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livebeforeyoulearn · 1 month ago

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Room Number Three - Part 2

part 1

Warnings: None

Word Count: 9.6k…

Summary: Does she see you for who you are, or just for what you can give her?

It’s been a couple of months. A couple of long, agonising months where you’ve fallen into a routine, walking into that dimly lit, neon-splashed room, always hoping – no, wishing – that it’d be her sitting there. Just like she had before, waiting, watching. But she’s never there. Instead, you’re met with strangers, faceless men who throw money at you without a second thought, men who crave something temporary, something fleeting. Each time you walk in, you brace yourself, knowing deep down that she’s not coming back. Yