glowing red in the face, as you smile at him and greet him too. “I’ve brought water for myself,” he says with a smile and holds out a water bottle to you. You give him an irritated look, but then giggle. “For you? Yes, that’s nice, but why are you giving it to me?” you ask and notice Hinata blushing again. He’s probably embarrassed right now. But you think it’s cute. “Eh, I mean for you. You. I’ve got my bottle here! See? It’s even full!” he says and reaches for the bottle in the side of his bag, wanting to shake it to show you that it’s full. But instead, he presses down on the bottle and splashes the water on his face. You giggle, but reach into your own gym bag and pull out a small towel to put on Hinata’s wet head so he can dry off. A gesture that is probably too much for his nerves right now.

Tired after his hard and long volleyball training with Kageyama, Hinata is just about to get on his bike and ride home when he sees you sitting at the bus stop in the dark. A little confused, he asks you what you are still doing here at this time of night when you tell him that you missed your bus."Then come on, I’ll drive you home!" he says with a cheerful smile and you don’t even have the chance to say no. Because you’re already sitting on the front of his handlebars while he pedals his bike and takes you home. He doesn’t seem to care that you live in the opposite direction to him and that it will take him even longer to get home, thanks to you. “Hold on tight, the Shouyou taxi is fast as lightning,” he says with a grin and drives you home.

With Hinata, it’s a fifty-fifty chance whether he confesses his feelings to you or not. Either he confesses them to you, but then because he babbles and the words just fall out of him with nervousness, or you tell him at some point that you have feelings for him.

If you are the one who confesses his feelings first, you can literally watch a fuse burn out in his head and how he is completely overwhelmed until he realizes what you have just told him.

Iwaizumi is similar to Sawamura. He would also shine through his act of kindness. Even if he would try to hide it coolly.

However, Iwaizumi also has a protective and slightly jealous side, especially when Oikawa gets the idea to flirt with you. He doesn’t like it when you feel uncomfortable or when other guys get too close to you.

“You shouldn’t carry such heavy things. You’ll damage your back,” Iwaizumi grumbles, before taking the bag with all the water bottles for the volleyball team from you and hanging it over his shoulder. “Hajime... I’m not five anymore... I can carry the bag by myself.” You answer him with a sigh. He’s a bit like your mum... far too caring. The only thing missing now is that he shouts after you in the morning to always bring a jacket so that you don’t freeze in the summer when it’s thirty degrees… “Never mind, I’ll carry the bag now...” he replies casually and turns his head away from you, but the tips of his reddish ears betray his coolness.

“Uuuhh my favorite manager is back” grins Oikawa, who runs up to you and hugs you as if you were best friends, but quickly lets go of you when he is hit in the back of the head with a ball. “Hey Shittykawa, leave her alone. We’re here to train, not to flirt with women. Especially not with our manager, you idiot!” Iwaizumi yells annoyed and approaches you both, while Oikawa tries to hide behind you. “Not my face, not my face!” Oikawa begs from behind you, leaning his head against your back. Iwaizumi tries to pull him away from you as the coach calls everyone together and demands their attention.

Iwaizumi would definitely be the first to tell you that he has feelings for you. But also alone, not in front of all your friends.

He would pull you aside, casually ask if you had a moment and just before he confessed his feelings to you. His tough determination would leave him and he would scratch the back of his neck until he got the words out almost sulkily, not looking you in the eye at first, before repeating his words with more determination, this time looking at you.

Oikawa would try to win your attention with every second.

Whether it’s in class because he offers to answer difficult questions and flaunts the answer to make himself look smart and strong in front of you, or whether it��s in training when he scores 5 points only with his serves.

Even your teacher doesn’t call you by name as often as Oikawa does when he wants your attention.

He also doesn’t like it when he sees you with other guys. He always pushes his way in between your conversations and tries to be close to you.

“Oh hey, Y/n-chan, what are you talking about right now?” he asks with feigned curiosity, his arms draped over your shoulders as he stares darkly into the eyes of the young guy in front of you. “Oh eh, we were talking about the new movie that airs tomorrow,” you reply, looking back over your shoulder at Oikawa, who suddenly looks at you with a smile, the dark expression completely gone. “A movie? Shall we go together?” He’s not really in the mood for the cinema, but if it means this guy leaves and Oikawa can spend more time with you, it’s a win-win.

Oikawa walks out of the changing room with a big grin on his face. Freshly showered and in everyday clothes after his team won the game against a neighboring team. “Did you see how many points I scored in that game? It’s amazing, isn’t it?” he asks, totally full of himself, as he puts his arm over your shoulders and pulls you closer to him. “Yes... you really scored a lot of points. But Hajime was also really-“, ”Iwa-chan could only score so many points because I’m the best setter. Right? You saw that, didn’t you? How I pass the ball into Iwa-chan’s hand?" he interrupts you, almost as if it annoys him that you were about to praise his best friend. With a sigh, you just chuckle. “Mhh yes, that’s right. You’re really great.” you answer him and watch as his eyes sparkle even brighter and he happily presses you against his chest. “I knew you only had eyes for me, little birdy.”

Since Oikawa assumes that every woman likes him anyway, he also expects you to like him. Would he tell you that he has feelings for you? Maybe.

The fact that you two are always doing so much together and that he’s like a clingy puppy somehow blurs the line between friendship and relationship.

At some point, when a guy had asked for your number, Oikawa had then shouted loudly that the guy should leave his girlfriend alone. You looked at him in confusion and there was a brief, awkward silence until you asked him if by any chance he had feelings for you.

#haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #kuroo x reader #tetsurou kuroo x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #daichi x reader #daichi sawamura x reader #hinata x reader #shoyo hinata x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi haijime x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader

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wttcsms · 21 days ago

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crownview country club ✦ one shot collection

welcome to crownview country club, one of the most premier country clubs in existence. whether you're savoring a round on our championship golf course, enjoying the serenity of our world-class spa, or indulging in gourmet dining crafted by our award-winning chefs, crownview provides a retreat like no other. as you navigate the greens, let the warmth of our renowned beverage cart girls, affectionately known as the club's crown jewels, enhance your experience. these girls are dedicated to providing exceptional customer service, and are here for your every need, on and off the course. alternatively: you — young, sweet, naive you — think you just won the jackpot by securing a job this summer break as a beverage cart girl at a country club you can't even dream of ever joining. how unfortunate that you just didn't know what types of customers you'd have to service and how far the club's "above and beyond" approach really extends...

ᝰ.ᐟ a nsfw longfic one shot collection featuring a sweet, vulnerable reader + a different archetype of customer who will always hold the power in this dynamic

✦ meet the regulars ✦

the new owner aka satoru gojo warnings power imbalance, dark content, degradation, extortion, misogyny

you're good at your job. you're hardworking and never let your smile slip off your face, even when the customers get too handsy or too condescending with you. you don't mess up orders, and you always maintain the position that the customer is always right. but with this new regular — who's arrogant and mean and downright nasty — you're not sure how long you can keep up with your fake smiles around him. little do you know, he's making a game of how far he can go before you break. oh, and that little stunt you pulled? where you tried to report his "awful behavior" to your manager? that was cute. really cute. but as the new owner of this country club, there's no one that can do anything about whatever he does. he owns this place, and by extension, that means he owns you.

the classmate aka kiyoomi sakusa warnings dark-ish content, manipulation, possessive behavior

attending your dream private college on scholarship comes with a lot more challenges than you anticipated. for starters, you don't fit in with any of your classmates and struggle to find friends. your scholarship covers tuition, and that's about it. while your peers are off on vacation, you'll be spending the summer break trying to save up enough money to cover rent and basic living expenses. it's shaping up to be a boring summer, until you keep running into one of your classmates: he plays on the golf team for your school, and apparently, he just can't get enough of the sport... or you.

the corporate powerhouse aka tetsurou kuroo warnings dark content, praise kink, degradation, dubcon, slight fear play, misogyny

one of the worst groups of men to encounter on the golf course? definitely the men who work in corporate. the ones who conduct client meetings on the course and definitely contribute nothing beneficial to society. to them, employees of the establishments they frequent are no more than "the help", but when you're a pretty young thing, whipping out the pitiful broke college student story, you end up sparking the interest of a ceo with a major savior complex.

the soldier aka caleb warnings age gap, size kink, possessive behavior, dark-ish content

forced to take a break from his special forces team, this soldier is restless and struggling to acclimate back to regular society. his old friends keep dragging him to their weekly golf meetups, but he can't see the appeal. that is, until he meets you. sweet and soft, the exact opposite of everything he's had to encounter these past few years, you are exactly what he wants — no, needs — in order to properly enjoy civilian life.

the not-so secret admirer aka yuuta okkotsu warnings yandere, babytrapping, obsessive&possessive behavior, dark content

you're used to rich guys who are major jerks, and as one of the wealthiest members of this club, you're certain that he must be no different. but then he surprises you; he is different. where others are cocky, condescending, quick to remind you of your place (beneath them), he's kind and a little bit awkward. shy, and always apologizing, worrying that he's bothering you. he's sweet. you like him, but maybe not as much as he obviously likes you. first comes the insane tips, then the extravagant gifts (that you're not allowed to refuse), and any resistance on your end has him revealing a colder side to him, an almost scary side, that frightens you into agreeing with whatever he tells you to do. he's so rich because he never gives up, and never takes no for an answer — and you'll learn this lesson, too.

#one shot #haikyuu x reader #jjk x reader #love and deepspace x reader #satoru gojo x reader #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #tetsurou kuroo x reader #caleb x reader #yuuta okkotsu x reader #smut #tw dark content #tw dubcon #yandere au

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milksnake-tea · 3 months ago

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━━ to walk amongst the living .

Jade's last words continue to haunt Sunday as he is cast from the heaven of Penacony and goes from a Family Head to a mere traveler. On his journey to fully understand the struggles of mortals, he ends up becoming companions with you, a fellow wanderer.

sunday x gn!reader

contains: post 2.3, written before 2.7, sunday is hinted to have asthma, sunday is trying his best but bro hasn't touched grass in years so he's struggling, hardcore yearning from sunday

word count: 3.1k

a/n: SUNDAY TRAVEL SUNDAY TRAVEL SUNDAY TRAVEL SUNDAY TRAVEL BARKSI RIYGHGUGHU if hyv doesnt give us any crumbs on what he was doing before he runs into us again. EXPLODES

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina , @tragedy-of-commons , @cakechase , @kiiyoooo , @moineauz

“Achoo!“

The cold was starting to get annoying.

Sunday sighed, biting back his frustration as he wiped his nose with a handkerchief and tugged his scarf to better shield his face. It was a good thing he’d decided to bundle up before leaving Penacony; otherwise, he would’ve already died of pneumonia.

The Planet of Dreams and Festivities was the very definition of a paradise. Everything, from the colors, the sounds, and the temperature was carefully maintained to never be too much or too little.

Sunday did not have such privileges here.

He didn’t remember when the last time he saw snow was. Back home, the closest he’d seen to a natural landscape was the Moment of Oasis, where tourists lounged about on the spectacular beaches - and even then, Sunday hadn’t exactly had time to indulge in such luxuries.

His nose was no doubt red from the cold, and his thighs burned from the long hike he’d decided to torture himself with. Wind battered his hood against his face, occasionally blocking his vision or smacking him. Sunday’s wings instinctively shielded him from the incoming snow that somehow made its way past his hood. He grimaced at the feeling of the ice catching and melting on his feathers, already dreading having to clean them out.

Upon reaching a somewhat flat piece of terrain, he gave himself mercy and allowed himself to stop for a break. His halo, his main weapon against frostbite, glowed gently with a heat not unlike a fireplace as he surveyed just how far he’d traveled.

Mountains upon mountains greeted his gaze, all jagged and covered with the same multi-colored snow that was the staple of this planet. He stood among fallen aurora, and down below, he spied a cluster of bright, warm lights that stood apart from the greens, blues, and purples of the snow: the cities, where he’d first arrived here.

Zastrugi was a planet infamous for its harsh conditions, rivaled only by the recently reintroduced Jarilo-VI. Even so, the people here prided themselves on their resilience, and gladly welcomed those seeking a challenge or a death-defying thrill.

In other words, it was a cemetery of the arrogant and the ambitious, and a perfect fit for Sunday’s current goals. After all, what better way to live a mortal’s life than to endure their struggles?

Sunday looked down at himself. His legs were weak, shaking and trembling from the hike, and no doubt were only kept standing due to adrenaline. His chest burned from haggard breaths, cut again and again from each frosty inhale. His head felt light. He wanted to die.

If this wasn’t suffering, he didn’t know what was.

It was invigorating.

Never before had he felt more alive, with the frost biting at his cheeks and the pain that ransacked his body. He could hear his heart beating in his ears, fighting yet strong and resilient and surviving. A soft smile graced his pale lips as his breath fogged in the air.

How strange, he mused. To find such joy in his own suffering… Was he always this twisted?

“I was wondering when you’d catch up.”

Sunday turned to see you sitting on a rock nearby, snow brushed off of stone so that you could sit without wetting your pants. One of your legs is propped up as you look out at the view, your bored expression proof enough that you’d been sitting there for a while.

You were a fellow traveler he’d met sometime on his travels. Sunday still groaned whenever he remembered your first encounter; he’d gotten swept up in a sudden storm and remembered too late that 1.) he didn’t know how to swim and 2.) his wings were not waterproof. Had you not dove into the raging tide and pulled him out, he would’ve drowned for sure.

Ever since then, you’d accompanied him on his travels - or, rather, he accompanied you on yours. Sunday, with what little he knew of the world outside of Penacony, knew not what his destination was, nor where he should head off to. Your goal was a little more simple - you wanted to see all that was beautiful in the universe.

Even if that meant climbing to the tops of unreasonably steep mountains or camping out in unbearingly hot deserts.

Thankfully, you weren’t opposed to his offer (begging) to join you - on the contrary, you were thankful that he had been the one to say it because in your words, you didn’t know if he would survive if you left him alone by his lonesome.

He still didn’t know what to make of that. For his own pride, he chose to ignore it for the time being.

“Were you waiting long?” he asked, gloved fingers holding the edge of his hood as to keep both it and the snow out of his face. You shook your head, your own hooded cloak flapping in the wind as you looked back out at the view.

“Not as long as I might’ve in the past,” you joked lightly. Sunday breathed a laugh.

Back when he’d first walked alongside you, he’d fought a long and hard battle with his own stamina. It was embarrassing when he thought back on it, how many times he’d have to ask you to stop for a break or even had to be carried by you to the nearest rest stop. Sometimes he wondered why you kept him around, but of course, he never asked.

But he’d grown stronger and more resilient since then, at least, he hoped he did - if not for you, then for his pride.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Your voice was rather wistful as you spoke, a little breathless and hushed, yet clear in the crisp, scarce air. “What do you think? Was it worth it?”

“I’m not so sure,” Sunday tried for a joke of his own - although, he wasn’t all joking. No matter how much he traveled, he could never get used to the feeling of his own breath scraping against his lungs as he heaved for air.

You, intuitive as ever, sighed knowingly. “Sit down. You look as if you’re going to pass out.”

Brushing aside some snow on the rock, you shifted over to make room for him. Gratefully, Sunday fought demons in order to stop his trembling legs from collapsing in from under him as he lowered himself onto the rock. That would’ve been mortifying.

His breath fogged in the air as he sighed, thankful for some rest. Around him, the snowfall was gentle and slow, and as the moonlight from Zastrugi’s two moons caught on each individual flake, ribbons of light came and passed like wisps of smoke.

An echoing click of metal caught his attention. He looked to his side and was greeted with a cloud of steam warming his face. In your hand was a small metal thermos that held what he assumed is either tea or hot water. You gestured for him to take it.

“Drink; you need to warm up before we continue. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you died of hypothermia.”

Sunday breathed his gratitude as he took the thermos. Your fingers brushed slightly, but with the cold, he registered it only after it was gone, and by then it was too late to respond. Still, his heart skipped regardless, and he turned away before he dwaddled too long, thankful for the cold that had already reddened his cheeks.

He blew gently on the liquid within, and took small, careful sips as to not burn his tongue (it’d happened before, and it was humiliating). He was delightfully surprised with the subtle floral tastes of white tea, his favorite. It was obvious that it had been sweetened, and the honey added was just enough so that it satisfied his cravings.

But, as Sunday drank away, the tea warming him from the inside, he thought to himself - he never told you he liked white tea specifically, nor did he ever tell you how much sugar he preferred. How did you know?

Had you, every time you’d taken him to a local cafe or restaurant, watched and observed? Had you remembered, from the few times you’d seen him order or make a drink for himself?

His hold on the thermos faltered as fire rushed to his cheeks. In his chest, under all those layers of cloth and cloaks, a dance unfolded, his heart tip-tapping away, a steady rhythm that was both nerve-wrecking and comforting.

Sunday inhaled deeply, wings fluttering ever-so slightly, and pushed his thoughts away to focus on the tea, nearly burning his tongue in the process. You only raised a brow before returning your sight to the distant city. A comfortable silence enveloped the two of you.

As Sunday gazed down upon the scene, a sharp ache in his sides and a stiffness in his legs, he wondered - was this how Robin felt, when she performed from that grand stage of hers. Sure, the aurora couldn’t compare to the lightshow that accompanied his sister’s concerts, but still - there must be some similarities. Here, at the top of this world, he felt light, as if nothing could ever touch him.

“O chosen one, who dared to exceed his bounds. Sever your wings, descend to the mortal realm, and walk their lands. See what this world is truly like.”

Lady Bonajade’s words rang in his head. Instantly a scowl twisted his features.

He’d never liked the IPC, and he wasn’t going to start now - especially not with a snake like her. He could still hear her taunting voice, that indifferent condescention presented as good-natured pity dampening his mood. There wasn’t much that could truly anger him, but it only seemed natural that it was yet another IPC Stoneheart that managed the feat.

But still, she had been right… much to his chagrin. As much as he hated to admit it, he had flown too high from the people he wished to protect. Even the Astral Express - whom he respected far more than Jade - had made it clear: Know your people before you decide what was right for them.

“What’s on your mind?”

Sunday flinched. You peered at him from behind your hood, face gentle yet your brows were furrowed ever so slightly.

“Ah, I apologize.” He lowered the thermos to his lap. “I was… thinking.”

“I know,” you replied. Shifting slightly so that you could lean back on your hands, you stretched your legs out into the snow. “You do that a lot.”

With a kick, you sent the snow flying into an arch off the cliffside, creating another ripple in the aurora.

“Thinking too much in a place like this… seems like a waste, doesn’t it? Try and take a break from your brain, and just- see. Look at where you are.”

Sunday raised an abdominal wing to block the multi-colored snow from falling into his thermos. Shaking the snow off the twilight feathers, he sighed, staring into what remains of the tea.

You clicked your tongue. Snow crunched, and cloth shuffled, before the cap of the thermos blocked his view. Screwing it closed, you took the thermos from him, a twinge of annoyance tugging at Sunday as he mourned the last bits of tea still left in there.

Before Sunday could complain, however, you beat him to it.

“Don’t give me that look,” you teased lightly. “We’re almost to the top - you can finish your tea there.”

The beginnings of a pout tugged his lip, but with a reluctant sigh, Sunday abided. Pushing off of his knees, he brushed himself off.

“Very well,” he relented, but not without fixing you with a flat stare first. If you saw it, you didn’t say anything, for you had already begun your trek to the mountain’s peak.

The higher you climbed, the harsher the snow became. No matter how beautiful something was, Sunday found that he didn’t care if it was pelting him in the face with as much punch as a bullet. His hood became his shield, and he hurried to keep in pace with you.

Because unlike him, who specialized in Imaginary and Quantum manipulation, you were a master of fire. Your footprints lasted longer than his for the mere fact that you seemed to melt through the snow, and as long as Sunday kept close to you, he wouldn’t be at risk into becoming a popsicle.

But that was easier said than done. Again, you were far more traveled than he was, and as such you moved at a much faster pace despite the melting snow’s attempts at slowing you down. Sunday was already dreading the next morning - he’d have to do a full-body stretch for at least half an hour after this was all done if he wanted his legs to be functionable tomorrow.

Every now and then, you would glance back at him, as if making sure he hadn’t been swept up in an avalanche - which, if it weren’t unfortunately a valid concern, would’ve damaged his already ruined ego. And each time, Sunday would meet your gaze, and offer the tiniest of smiles before returning to his suffering.

By the time you had reached the summit, Sunday was well about to pass out. The air was thinner up here, making it hard to breathe, and his exhaustion did not make things easier. But he had done it, and surprisingly, he had kept in pace with you.

He breathed as much as he could, swallowing what little oxygen he could grasp from the top of the world. A wheeze or two ripped through his lungs. Wordlessly, you pressed his inhaler into his hand, a pat on his back to congratulate him. Sunday nodded his thanks.

Once his medication had done its magic and he no longer had to focus on the struggles of breathing properly, he realized that the world had gone silent. Snow no longer pelted at his face, and the aurora had gone dark.

And then he swept his gaze, and saw the clouds below him. Somehow, without noticing, he’d passed through them, and entered an entirely different plane of Zastrugi. Here, there was nothing but sky, and the stars - real, actual stars, not the false ones created by the snow, danced in nebulae above him.

And there was you, your cloak flapping in the wind as you gazed up at the cosmos. With so little light, he could only see your silhouette, but he has the impression that your back is turned towards him.

You are silent, as you always are when you see new sights. In moments like these, it was as if your breath had been stolen, and it is all you could do to absorb the picturesque scene before you, engraving it into your mind to store for all eternity.

Once, Sunday had expected you to take photos of your journeys, as a memento. But you never did. No, rather, you would stand there, memorizing every little detail, and then return to your temporary home to paint it instead.

And he swore, those paintings were almost always more magnificent than the places they were based on.

Sunday took one last look towards the everlasting cosmos before coming up to your side. Rather than the sky, the image he drank in was you. Your expression was soft, yet awe-struck, much like a child seeing the world for the first time. There was always a sort of melancholy in your eyes, but also a love for everything that he could drown in if you allowed him to.

You loved the world, and it was that love that he adored.

You turned to him, noticing his gaze, and for a moment, it was if time itself had stopped. His breath caught in his throat, and words died on his tongue. All he could do was look into your star-speckled gaze, all the colors of the universe casting their light onto the two of you.

What expression was he wearing, he wondered? A smile, or perhaps… something else?

But then you raised your hand, brushing it against his cheek ever so slightly, and all of those thoughts disappeared.

A smile wove onto your lips. “You had some snow left on you.”

Sunday tried not to miss your hand as it left him. His fingers trace what you had left, his gaze becoming lidded.

“Ah,” he breathed.

The corner of yours eyes crinkle, and you turned to the cliffside. Leaning over slightly, you peered over the edge, the clouds obscuring the true height of the fall. Sunday blinked.

“What are you planning…” he sighed, crossing his arms. You chuckled, turning slightly to meet his eyes.

“One way or another, we have to get down,” you pointed out. Sunday’s expression fell flat.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Your feet toed the edge, sending rocks and snow tumbling down. “You said you wanted to experience life as a mortal to the fullest, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t aware that included throwing oneself off a mountain.”

You shook your head, a grin surfacing. “You’re no fun, Sunday. Don’t you have those wings of yours? What do you have to worry about?”

Sunday’s answer was immediate. “You.”

“How sweet of you,” you commented as he came to besides you. “Well, then, you’ll just have to catch me, won’t you?”

Sunday squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. “[Name], I swear upon all that is good in this world-”

He opened his eyes. You were already gone.

Sunday swore.

Midnight unfolded behind his back, clashing with his white cloak. Without so much as a second thought, he dove into the clouds headfirst, shooting through the sky like a meteor as he searched for you.

The second the fog of the clouds leave, however, he was thrust into a world of color. He fell alongside the snow, and unlike when he was on the mountain itself, he became a part of the aurora. The colors nearly blinded him, if not for the fact that he had his sights set on one thing - your falling figure, so close yet so far.

He tucked his wings as to fall faster. The second he reached you, he grabbed you, arms locking around your waist and pulling you into him, where it was safe.

“You’re a fool,” he scolded as your chest met his. You laughed, throwing your head back to return to the aurora.

“And yet, you saved me all the less.”

Sunday rolled his eyes as your legs wrapped around his waist. His wings returned to their full wingspan, catching the wind and ensuring that your fall didn’t end in a tragedy. He swerved and turned and glided, dodging peaks and keeping his sights on the city.

And all the same, you laughed, nothing short of pure glee in your voice.

And he sighed, fondness squeezing him regardless.

Yes, you were a fool.

But you were a fool he couldn’t help but love.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

#—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr sunday #sunday x reader #hsr sunday x reader #honkai star rail sunday #honkai star rail sunday x reader #sunday hsr x reader #sunday #x reader #reader insert #y/n #archives 🏵️

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noxturnals-void · 6 months ago

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Slashers with an s/o that’s always cold

Characters include:

Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Jesse Cromeans, Asa Emory

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✨Chronic cold hands and feet gang unite✨

Tw: suggestions of nsfw (nothing described explicitly), characters being hard on themselves

———————————————————————————

Jason Voorhees:

Pre-zombie

He’s a big, warm guy.

You can cuddle against him and feel like you're hugging a heater.

Will give you bear hugs to heat you up at any time.

It can get pretty cold during the winter, so his lap is where you’ll be. He doesn’t mind.

He will hold your hands in his to warm them up whenever he notices your hands are too cold.

When you are out on walks together in the woods or around the campgrounds, you hold hands in his jacket pocket.

When you cuddle on the couch or in bed, he’ll make sure your hands and feet are always warm.

Post-zombie

Poor guy :(

He can’t comfort you how he used to now that he’s room temperature.

He’ll still try his absolute best to keep you warm with heated blankets and fuzzy socks.

Will give your hands and feet massages to stimulate blood flow.

He feels bad not being able to keep you warm as well during the winter, so he builds extra big fires just for you.

Will still give you bear hugs, even if they don’t warm you up.

Michael Myers:

He never lets you go anywhere alone, but that doesn’t mean he’s all over you.

When the urge for physical touch does happen, it’s rarely PG-13.

Outside of that, it’s uncommon for him to do things such as cuddle or hug.

When he is unusually tame, you will find him holding you.

He wants to be near you. Sometimes that means you are stuck to his chest, wrapped up in his arms, or pinned onto the couch or bed under his weight.

He may or may not let you put your hands under his mask to heat them up against his neck or face.

Fair warning: only try if you’re prepared to lose a hand.

If you don’t lose a hand, something’s wrong. Might be time for his yearly vet appointment.

Thomas Hewitt aka Leatherface:

This guy can’t keep his hands off of you.

He knows your hands and feet are always cold, even during the hot Texas summer.

He’s more than willing to share his body heat.

He will constantly worry about your hands and feet being so cold. Is your heart okay? He’s always going to be worried about your health.

If you want to work outside with him, he’ll let you, but don’t think you’re doing any heavy lifting when you’ve got him around.

He won’t deny that it’s nice to have your hands against the back of his neck, under his hair, or on his forehead, like a personal ice pack.

When you sleep, he will be the big spoon to ensure you are safe and warm the entire night.

Jesse Cromeans aka Chromeskull:

Pre-superest of super glues

Oh, this cocky bastard.

You want him to warm up your hands? Don’t worry, he will put your hands to good use, and they’ll be warm in no time ;)

Relishes in you cuddling up to him for warmth.

The way you shiver, complaining about your feet being cold as you shove them between his legs has him laughing.

Will definitely spoil you rotten with gifts.

You have a collection of luxury-brand thermal socks and expensive heating packs at your disposal for when he’s not around.

He will suggest exercise. Especially at-home yoga. It's good for your circulation. It’s good for his circulation to see you in some of those poses ;)

Post-superest of super glues

He’s less cocky now that he’s lost (what he believes) is one of his best attributes. His face.

He will be distant for a while; resisting giving into your physical affection despite your hands and feet being ice cubes. He can’t be your heater until he comes to terms with his own reality first.

He still buys you gifts, more so now that he’s constantly worried you will leave him if he doesn’t.

Instead of acting all smug and arrogant about you wanting him, he will try to enjoy the fact you still want to be near him.

His affirmations that you still care about him come from you still sticking your ice-cold hands up his sleeves to make him jump, or your frozen feet sliding between his legs seeking warmth when you sleep together at night.

He would never admit it, but your cold hands on his face make him feel normal again.

Asa Emory aka The Collector:

Oh, he’s intrigued.

You have chronically cold hands and feet?

Do you have anemia? Poor circulation? Thyroid issues? Autoimmune disorder? Best believe he will force you to get checked for every possibility; if you haven’t already done so.

If nothing comes up, he will suggest exercise.

You are welcome to join him on his morning runs or occasional bouts to the gym.

Of course, he’s more than willing to warm you up in alternative ways ;)

He’s a busy man, balancing his work and extracurricular activities, so he won’t always be around for you to warm up against.

When that's the case, you have plenty of stuff he’s provided for you.

When he is around and notices your abnormally cold hands or feet, he will address it silently, handing you fuzzy socks or a heating pad.

He’s got to make sure his favorite pet stays in good health after all ;)

#slashers #slasher x reader #jason voorhees #jason voorhees x reader #michael myers #michael myers x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #jesse cromeans #jesse cromeans x reader #asa emory #asa emory x reader #slasher memes #slasher edit #slasher fandom #slasher imagine #slasher imagines #slasher headcanons

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ruewritesoccasionally · 13 days ago

Text

Friction & Flames | Terry Richmond

pairing: terry richmond x black!reader

warnings: smut (18+), workplace rivalry, power dynamics, forced proximity, angst, rough sex, oral (f receiving), light hair pulling, explicit language, possessiveness, a lot of dialogue, a little slow burn and Terry being an absolute menace (but we love him).

summary: a classic enemies-to-lovers showdown: sharp words, sharper tension, and a deadline that forces them into close quarters. When tempers flare and restraint snaps, her and Terry finally settle their differences - in their own way...

word count: 6.4K

a/n: this came out much longer than intended 😭 this is a reupload, just reworked - the original didn't do as well as i would've liked but also it wasn't my best work. i'm much happier with it now though and i hope you guys are too 🫶🏾

The alarm buzzed, shrill and relentless. She groaned, blindly slapping at the snooze button before peeling herself out of bed. Coffee brewed while she moved through her morning routine—shower, dress, make-up—each step as precise and efficient as the last. The world felt easier when it followed structure, when things happened as they should.

Which was exactly why he drove her insane.

Terry Richmond had no regard for order, for rules, for method. He operated on instinct, on charm, on raw talent that somehow, infuriatingly, got him just as far as the meticulous planning she slaved over. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. But it was the reality she faced every single day as his co-lead project manager.

By the time she arrived at the office, it was still quiet—just the way she liked it. These early mornings were her sanctuary, the only time of day when she could get ahead without distraction. But of course, peace never lasted long.

The telltale hum of easy conversation carried through the space, growing louder as he made his usual rounds. Schmoozing. Charming. Doing absolutely nothing useful. She didn’t even have to look up to know Terry had entered the room.

“Morning, everyone,” his voice rang out, smooth as silk.

Her fingers paused over the keyboard. Not yet. Not today. She kept her gaze locked on her screen, willing him away with sheer willpower.

No such luck.

“Well, well, Princess” he drawled, stopping beside her desk. “I see someone made it in without getting lost. Impressive.”

Her jaw tightened as she slowly swiveled in her chair, eyes locking onto his. That smirk. That self-satisfied, arrogant, infuriating smirk.

“For the last time, Terrance,” she said, enunciating his full name like a curse, “it’s not Sweetheart, it’s not Babygirl, and it’s definitely not Princess. Now turn around and—”

“Terrance,” he interrupted with a hand over his chest, feigning a wound to his heart. “Damn. And here I was, thinking we were past the formalities.”

Her glare could’ve set the whole office ablaze, but he only grinned wider, like he enjoyed the fire.

He always did.

The smug grin Terry shot her before he strolled to his desk was enough to make her want to hurl her coffee at him. Bastard. He knew exactly how to get under her skin, and he did it with a deliberate ease that made her blood boil. She inhaled deeply, gripping her pen tighter than necessary, willing herself to stay calm. The workday had barely begun, and he was already pressing every button she had.

It had been like this for years. Their competition wasn’t just petty office bickering—it was a game of survival. A slow-burning, high-stakes war waged between two people too damn good at what they did to ever back down.

The promotions? She’d landed hers first. The biggest client of last quarter? He’d swooped in and stolen it from right under her nose. Every time she thought she had the upper hand, Terry Richmond would find a way to level the playing field—or tilt it entirely in his favour.

And he loved it.

She could see it in the way he watched her now, that knowing glint in his stormy grey eyes as if he was waiting for her to snap.

Not today.

Before she could drown him out with work, Linda’s heels clicked against the floor, her presence snapping the room into silence. Linda was direct, no-nonsense, and not easily impressed—so when she stopped by their desks instead of addressing the entire team, something was up.

“This next campaign is the biggest account we’ve landed all year,” she started, flipping through the folder in her hands. “Which means I need our best people on it.”

She paused—just for a beat—before letting the inevitable bomb drop.

“I want both of you heading it.”

Her stomach twisted, and she barely managed to suppress a groan. Of course.

Terry leaned back in his chair, the picture of casual amusement. “Our best, huh? You sure you want to put her in the running, boss?”

Her jaw tightened. “I should be asking the same about you.”

Linda exhaled sharply. “Enough. I don’t care how you two feel about it—I care about results. And between the two of you, I expect nothing but success.”

Linda’s expression remained impassive as she looked between them. “I don’t care how you two feel about it. This job is crucial, and it needs to be done. Quickly.” Her voice was sharp, clipped, leaving no room for argument. “In fact, why don’t you use tonight to start planning? Somewhere neutral. Off-site. No distractions.”

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. The mere suggestion of being alone together outside of work sent an undercurrent of something charged through the air.

Terry’s smirk stretched wider, like a cat toying with a trapped bird. “Neutral, huh? Guess that rules out your place, Princess.”

Her jaw clenched at the nickname, her irritation simmering just beneath the surface. “Don’t call me that,” she hissed, voice razor-sharp.

Linda, either blissfully unaware or purposefully ignoring the crackling tension, made a quick note on her clipboard. “That’s settled, then. I expect a full report by tomorrow morning.” She barely spared them a glance before walking away, her heels clicking against the floor in sharp finality.

Terry, ever insufferable, watched her go before turning his gaze back to the woman standing in front of him. His smirk hadn’t faltered once.

“Looks like we’re stuck with each other tonight,” he murmured, voice low, teasing.

She shot him a withering glare, but deep down, she already knew—this was going to be a very, very long night.

The words settled like a weight in the air. She hated that Linda was right. Neither of them would ever willingly bow out of something like this, not when winning meant getting one step ahead of the other.

And Terry knew it too.

He tipped his chin toward her, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. “What do you say, sweetheart? Think you can keep up?”

She refused to look at him, refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, she turned to Linda and gave a curt nod. “Fine. I assume we’re getting full creative control?”

Linda returned the nod. “Within reason.”

“We’ll see about that,” Terry murmured under his breath.

Linda gave them one last pointed glance before walking off, leaving the tension behind her thick enough to choke on.

She should have just let it go. She should have focused on the work, ignored him like he was nothing more than an annoying fly buzzing in her ear.

But then she saw it—his damn smirk widening, like he knew she wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to bite back.

Slowly, she turned her head to him, keeping her expression neutral. “Try not to get in my way, Richmond.”

His gaze flickered with amusement, but he leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice. “I wouldn’t dream of it, babygirl.”

Her fists clenched at her sides as she bit back a retort. She was going to need every ounce of patience to survive this.

The hours ticked by, and as expected, Terry took his sweet time getting back to her about the details of their meeting. She wasn’t surprised. He loved making her wait, forcing her to reach out first. But she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Not tonight.

She went about her evening, refusing to check her phone, knowing that the moment she did, he’d win. And she’d sooner staple her own hand than let him believe she was sitting around, waiting on him.

When her phone finally buzzed, she ignored it for a few minutes before opening the message with deliberate disinterest.

Terry: Meet me at my place. 10 PM. Try not to get too distracted tonight, Princess.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers tightening around the phone. She should have known. Of course he’d make this as inconvenient as possible. Not a café, not a bar, not even the office—his place. A blessing in disguise to be honest. There was no way she’d let him pollute the sanctuary of her own home with presence.

He was testing her.

She could decline. Tell him to meet somewhere neutral, somewhere that wouldn’t give him the upper hand. But then he’d smirk that insufferable smirk and say something smug about her being too scared to be alone with him.

And she refused to give him that, too.

So she texted back.

Her: Fine.

The response was short, devoid of anything he could twist into a game. Still, she knew he’d find a way.

Standing in front of his door, irritation coursed through her, tangled with something deeper—something she refused to name. She wasn’t nervous. That would imply he had some kind of power over her, and he didn’t. He didn’t.

The door swung open, and there he was: Terry Richmond, leaning lazily against the frame and she was immediately annoyed. He looked too good. Smug satisfaction lined his face, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing inked skin stretched over muscle.

"My, my, my," he drawled, letting his gaze sweep over her with deliberate slowness. "Don’t you look stunning. Don’t tell me you dressed up for me."

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Terry, you’re on my time now—use it wisely," she snapped, slicing through his charm before it could gain traction.

Terry raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering for a split second as he clocked her no-nonsense mood. He adjusted quickly, though, stepping aside and gesturing her in with a lazy wave. "Come on in, then. We wouldn’t want to waste your precious time, would we?"

“Didn’t think you’d show.” His voice was lazy, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

She tried pushing past him but he blocked her movements. “I’m here to work, not play into your little games.”

He finally moved, shutting the door behind her, a low chuckle escaping him. “Princess, everything we do is a game.”

She walked past him, jaw tightened, but she ignored him, scanning the apartment instead. It was neat, too neat. The kind of place that suggested he didn’t spend much time here, that it was more of a crash pad than a home. Still, it smelled like him—clean, woodsy, with a faint trace of cologne—and the familiarity of it made her stomach tighten.

Terry shut the door, watching her. Always watching. "Drink?"

"No."

He hummed, pouring himself a glass of whiskey anyway. "Suit yourself."

She moved to the dining table, pulling out her laptop. "Let’s just get this done."

Terry exhaled dramatically, taking the seat across from her. "So eager. You always this desperate to get away from me?"

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she met his gaze, bored. "Depends. You always this desperate to keep me around?"

His lips curled. "Oh, always, sweetheart."

She hated the way her pulse betrayed her. The way his voice dripped with a promise she refused to decipher.

As the night stretched on, she noticed his focus drifting—not from the project, but from her. His gaze lingered too long, tracing the line of her throat when she sipped her drink, flicking to her mouth when she spoke, dropping to her bare legs beneath the table.

She knew the exact moment he stopped caring about work.

“Tired?” she asked, feigning innocence.

Terry leaned back in his chair, stretching leisurely. “Bored.”

“Because you’re losing?”

His smirk deepened. “You think this is a competition?”

She mirrored his expression. “Isn’t it?”

The words hung heavy between them, thick with something unspoken. Something neither of them wanted to name.

Shaking it off, she focused on the task at hand. They settled into work, heads bent over the project, their focus sharp. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to believe this might actually be productive.

But Terry was Terry, and peace was never part of his repertoire.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know what they were supposed to be doing—he did. But slipping in his usual jabs was second nature, like breathing. Whether it was the clash of egos, his compulsive need to compete with her, or sheer stupidity, he couldn’t seem to help himself.

To her credit, she let it slide. For now. His behaviour, by his standards, was almost tolerable, and she kept her focus on the task at hand. So much so that she barely noticed the way his eyes lingered on her.

Terry wasn’t focused on the proposal anymore. His gaze drifted, taking in every detail: the shimmer of gloss on her lips as she spoke, the way her movements carried an effortless grace even in her irritation. He wasn’t oblivious to the effect she had on him.

She walked into every room with a quiet confidence that drew him in, her voice carrying an authority that demanded attention. And it drove him mad that she seemed entirely unaffected by him. Her refusal to acknowledge his flirtations turned into a game he couldn’t resist playing. He loved riling her up, watching her react. Every glare, every clapback—it all meant she cared, and that’s what he wanted.

He leaned back in his chair, letting her take the lead on the project, though his mind had long since wandered. His eyes lingered on the way she crossed her legs, the slight arch of her back as she leaned forward to emphasise her point. He imagined how it would feel to have her closer, to—

And then he couldn’t resist.

“So," he drawled, his voice low, carrying that signature teasing edge, "how many other guys would kill to be in my position right now?"

That was it.

Something inside her snapped. Her face flushed, anger blazing in her eyes as she shot to her feet. Fists clenched at her sides, she fixed him with a glare that could melt steel.

"You arrogant, son of a—"

But she didn’t get the chance to finish.

Terry was already grinning, wider than ever, his expression one of pure satisfaction. He basked in the chaos he’d created, every ounce of her fury a testament to his power to get under her skin.

He leaned back, utterly unbothered, his smirk taking on a wicked gleam. He’d pushed her to this point, and he loved it. Relished it. This was his game, and he was playing it to perfection.

The tension in the room shifted—thick, potent, and almost suffocating. He moved toward her with a predatory grace, every step deliberate, his presence commanding. Placing his hands firmly on the armrests of her chair, he caged her in, leaving no room for escape.

Trapped and surrounded by his heat, her senses were overwhelmed. But even as he asserted his dominance, one thought lingered in his mind: she would taste him later.

Leaning down, he lowered his voice to a murmur that sent shivers racing down her spine.

"You see how easy it is for me to get under your skin?" His breath ghosted against her neck, his lips barely brushing her ear in a tantalising tease.

"But between you and me," he continued, his tone thick with sinful intent, "I’d rather you be under me."

The hitch in her breath was almost imperceptible, but Terry caught it. Of course, he caught it. That was the thing about him—he noticed everything. The way her pulse flickered at her throat. The way her fingers clenched, then relaxed, then clenched again, like she was trying to fight off whatever was brewing inside her.

And the way she didn’t move away.

His smirk deepened, his hands still bracketing her chair, keeping her right where he wanted her.

“I can see you're thinking about it,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something richer, smoother, meant to sink under her skin. “We both know how this ends. Why fight it?”

She scoffed, though it came out weaker than she wanted. “You’re delusional.”

His lips twitched. There she was. “And yet,” he murmured, tilting his head, “you’re still standing here. Close enough to feel me.”

She swallowed hard.

Terry chuckled. Low, slow, like he had all the time in the world. He let one hand trail up the armrest of her chair, fingers grazing hers. Barely a touch. Just enough to make her breath hitch again.

Then, he leaned in. Closer.

She could smell the whiskey on his breath, the warmth of it mixing with something darker, something entirely him.

And she hated—hated—how badly she wanted more.

“You know what I think?” he murmured. “I think you like this. The arguing. The tension. The push and pull. I think it gets you off—”

She moved before she could second-guess herself. A sharp, frustrated sound left her throat as she grabbed him by the collar and yanked him down, her lips crashing against his.

Terry groaned, deep and guttural, as if he’d been waiting for this, aching for this. His hands found her waist, gripping tight, and then suddenly she wasn’t in the chair anymore—she was against it, her back pressed into the table as he stepped between her legs, pressing into her, all hard heat and impossible arrogance.

Her fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt, holding him there, not that he had any plans to go anywhere. His mouth was urgent against hers—hot, demanding, a perfect mirror to the fire that had been simmering between them for months.

She bit down on his lower lip, just hard enough to make him grunt.

Good, she thought, satisfaction curling in her stomach. If she was going down in flames, he was burning with her.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark, wild, consuming.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that,” he murmured, his thumb dragging over her bottom lip.

She licked the tip of it, just to watch his jaw tighten.

“I think I have some idea,” she teased, voice breathless, electric.

Terry’s eyes darkened, amusement flickering into something sharper. Hungrier.

“Alright, Princess,” he murmured, voice dropping to something low, something dangerous. “You wanna play?”

The air shifted.

The power balance tilted.

And neither of them were backing down.

Terry let out a slow, dangerous chuckle. Then he kissed her again—deeper, harder, bruising in its intensity.

His hands gripped her waist with practiced ease, lifting her effortlessly to her feet as he closed the remaining distance between them. Their bodies collided, his heat searing against hers. His lips crashed into hers with an intensity that was anything but gentle—a clash of teeth and tongues, raw and unrestrained. She tasted like temptation, and for a fleeting moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

She met him with equal fervour, her fingers threading into his hair and tugging him closer, pulling a low growl from his throat. He took it as permission to push further, his lips leaving hers to trail down her jawline. His teeth grazed her skin, nipping lightly before soothing the spot with his tongue.

As they pulled apart, his smirk spread, slow and calculated, dripping with satisfaction. His eyes gleamed with the knowledge of what he’d just unleashed. The storm between them was no longer just a simmering rivalry—it was a blaze, out of control, and neither one of them knew how to stop it.

“You think you’ve got this figured out, don’t you?” His voice was rougher now, all edge and low heat. There was an unspoken challenge in the air. He was no longer just teasing—this was war, and the rules had changed.

Her heart raced, her pulse thundering in her ears, but she refused to let him see the effect he was having. Instead, she shot him a pointed look. “I’ve got more than you think.”

He chuckled, the sound dark and mocking. “Always so sure of yourself, aren’t you?” He pushed off the desk, the sudden movement bringing them closer, his towering presence stealing her breath away. His eyes never left hers, hungry, predatory.

They were circling each other now, neither willing to show weakness, both battling for dominance. The air around them felt too thick, too heavy, but neither of them could make the first move. The competition had always been fierce, but this? This was something different. Something primal.

Her gaze flickered to the clock on the wall, as if time could be her ally. “I’m just here to finish the job,” she said, trying to sound detached, but the words caught in her throat, betraying her. They both knew it was more than that.

Terry’s gaze softened, just for a moment. Then he was back to his usual cocky self, pressing closer. “It’s funny,” he murmured, voice quieter now, like he was letting her in on a secret. “You act like I’m the one distracting you.” His fingers brushed the edge of her desk, and the simple movement was enough to send a shiver down her spine.

Her clenched her fists at her sides. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

She was playing right into his hands. Lowering himself further, his lips brushed along the line of her jaw, his breath hot and unrelenting as he whispered, "Nuh-uh. That’s not how this works, sweetheart. You’re in my house now." His voice dropped even lower, the words landing with weight. "And you play by my rules."

Fully closing the space now, his breath warm against her skin. “You always know how to keep things interesting, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his breath warm against her flushed skin.

It was a challenge. A dare. And it hit harder than any insult or word they’d thrown at each other before.

His proximity was intoxicating. She could feel his heat radiating off him, like a physical presence pressing against her own, testing her resolve. For a moment, she considered backing away, but something about the way he looked at her—so assured, so relentless—made it impossible to move.

His fingers grazed her wrist, just barely, the touch lingering enough to make her skin burn. She could feel her breath quicken, the air around them thick with unspoken words. The space between them was dangerously small now, and neither one of them was backing down.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" she asked, voice a little more breathless than she'd intended.

Terry’s smile turned devilish, the playful glint in his eyes sharpening. “What would be the fun in that?” he said, then stepped back, breaking the spell with a sudden, disarming ease. He ran a hand through his hair, cocky as ever. “Let’s see who cracks first, then.”

Her pulse quickened at the challenge, the tension between them building with every word. Neither of them was prepared to lose. Not this time. And as the clock ticked on, the battle between them grew more intense, the stakes impossibly high.

His hands moved with purpose, one slipping to the small of her back while the other pressed against her hip, guiding her until her back met the solid surface of the nearest wall. The coolness against her skin was a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from him, pressing into her with an intensity that made her breath hitch. Every nerve in her body was alive, her senses alight with the overwhelming presence of him.

She wanted to snap back, to hurl something biting, to put him in his place with that razor-sharp tongue of hers—but nothing came. Her thoughts were too hazy, clouded by the way he towered over her, by the way his body felt against hers. His presence was magnetic, undeniable, and it was pulling her under like a riptide she had no hope of escaping.

Then his hand brushed against her arm—a barely-there touch, yet it sent a bolt of electricity straight to her core. A sharp breath left her lips. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. She hated him, truly, deeply. But she wanted him just as fiercely. And no matter how much she tried to deny it, to shove it down where it couldn't be touched, it clawed its way back to the surface.

Terry took another step closer, deliberate, unhurried, his confidence infuriatingly steady. His fingers trailed lower, sliding to the small of her back again, and this time, he pulled her in. Every inch of her was flush against him now, the heat between them scorching, the last remnants of distance obliterated.

“What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice dripping with challenge. “You gonna keep pretending? Or are you ready to stop fighting this?”

The words settled heavy between them, the weight of them undeniable. The world outside blurred, irrelevant. All she could hear was the deafening pound of her own heartbeat, the ragged pull of her breath.

And then, like a dam breaking, every pent-up emotion, every unresolved moment between them came crashing down.

Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt before she could stop herself, a sharp tug pulling him into her space. She wasn’t following his lead anymore—this wasn’t about his challenge, his rules. She was setting the pace now. She was in control.

His smirk deepened, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment. But she didn’t give him the satisfaction of gloating. She surged forward, her lips crashing into his with a force that stole the breath from both of them.

Terry groaned against her mouth, the sound raw, almost desperate. Then his hands were on her again, moving with an urgency that sent a fresh wave of heat through her. He caught her wrists in one swift motion, lifting her arms above her head, pinning them effortlessly against the wall. His body followed suit, pressing her there, letting her feel the weight of him, the full brunt of his control.

For just a second, he held her like that—let her feel the shift, let her know exactly who had the upper hand now.

Then his lips crashed into hers again, rough, unrelenting.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was everything they had never said, everything they had pushed down, everything that had burned between them from the very first moment they met.

The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in, trapping them in the storm they had created. Her pulse pounded against her ribs as his hands slid down, gripping her waist and pulling her tighter against him. His touch was firm, possessive, but there was something else beneath it—a quiet, maddening restraint, like even now, he was holding back.

She arched against him, breathless, defiant.

“Do you feel that?” he murmured, his lips a hair’s breadth from hers, his voice dark, taunting. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

Her breath shuddered as she stared up at him, her mind a blur of want and frustration, her body betraying her with the way it leaned into his.

And the worst part?

She had been waiting for it too.

The arrogance in his tone should have pissed her off. She should have shoved him away, thrown a cutting remark to put him back in his place. But instead, his words sent a shiver down her spine, pooling heat low in her belly. Her heart pounded—loud, insistent—as if trying to warn her, but she knew he could hear it, feel it, just like she could feel the heat radiating off him, pressing into her.

She hated that he had this effect on her. Hated how effortlessly he stripped away her defences, unravelled her completely with nothing but a look, a touch, a single taunting word.

In a blink, she found herself against the wall, the hard surface biting into her back, his body caging hers in. She should have fought it, should have snapped something defiant—but she didn’t. The space between them dissolved, his lips hovering just inches from hers, his breath warm against her skin.

“Do you want me to stop?” His voice was thick, roughened with something unreadable. It almost sounded like concern. But she knew better. This wasn’t concern. This was a test. A challenge. A game of control, of willpower, of just how far he could push her before she shattered.

Her lips parted, but hesitation caught in her throat. Because if she said no, she couldn’t take it back.

Terry’s fingers skimmed the side of her thigh, his touch maddeningly light, a whisper of contact that made her body jolt in anticipation. The bastard was waiting. Letting the silence stretch. Letting her squirm under the weight of her own restraint.

Her nails curled into his chest, tension coiling tight in her stomach, and she knew she was at the edge—dangling over it.

Then, barely audible, she whispered, “No.”

His smirk was slow, dangerous. “That’s my girl.”

Then his mouth crashed into hers.

There was nothing soft about it. No careful prelude, no tentative exploration—just pure, unchecked hunger. He kissed her like he wanted to brand her, own her, stake his claim right there against that cold, unforgiving wall. And she met him just as fiercely, dragging him in by the collar, teeth clashing, tongues tangling in a battle of dominance neither was willing to concede.

His hands moved with intent, sliding beneath her shirt, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of her ribs before finding the swell of her breasts. He cupped them through the thin lace, his thumbs circling over her nipples with infuriating precision. A sharp gasp left her lips, her body betraying her, arching into his touch instead of away.

Terry hummed against her mouth, amusement flickering through the kiss. “So sensitive,” he murmured, dragging her shirt higher, exposing her inch by inch like he had all the time in the world. “You needed this, didn’t you?”

She wanted to deny it, wanted to bite out something sharp to wipe that smirk off his face, but then his teeth grazed her jaw, his lips dragging down her throat, and any words she might have had died in a sharp inhale.

His hands were ruthless now, dragging her skirt up, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her knickers. The moment he found her, slick and wanting, a curse left his lips.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his breath hot against her skin. “Look at you.”

Her thighs tensed, heat surging through her, but before she could process the words, before she could react, he was gone.

The sudden loss of his touch made her shudder, her breath catching—but then he dropped to his knees.

Her stomach clenched.

Strong hands gripped her thighs, pried them apart, lifting one over his shoulder with unrelenting ease. He didn’t speak, didn’t offer any more smug remarks. He just stared up at her, dark eyes gleaming with wicked intent, and then—

His mouth was on her.

A choked gasp tore from her lips, her head knocking back against the wall. His tongue was relentless, dragging over her with obscene precision, tasting her like he’d been starving for it. Her fingers twisted into his hair, her grip tight enough to hurt, but he only groaned, the vibrations sending another wave of heat crashing through her.

She refused to give in so easily. She refused to let him win.

But then he sucked—slow and devastatingly deep—and her entire body jerked, a whimper slipping free before she could stop it.

Terry chuckled against her, the sound smug, knowing. His grip on her thigh tightened, a silent warning, and then his fingers joined the fray—two slipping inside her, filling her with an unrelenting precision that had her shuddering against the wall.

Her resolve shattered.

“Terry—”

He grinned, curling his fingers just right, hitting that spot that had her thighs shaking. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured against her, voice thick with satisfaction. “Let me hear you.”

She had no choice. He tore the sounds from her, made her body betray her again and again, driving her higher, dragging her over the edge with devastating ease. And when it finally hit, when pleasure crashed through her like a violent storm, her body seized, her breath strangled, her fingers yanking at his hair as she cried out his name.

Terry didn’t stop. He worked her through every wave, every tremor, didn’t let go until she was fully spent, trembling, utterly undone.

Then, finally, he pulled back, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmured, his voice smug, satisfied. Then he rose, towering over her once again, his gaze locking onto hers as he wiped the last traces of her from his lips.

And God help her, she wanted more.

Neither of them had the patience—or the inclination—to take this upstairs. The moment stretched, charged, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken. Every second they waited only made it worse.

Terry’s hands were already on her, firm and insistent, guiding her towards the couch like he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance between them.

“Right here,” he growled, voice low and commanding. “I’m done waiting.”

She didn’t protest. Couldn’t. Her breath hitched as he turned her around, rough hands gripping her hips with purpose, bending her over the plush cushions. The anticipation was maddening, her skin buzzing under the ghost of his touch as his fingers trailed down her back, slow, deliberate—like he was savouring the moment, relishing her submission.

“Stay just like that,” he murmured, his voice dark silk, but his hands were anything but gentle. The rush of air against her thighs sent a shudder through her as he pushed her skirt up, his fingers dragging over the lace of her underwear before slipping them down in one smooth motion.

A sharp inhale cut through the silence. He wasn’t even touching her, but she felt it—his gaze, the weight of it scorching her skin.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You’re perfect.”

Her nails curled into the fabric beneath her, fighting for something to ground her, but then Terry was pressing against her, all heat and hunger, the hard evidence of his arousal making her breath falter.

“Say it.” His voice was thick, strained, heavy with restraint he was barely holding onto. “Tell me you want this.”

She clenched her jaw, heart pounding. He wouldn’t move until she said it. Wouldn’t give her what she was aching for.

Her resolve cracked, her need eclipsing her pride. “I want this,” she whispered, her voice barely more than breath. Then, stronger—daring. “I want you.”

That was all it took.

His grip tightened—one hand pressing into the small of her back, the other bracing her hip—before he thrust into her in one fluid movement.

A broken gasp tore from her lips, her body arching as he filled her completely, stretching her, owning her. There was no hesitation, no restraint. He took her with raw, unrelenting force, his movements deep and demanding, fuelled by the same tension that had kept them at odds for so long.

His fingers dug into her skin, holding her still, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. “So fucking good,” he groaned, voice wrecked, like he was barely holding himself together. “Better than I ever let myself imagine.”

She barely registered the words. Her mind was slipping, drowning in the rhythm of him, the way he moved, the way he took. Every deep stroke unravelled her, pulling her further under, until all she could do was surrender to it—to him.

Terry leaned in, his chest flush against her back, his breath hot against her ear as his hand slid into her braids, tugging just enough to tilt her head back. “Don’t hold back, baby.” His voice was a rough whisper, wicked and coaxing. “I want to hear you.”

And she did.

Her moans spilled into the room, raw and unrestrained, each sound sending a fresh surge of heat through him. He rewarded her for it, driving into her with punishing precision, wringing every reaction from her until she was teetering on the edge, trembling, gasping—

Then she shattered.

A sharp cry broke from her lips as pleasure tore through her, leaving her breathless, undone. She felt him falter, his pace growing erratic, his grip tightening—then, with a deep, guttural groan, he followed her over the edge, his release spilling into her as he collapsed against her, spent.

Silence settled over them, save for their ragged breaths.

Terry’s hands, once rough and claiming, softened on her hips, tracing slow, lazy circles against her skin. He eased out of her, lingering for just a moment longer before stepping back, watching as she pulled herself together.

Then, with all the composure she could muster, YN wiped her mouth and turned to face him, lips curling into something wicked. “Well,” she said, smoothing her skirt down, “I suppose we can’t call it a productive meeting until we actually finish that proposal, huh?”

Terry chuckled, raking a hand through his messy hair, looking every bit as wrecked as she felt. “Oh, don’t worry,” he drawled, flashing that signature, lazy grin. “We’ll get it done. I work best under pressure… just like tonight.”

She arched a brow, crossing her arms. “Funny,” she shot back, “you didn’t seem too worried about the deadline when you were too busy getting under my skin.”

His grin widened, smug, infuriatingly charming. “Well, now that I’ve got you warmed up, I’m sure the rest of the work will be a breeze.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her. “Let’s just make sure we finish before Linda decides to make one of her famous surprise appearances.”

Terry laughed, shaking his head as he reached for his laptop. “Agreed. But next time—neutral ground, alright?”

“Next time?” she echoed, tilting her head. “You’re really pushing your luck, Terry.”

He leaned back, flashing her a wink. “Don’t worry, babygirl, I’m not done with you yet.”

And as they turned their attention back to the proposal, the tension between them still hummed in the air, thick and unresolved. They both knew this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo @nickidub718 @notapradagurl7 @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @wildcardmelaninfreak

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

#terry richmond fic #terry richmond x black!reader #terry richmond #terry richmond smut #ruewrites #aaron pierre x black reader #terry richmond x black reader #aaron pierre #terry richmond fanfiction #aaron pierre x black!reader

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holybibly · 6 months ago

Note

How do you think cockwarming with Mingi would go ><

Better late than never, so this is my belated Happy Birthday to Mingi.

You're spending a cosy evening in the Ateez dorm, learning how to take your boyfriend's huge cock again after he's been away on a world tour for months.

"Mingi...I-I-...too big...you're too big..." You whimper pitifully, pressing harder against your boyfriend's big, hot body. "I can't...I can't..." You wriggle a little in his lap, trying to help yourself push his huge cock deeper into your pussy. Your hips are shaking with the tension, and you bury your face in Mingi's neck, tangling your fingers in his long blonde hair as the thick, swollen head of his cock is all the way inside of you. The massive girth painfully stretches the delicate edges of your hole, and you hiss at the slight burning sensation as you feel Mingi's whole body tense beneath you as a few more inches of his hard length end up inside. You can tell that he's struggling to keep his composure, trying to keep himself from don't giving in to his passion and entering you in one swift thrust, immediately reaches your cervix and pushes the tight walls of your cunt apart. But he remains motionless beneath you, allowing you to take him in at your own pace. "Mingi... please..."

Somehow, taking Mingi's cock always proves to be a Herculean effort for you, no matter how many times you've done it before. But tonight it seemed like an impossible task as the months without sex while Mingi was on a world tour had definitely taken its toll on you. His cock practically tore you in half as it tried to settle into the moist warmth of your body.

To be honest, you hadn't really expected anything sexual to happen between you tonight when he had asked you to come to his dormitory. Mingi usually preferred to fuck at your place so you could enjoy each other to the fullest without any restraints. The walls in his flat that he shared with San and Seonghwa were thinner than paper, and you, well, you were loud, very loud, and Mingi hated it when you were reticent; he wanted to fuck your head off without thinking that anyone could hear you.

So when he pulled you onto his lap halfway through your cosy film night and asked you to warm his cock, you were quite surprised. And just like that, the film was forgotten, and you found yourself with Mingi's cock halfway in your pussy, right in the middle of their living room, where Hwa or San could see how your cunt stretched around their friend's thick girth at any time.

"Come on, doll, I know you can do it." Mingi sultrily purrs in your soft skin, pressing his plump, kissable lips against the curve of your shoulder. "I know you can take my whole cock in your tiny, tight cunt, baby girl. So be a good girl and stop complaining; you're not even half way there yet." You can hear a hint of arrogance in his husky, deep voice as Mingi's big hands descend to your plump, juicy arse. His fingers are digging into the soft flesh as he spreads your cheeks apart, just so that you can have an easier time getting on his huge cock. He's right, you haven't even taken half of the length of it yet, but even now you can already feel the bulge of his cock against your belly.

"Ahha-ah..." A long moan bursts from you as you feel the protruding, swollen veins on his cock dragging along your tender walls and how more tightly your hole stretches around him. The invasion is scalding, but at the same time you can't help but feel the intoxicating, rich pleasure that rolls over you like a wave as a few more inches slip into you. "Too big... Fuck you and your stupid, giant, fat cock, Song Mingi." You whine, biting the skin of his neck a little harder than you're supposed to, leaving your red mark. You know you shouldn't, but it doesn't bother you at all right now, especially when you feel the rhythmic pulsation of his length between the quivering walls of your pussy.

"Look at your sassy mouth; maybe next time I should warm my cock down your throat so you remember how to speak beautifully to me? You seem to have forgotten the last time you couldn't breathe because my stupid, giant, fat cock was fucking your gullet." He said as he let go of one of your buttocks and put his hand around your throat instead, causing you to catch your breath for a moment. "Don't pretend that you don't like all of this; I can feel how your slutty little cunt is sucking me in." Mingi moans deeply as you lower yourself further onto him, almost reaching the base. "Oh fuck, Dolly, just a bit more..." His hand tightens around your throat, making your head fuzzy and light and your wet, slippery pussy throb gently, doubling yours and Mingi's pleasure.

"Ah, god..." Your squeal is muffled by Mingi's rough grip on your neck as the head of his cock hits your G-spot several times before pushing deeper into the hot tightness of your cervix. Your eyes roll up in pure, scalding pleasure as you finally sit fully on his cock, your clit pressed tightly against the moist, smooth skin of his pubic. You're literally on the verge of orgasm, and you know that even the slightest movement could throw you off the edge, but knowing Mingi, you're sure that even if you cum a few times in a row, you'll stay on his cock for as long as he wants you to.

"That's it, Dolly; you're so good at it." He finally lets go of your arse completely, only to bring his other hand to your stomach, where the large bulge of his cock protrudes through your thin skin. The added pressure makes you moan and squirm, your silky walls clenching around Mingi's length, and he hisses like a cat, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, Dolly, I can't believe I've lived without this for months." Mingi mumbles and pulls you to him for a kiss. He grasps your lips roughly with his own, then immediately deepens the kiss and pushes his tongue into your soft, pliable mouth. The kiss is hot and wet, with too much need and lust—you two have missed each other too much to make things pretty, and besides, Mingi devoutly believes that good sex is dirty sex. He wraps his big hands around your face and continues to devour your mouth until you are both panting for breath. "I've missed you, doll, fuck, I've missed my beautiful girl so much." He growls, lifting his thick, juicy hips sharply to emphasise his point, somehow penetrating even deeper into you, and you let out a scream at the sensation. God, he's practically reconfigured your insides with his cock.

Your whole body feels like it's energised, on the edge of sensation, drowning in pleasure from the soles of your feet to your head. Your pussy is literally leaking, your mucus so much that it's seeping over the edges where Mingi enters you, your cheeks flushed and glistening with saliva smeared all over them. You feel so full; your cunt is full to the brim with your fucking gorgeous boyfriend's cock.

"It feels so good…" You gasp as tears of pleasure begin to gather at the corners of your eyes. You find it almost impossible to breathe from how full you are now, so you cling to Mingi for comfort, pitiful sobs gurgling in your throat as you move your hips slightly to get more comfortable on his cock. You can both clearly hear a new stream of thick mucus flowing from your cunt as you do so.

"That's it baby, you have done so well for me. You have taken all of my cock like a good girl. There's no need for any more movement, just sit there and…" He moans as he feels the tension in your pussy, the silky walls clenching and unclenching in a rhythmic way around his massive length. "And keep me warm, just be my doll and sit there nice and pretty on my cock." You nod weakly, barely able to hear the words he is saying. Your world has been narrowed down to nothing more than Mingi's huge cock inside of you and his hand gently stroking down your back.

"Mingi, Mingi, Mingi…" You let out a breath and repeat his name like a prayer, like the name of a god who could put an end to your suffering and yet prolong your pleasure as only he could. You wiggle your hips weakly again, chasing your own pleasure and becoming more aroused than you can possibly be. "Please…"

Your boyfriend gives you a smug smile and reaches over to give you a gentle kiss. He could taste the red wine on your lips that you'd indulged yourself with tonight while watching a film, mixed with your natural taste that was so unique that it made him feel a little dizzy. Fuck, he was head over heels for you; if you asked him to marry you right now, he wouldn't hesitate.

"You're so damn delicious, Dolly." He murmured as he ran his hands over the bare skin of your thighs. You shifted again, pushing your hips apart a bit more, feeling him sink deeper into you in ways you'd never imagined. As much as he wanted to stay in this position a little longer, just sitting there, warming his cock in the moist warmth of your silky cunt, he knew that even the strongest man in the world wouldn't stand a chance against your huge, tear-filled eyes, with which you stare at him now. "C'mon, doll, do what you want." You immediately start moving, sliding your pussy up and down your boyfriend's huge, thick length, and you get the impression that you can feel Mingi with every cell of your body, which you immediately tell him.

"My God, I can feel you all over..." Your words make him moan lewdly—the sound is pure porn, and you're sure there are many fans who can get off just listening to Mingi moan without even touching themselves. For some reason, memories of the day Mingi fucked you in his studio while you listened to demo versions of his new tracks pop into your head. But all your thoughts melt away as soon as his big hand slides down your thigh, the sharp edges of his rings digging into your skin as you continue to chase your pleasure. The heavy knot of pleasure inside you tightens with every second. The way his cock rubs against you in the most delicious way with every thrust makes your breath catch and your thighs shake.

Mingi pressed his hand to your belly again, where the skin was distorted by the bulging of his cock, making you gasp loudly at it.

"Can you feel it, doll? I'm right here. I am fucking that pretty little pussy of yours, so deep you can feel me in your belly. Do you think you might be able to get pregnant if I cum inside of you right now?" His words were enough to make you come so hard. Your whole body is shaking with shivers, and you are writhing in an attempt to relive your orgasm. You cling to Mingi's shoulders with your fingers and bury your face in his neck to muffle your disgustingly loud moans. But it doesn't help much.

The euphoria of orgasm runs through your body like electric shocks, flooding your senses and taking you away from anything but pure, unfiltered pleasure. Mingi can feel his lower body being covered in the wetness of your squirting pussy, and it's enough to send him over the edge.

He growls wildly, grabs your hips with both hands, and starts to thrust into you at an animal speed, causing you to squeal and start to whimper as you try to bring your legs together from the over stimulation. You've barely had time to recover from your previous orgasm when you feel the hot wave of pleasure wash over your body once more. Your pussy is squeezing him with such force that Mingi can barely move; the slippery mucus walls are contracting and spraying fluid in profusion with each of Mingi's thrusts.

He gives another powerful thrust deep into your pussy until the head of his cock enters your cervix. You literally lose touch with reality when your second orgasm hits you—sharp and all-consuming. You can barely hear Mingi's deep moan as he comes inside you, coating your insides with his viscous, milky cum, over the noise of blood in your ears and your own hoarse breathing.

"You've done so well, doll." He whispered as he kissed your temple. "You are always such a good girl for me. I'm so proud of you, babe." You glowed at his praise; after the sexual glow that had been shimmering within, you seemed to pour straight from your skin as you left lingering kisses on his neck, feeling under your lips as Mingi's pulse slowly returned to normal after he had experienced an orgasm. Your eyes began to close in exhaustion. Mingi had literally fucked you so well that you felt completely boneless and exhausted.

"Let's get you into bed." Mingi said, getting up from the couch. He picked you up lightly, still holding you on his cock, and you whimpered again as he moved inside you a little bit, stimulating your supersensitive walls.

"Too much..." You sobbed as you wrapped your arms around his neck even more tightly as Mingi carefully carried you into his bedroom.

"I know, doll, but haven't you missed me enough to be able to bear with me for just a little while longer?" And with those words, you were aware that your movie night was only at the beginning.

#ateez smut #kpop smut #atz smut #ateez hard hours #ateez unholy hours #smut #mingi smut #song mingi smut #mingi x reader #ateez x reader

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yuri-is-online · 2 years ago

Text

And in With the New (Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, and Diasomnia x Yuu)

"Look I would get rid of this thing if I could afford a new sweatshirt." You drag the offensive article of clothing over your head completely missing the spark of curiosity and mischief in your companion's eye. "I've got a lot of bad memories associated with this."

"If it's that uncomfortable we can go look for a replacement instead of-"

"Oh no not like that, it's super comfy. I just don't like it because it technically belongs to my ex."

notes: they/them used for Yuu, their ex is implied to be kind of a shit person, other dorms can be found here (x) Ortho is somewhat included in Idia's part but does not have one of his own.

Kalim- "Do you have any other things from your world?"

Kalim has expressed a desire for you to see as much of Twisted Wonderland as possible, and he stands by that, but it would really suck if the only physical connection you had to your home was something that brought up painful memories. Your past relationship isn't something that makes him jealous, just concerned since it clearly causes you distress. He can wait to get you more appropriate clothing until after he makes sure you're ok. If the sweatshirt really is the only thing you have from home, he'll be asking if there are any foods you remember or activities you liked to do with the people you actually cared about that the two of you can recreate in Twisted Wonderland. That way you won't have to feel the need to hold onto something painful and he gets to make you happy.

Jamil- "Then why didn't you get rid of it before you came here?"

On the one hand he does feel a bit second rate at the thought of you holding onto something form an ex, but his primary concern is the implication that your financial straights have always been this... dire. He definitely wants to know about your previous relationship so he can judge them for how much better he is, but once he notices that the memories are a bit on the traumatic side he stops pushing and feels just the slightest bit guilty. But really, if it's something that hurts you to hold onto then why do it? You aren't him, you don't need to do that, people love you and want to take care of you, him included. He's not going to just give you his hoodie, he would literally die of embarrassment, but he does get you a sweatshirt. If for no other reason than to keep him from staring holes into your back now that he knows where the other one came from.

Vil- "It doesn't suit you at all."

If his treatment of Epel is anything to go by, Vil is not above spending money on something he considers to be a pet project. Not that this... friendship is one of those, nor is he particularly jealous of some no name extra who was too blind to beg on their hands and knees to get back in your good graces. Not that he needs to do that you understand; as arrogant as Vil has a reputation for being, he is one of the people who has been more genuine when expressing concern and gratitude for you. His comment isn't meant to be a slight, clothing that makes you feel bad about yourself is failing to do its job as fashion, and as a world class super model that is unacceptable. In other words get in the car looser we're going shopping.

Rook- "Ah, I thought it was something like that."

Is it bad if he says he meant he hoped it was something like that? Not that he was rooting for your ex to be a bad person, he would never wish a subpar lover on you. But when he saw the tattered edges of your sweatshirt and how it clashed with the things you bought for yourself, he hoped that maybe someone in your world hadn't wanted your hands to be cold. If that's not the case, then if you are ok with letting it go as a lover of romance who is he to deny you your freedom? Granted tossing roses onto a fire while you burn an ugly sweatshirt is both very extra and very Rook but hey. He's having fun and you've got a new jacket.

Epel- "Afford shamford I could'a just made ya one!"

Offering their sweetheart their hoodie is something manly tall guys get to do and Epel has really really REALLY. Been looking forward to getting to that point in his relationship with you. He wants to feel like a real man, like your real man to be specific. The thought of some other piece of shit getting to do that first and treating you like a used dish rag pisses him off. Best believe he is huffing and puffing his way back to Grandma Felmier's boot camp with a mission to do you one and your ex two better by knitting you a pullover to go with your uniform. Everything that comes from Harveston is a top quality product prefect, better than whatever you left behind he guarantees it.

Idia- "So this is that kind of route huh..."

Of course you had a partner back in your world, if he can see your good points then a normie absolutely could. That doesn't make you less appealing, it just makes him feel all that more convinced he doesn't have a chance. He's halfway through whipping out his tablet to excuse himself when Ortho asks what you meant by "shitty memories" and they both get blindsided by just how much vitriol you have for a person whose clothing you technically kept on you. And suddenly he's back in business because there are few things that unite Idia with someone faster than a good old fashion bitch fest. Sure, his insults are weirdly possessive of you, but if he had any doubts about your feelings for this person he doesn't now! He's never heard you talk about anyone like this before and he finds it so attractive he almost forgets to short circuit when Ortho convinces you to try on his hoodie. Almost.

Malleus- "..."

Sometimes he feels like a broken record, constantly marveling at how little fear you have of him, but really child of man, you have no fear. Malleus has very little in the way of emotional intelligence, so he doesn't fully understand that what he is feeling is jealousy he just knows the thought of you with someone else's clothes hurts. Unfortunately for you both, in addition to not being emotionally intelligent he also isn't with the times and there is a non zero percent chance he will be bringing you a cloak and be genuinely confused when you don't immediately replace your old hide for his. (Lilia takes responsibility for that, he was making a joke honest.) Oh? The point was it's supposed to be something he wore so you can feel closer to him when he's gone? Well why didn't you say so child of man, he is more than willing to offer you a scale- what do you mean you can't wear that either?

Lilia- "Oh? Are you asking for one of mine?"

Shame has not been a word in Lilia's vocabulary since long before you showed up prefect. He always buys oversized clothing because of how cute the long sleeves look on him, but oh they would be so much cuter on you prefect, don't you want to see? Oh and while the two of you are at it, why don't you let him paint your nails and do your eye shadow. He's never had one of those slumber party things you humans do, you should make a night of this so you can both get a new experience out of this. He can have a slumber party and you can be the center of someone's world. Also what do you mean you're supposed to summon the devil at these things, he's already here.

Silver- "Would you like one of mine?"

Lilia raised a very good boy who thinks nothing of offering the shirt off his back to save someone in distress. Silver isn't a jealous person by nature, he's more concerned with making sure you are safe and taken care of than he is making sure you don't still have feelings for your ex. Above all else, Silver wants to be a safe space for you to come home to at the end of the day, like a proper knight in shining armor. Though he does have to admit, you look really nice in Diasomnia colors, they're really close to Briar Valley's so if you decide to come and visit he's assures you that you will fit right in. He's sure his father would be very happy to play host. Maybe too happy.

Sebek- "HOW UTTERLY DISGRACEFUL."

You think he's upset at you but he's not, that's made painfully clear with the rant he starts to go on about proper courtship procedure. Offering clothing to someone is supposed to be a sign of high affection, nay eternal devotion! And it suddenly becomes clear to you that Sebek has somehow managed to confuse the concept of a stolen hoodie and a knight's favor. He seems to have managed to convince himself, in the span of two seconds, that you are wearing this not because it is one of your only pieces of clothing, but because your ex convinced you that they're the only one who could love you which IS NOT TRUE. YOU UNDERSTAND HUMAN? DO YOU UNDERSTAAAAAAAAND?

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #kalim al asim x reader #jamil viper x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #rook hunt x reader #epel felmier x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #silver x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader

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brokenmenswhore · 8 months ago

Text

the sink | aegon ii targaryen

pairing: modern!aegon x fem!reader

summary (i am so shit at writing summaries): at a party, y/n sees aegon in a compromising position

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), choking, drinking, rough sex, aegon is a lil mean <3

────── ☾ ──────

Parties were never really your scene. You told your best friend, Heleana, that you didn’t really want to go, but she convinced you that you were wasting your chance at university experiences by sitting in your dorm, and she was right. You wouldn’t be in university forever, and you could only truly live right now.

Her brother, Aegon, was campus-renowned for his parties. Heleana & Aegon lived in a rather large mansion off-campus, seeing no need to move onsite and leave such a lavish place, and it was close enough to drive.

You and Aegon never got along. He was arrogant, a playboy, and had no care for his studies or his sister. All he wanted to do was fuck about and drink, and he didn’t like that you gave him attitude whenever he said something particularly ghastly, but you didn’t care. You didn’t like him and you didn’t care if he knew it. You could handle your own with him, and everything he did annoyed you.

You personally hated driving to Heleana’s house. The roundabout driveway only allowed a certain number of cars, and had no definitive parking spaces. It was a free for all, as you told her the second you walked through the door.

“Oh hush, I’m just glad you came,” Heleana smiled, “come! Drinks are in the kitchen.”

Heleana’s house never failed to astound you. You had been here several times, having been close with Heleana for a few years, and still, you didn’t know which room was which. If she asked you to retrieve anything from a specific room upstairs, you’d end up lost.

You followed suit, downing a good portion of a beer the second it was handed to you.

“Eager, are we?” Heleana laughed.

“Oh come on!” you retorted, “you said it yourself, I never get out. Well, I’m out, and I’m not gonna waste it!”

Heleana sipped her beer and giggled at your enthusiasm. “Maybe you should channel that energy into, I don’t know, a boy?”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “And why would I do that?”

“You’ve been so wound up and stressed from exams lately, I just think you could use an outlet! Sue me.”

You laughed, not responding as a method of moving on from the subject.

“Fine,” Heleana broke the silence, “but you’re dancing with me.”

“No, I-“

“You’re dancing!”

With that, Heleana pulled you into the living room, forcing you to dance with her. You didn’t mind too much, eventually having fun with the feeling of dancing and the slight buzz in your brain. After a few hours of dancing and mingling, you felt your energy and social battery depleting. Heleana, ever so attentive, noticed.

“Why don’t you go get some air?” she asked.

“There’s a million people outside, Hel,” you responded, “I honestly don’t think it would make a difference.”

“Why don’t you head up to my room then? No one is allowed upstairs. Well, except Aegon, because he lives here, but he’s probably out by the pool drunk or something.”

You smiled at her. “Thanks, Hel.”

You made your way up the stairs, quickly remembering that you had absolutely no idea where you were going. You climbed back down a few steps, looking over the banister to try to find Heleana so you could ask her which room was hers again, but it was to no avail. It would be impossible to find her in this crowd.

I’ve been here a thousand times, you thought, I can find my way to her room, it really can’t be that hard, and I’m really not that drunk.

You turned down the first hallway you spotted, trying to retrace your steps from the last few times you’d been in the house, still denying any sense of drunkenness you felt. You decided on a door you thought may be right, and opened it.

It was not Heleana’s room.

Aegon had his face buried in between a girl’s legs, her body seated on the bathroom sink as he kneeled on the floor, her fingers in his hair. You couldn’t move for a second, completely bewildered by the sight in front of you, as the girl let out a particularly filthy moan. You caught yourself and turned to leave, but right when you clicked the door shut, it swung open again.

“What the fuck are you- oh, it’s just you. Fucks sake, I thought she had a boyfriend that was catching us or something. Don’t scare me like that, Y/N,” Aegon said, chin glistening with wetness.

“That’s very ethical of you, sleeping with someone you know is taken,” you replied, your distaste for him evident in your tone, “I was just looking for Heleana’s room. Sorry.”

“On the other side of the house?”

You looked at Aegon confused, signaling to him that you genuinely had no idea you were in the wrong place.

“Tell me, Y/N,” he started, “have you always looked that fucking good in black?”

Your eyes widened. You had no idea what to say, and based on his breath, he was pretty drunk.

“I- I don’t- what?”

Aegon stepped closer to you, “did you enjoy the show, at least?”

He was a bit too close for a comfortable conversation, and you refused to be embarrassed by Aegon Targaryen of all people. “Isn’t she still in there? Least you could do is finish her off.”

“Who said I didn’t?”

“I don’t have time for this, Aegon,” you sighed, beginning to walk away, but he trapped you in between his body and the wall with his arm.

“Maybe I would be more eager to get back in there if she looked half as good as you do right now.”

“Don’t piss me off,” you spat, “I’m really not in the mood for your shit.”

Aegon pouted. “My ‘shit’ is part of my charm.”

“What charm?” you bounced back.

“You don’t think I’m charming? Wow, Y/N, I’m hurt. Like, genuinely, that cut down to my soul.”

“Aegon, you’re drunk. Now are you just gonna hold me hostage against this wall forever or are you gonna let me leave?”

Aegon looked at you, intently, as if contemplating his options.

“You really want me to go back in there?”

You looked up at him, frustrated and confused. “Why the hell would I care what you do?”

Aegon looked at you for a brief moment before nodding his head, removing his arm from the wall and gesturing you away.

“Thank you,” you said, turning your back to him and walking away.

Heleana reached the top of the staircase at that very moment. “Hey!” she called out, “I was just coming to check in on you.”

“I got lost,” you admitted.

“My god, Y/N,” she laughed, taking your hand and guiding you to her bedroom.

You and Heleana sat on her bed, sobering up and watching movies for a few hours.

“Would you be okay if I crashed here?” you asked her, “I still feel like shit.”

“Of course,” she smiled, “I keep an extra toothbrush in the hallway bathroom just in case.”

“Thank you. I just wish I thought of this earlier, I’d be more prepared.”

“Give me a minute,” Heleana said, leaving you alone in her bedroom.

She returned a few minutes later with a tee shirt and a pair of boxer shorts.

“What the fuck do you want me to do with those?” you asked.

“Aemond is away with his friends somewhere in Europe right now, so he won’t miss them.”

“I’m not wearing your brother’s clothes.”

“Oh, whatever! He’s a giant, they’ll be plenty baggy and comfortable. Plus, he’s not Aegon, you can actually trust that his clothes get washed properly.”

You sighed. You didn’t want to spend the night in what you had on, and no one would ever know you took his clothes anyway. “Fine, but you’re putting them back exactly the way you found them in the morning.”

“Deal!” Heleana smiled, jumping back on the bed as you changed.

The night winded down, and by around three in the morning, Heleana was fast asleep. You took the opportunity to run to the bathroom and get ready for bed.

You stood in front of the mirror, brushing your teeth and then your hair until all the knots were out. Mid-brush, the bathroom door was violently swung open.

“SHIT! For fucks sake,” Aegon almost screamed, placing a hand over his heart to calm down the startled beating, “what the fuck are you still doing here?”

“Staying over, not that it’s your business.”

Aegon rubbed his eyes as if he just woke up and was adjusting to the light, but you could tell he’d not yet gone to sleep. He scanned you up and down. “Are you wearing my brother’s clothes?” he asked.

You sighed, continuing your routine and not giving him any glances. “Shut up, I didn’t bring any clothes.”

“So you stole my brother’s?”

You turned to him, annoyed that he was still talking to you. “technically your sister stole them for me. I didn’t bring any of my own, and I can’t fit into Heleana’s. Why am I even telling you this? You don’t care and I don’t like you.”

Aegon’s bottom lip jutted out as he inched closer to you, “now why don’t you like me?”

You put the brush down in defeat. “Aegon, it’s three in the morning.”

“And?”

You huffed, “and it’s too late for me to have to deal with you.”

Aegon just looked at you. You waited for him to say or do anything, and when you realized he had no intention of moving, you started to make your way out of the bathroom. That’s when Aegon grabbed you by your waist and slammed you onto the bathroom sink.

“What the fuck, Aegon? Let me down,” you said, trying not to lose your temper as he held you down on the sink.

“You know I asked you a question earlier,” he spoke, voice low and lips close to yours, “and you never answered it.”

“Aegon, I don’t care, let me down.”

“Did you enjoy the show?”

You met his eyes. “The show that I watched for 3 seconds before leaving? The show I didn’t even try to watch, but saw accidentally? Yes, Aegon, how entertaining it was briefly watching you perpetuate cheating.”

“Would it kill you to just be nice to me?”

The question caught you off guard, and admittedly struck a nerve in your heart. He sounded so sincere, so genuine, like he wasn’t trying to play a game or garner a reaction. He truly wanted to know why you were always so sharp with him.

Thinking about it, he had never done anything personally to you. He never hurt anyone, except maybe the girls he never called in the morning, he just didn’t exhibit behavior that you ever would, but none of it was malicious. He just came off like a cocky and overly confident rich kid, but he never knew how to be anything else.

“You’re right,” you said, surprising Aegon, “I’m sorry, I know I can be really pissy with you. I don’t want to be mean to you, you’re just so good at getting under my skin. Also, you’ve ghosted three of my friends, but still, I’m sorry.”

Aegon stared into your eyes for what felt like an eternity.

“You don’t like me because I’ve ghosted your friends?”

“No, Aegon, that’s not the poin-“ you bowed your head, “you’re impossible.”

“So tell me why you don’t like me.”

“I don’t know.”

“You do know.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t!” you exclaimed, “I don’t even actually hate you!”

Aegon smiled, “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” You were beginning to get frustrated.

“You like me.”

You scoffed. “Quite the contrary, no offense.”

Aegon tsked, “no no no, I think you like me. I think you like me like me. I think you wish you were sitting in this exact spot a few hours ago when you walked into the ‘wrong room.’”

You threw your head back, “I really was looking for Heleana’s room!”

“Admit it,” he said.

“There’s nothing to admit, you narcissist.”

Suddenly his demeanor changed. He got even closer to you, placing his torso in between your legs, lips almost touching yours. “Admit. It.”

It was a demand, not a request. His eyes were dark and his tone was lower than you’d ever heard it.

“Or what?”

Aegon growled. “or I’ll fuck it out of you.”

Your breathing stuttered.

You were undeniably attracted to him. You always had been, he was gorgeous. Part of your hatred came from jealousy when you would see him with other girls, but you also knew he was a player and fucked around, so you tried your best to turn it off by just fighting him at every turn. However, now, it was early in the morning and late at night all at once, both of your buzzes had faded, and your emotions were overflowing.

“So do it.”

Aegon slammed his lips onto yours, enveloping you into a heated kiss, one of his hands snaking through your hair and pulling roughly until your head was forced back so he could have easier access to your neck. He sucked at a sweet spot right underneath your earlobe, eliciting a whimper from you.

“Shut up,” he demanded.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s three in the morning and my sister is home, so shut up.”

“I barely made any noise,” you retorted.

Aegon paused his assault on your neck to look at you, pulling at your hair roughly. “Stop. Talking.”

Looking into his eyes, you knew it would be better to obey than to continue your back and forth, so you did your best to stay quiet.

Aegon began to kiss lower and lower, eventually kneeling in front of you just as you had seen him before. He began tugging at the waistband of the boxer shorts you were wearing, “I can’t believe you’re wearing his fucking clothes, you could just be wearing mine.”

You giggled, and then acted like you didn’t make any noise, so as to avoid Aegon’s temper.

“Something funny?” he asked, catching it.

“You jealous or something?”

Aegon tore the boxer shorts off of you, not even telling you to lift your hips, causing you to almost fall off the sink from the force.

“Aegon!”

“Shouldn’t be wearing his clothes,” he spoke, almost more to himself than to you as he quite literally tore the tee shirt off of your body, one jagged rip in the middle of the design on the front, “you’re not fucking his.”

You looked up at him, shocked, “Aegon! What the fuck am I supposed to tell Heleana happened to this shirt? I’m clumsy, but I’m not that clumsy!”

“You could always tell her the truth,” Aegon smiled, “or better yet, tell Aemond. Make sure he knows you’re not his.”

You sighed at his jealousy. “I really don’t think he’s under the impression that I’m his, Aeg, I really just needed clothes for the night.”

Aegon’s jealousy was overshadowed by your use of a nickname. He immediately dropped back down to his knees, ripping your underwear in half just as he did the shirt.

“Aegon! I don’t have any other clothes with me!”

He slapped your thighs as a warning to open them wider, “shut up, you’ll just wear mine.”

“I really dont thi-“ your words were cut off by a sharp inhale as Aegon pressed his lips to your clit, tongue drawing circles and swirling around the bud as he looked up at you.

A pang of jealousy hit you as you remembered that he was in this exact position with someone else mere hours ago. This moment wasn’t special to him. You were just another one of his girls.

“Aeg, wait-“

Aegon immediately stopped at your protest. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, I just- I can’t do this right now.”

Aegon looked concerned. “What happened? Did I do something wrong? Was it something I said?”

You attempted to stop his train of thought before it derailed, “no! No, it isn’t you, it’s just-“

“It’s just you just saw this show with someone else?” he questioned, standing to meet your eye level.

“I really don’t just want to be a one off type of person. I’m sorry,” you said, feeling guilty for stopping.

“Hey, hey,” he said, sweetly capturing your attention, “this is not the same situation as it was earlier today. You aren’t just a random one off. I literally left that girl in here the second I saw you. The only reason I was in that situation was because I was all worked up from seeing you in that fucking dress earlier,” he admitted.

“You were not.”

He nodded his head, “did I not make it obvious enough to you when I told you you looked good in black?”

You threw your hands up, “clearly I thought you were fucking with me.”

“I wasn’t fucking with you,” he assured you, “now if you don’t mind, can I get back to actually fucking you?”

You pulled him in for a kiss before he dropped to his knees yet again, tongue immediately finding its place on your bud.

He traced a finger around your soaked hole, staring up at you as he slid one finger inside of you, watching you throw your head back and attempt to breathe through the pleasure, desperately trying not to make a noise.

Without warning, he added a second finger, pumping both in and out of you as his tongue continued to swirl and flick at your bud. Your breathing was becoming erratic, and you fought with everything in you to hold back moaning.

Aegon curled his fingers, hitting that sweet spot inside of you, causing you to grip his hair and push his face closer into you. He moaned at the sensation, sending shivers up your body. You whined and whimpered as quietly as you could as he continued to work you until you started squeezing his fingers.

Before you could come, he ceased all action, standing up and meeting your eyes again. He put both fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean before giving you a wet kiss, the feeling of your slick still on his lips. The feeling nearly made him feral, deepening the kiss as he pulled his own boxers down to free his cock. Precum was already leaking from the tip at only the sight of what his fingers did to you. He used one hand to begin to stroke himself as the other held the back of your head, pressing you even harder into the desperate kiss.

You reached between your bodies, gripping his cock and moving his hand away. You began to stroke him, causing his hips to jolt and a whine to leave his lips and break the kiss.

“Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he sighed, barely able to get the shaky sentence out.

You kissed him as a response. You lined his tip up with your entrance, looking at him and nodding up and down to signal that you were ready. Before he pushed in, you grabbed his face, saying, “I’m not a virgin, you know. You don’t have to be nice.”

Aegon growled, slamming his entire length into you without giving you time to adjust. You threw your head back and he pulled completely out before slamming into you again, each violent thrust causing your entire body to snap backward.

“Fuck,” he groaned, setting a steady pace.

You continued to whine and moan, unable to mute or quiet yourself.

“Shut up, Y/N,” Aegon warned.

“C- can’t,” was all you could get out, his cock stretching your walls at a violent rate.

“I don’t care,” he spat, almost mean, “I said shut up.”

He then snaked an arm between your bodies, rubbing circles onto your clit as he fucked you hard. Your body gave out, and you fell backward, head leaning against the mirror as Aegon pulled your hips closer to the edge of the sink so he could fuck you deeper.

“Fuck!” you cried out, completely losing any control you had over yourself.

Aegon moved his hand from your clit to your mouth, covering it and forcing you to remain quiet.

He continued to fuck you hard, your body still being roughly pushed harder into the sink and mirror with every thrust. With his hand pressed against your mouth, your head was now pressed hard against the mirror, meaning you were unable to move.

The hand that wasn’t around your mouth made it’s way to your waist, gripping you as Aegon’s thrusts became faster and faster.

He moved his hand from your mouth to your throat. “Tell me how it feels.”

You whined. “G- good, it’s- ah! It’s g-“

He squeezed your throat. “I know you can use your words better than that, angel.”

“It feels good, so good,” you forced out.

“Good girl,” Aegon praised, never moving his hand from your throat as he continued to fuck into you.

“Aeg, I-“

The nickname made him feral. He began thrusting into you at an unholy pace, both hands moving to your shoulders to keep you speared onto his cock as he pistoned in and out of you harshly.

“You gonna come?” he asked you.

“Y- yes, Aeg, I-“

“Beg me.”

You whimpered, barely able to think or speak. Apparently your silence was too long for Aegon.

“Beg. Me.”

“Please, Aeg, p-please l-let me come, Aegon, please-“

He moved a hand back in between your bodies, rubbing your clit again as your walls squeezed his cock. You nearly screamed his name as you came, his only choice to swallow your moans with his mouth, kissing you through your high, still chasing his own.

It was almost overstimulating, him still thrusting into you in desperate need of his own high as you were attempting to come down from yours.

“Aegon,” you whined.

“Mhm,” he moaned in response.

“Please come for me,” you pleaded in the most seductive voice you could manage.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he barked.

You grabbed his face in your hands, forcing his eyes to meet yours, “Aeg, fuck- please-“

That was all it took for him to come undone, unloading inside of you before pressing his forehead to yours to catch his breath.

You could fill indents in the back of your thighs from the edge of the sink. Once he calmed down and pulled out of you, he began to put his clothes back on, while you stayed seated, naked, on the sink.

“You just gonna stay there?” he quipped.

You gestured to Aemond’s ripped up clothes on the floor, “You gonna give me your clothes or what?”

#aegon x y/n #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen imagines #aegon targaryen smut #aegon x reader #house of the dragon #modern!aegon targaryen

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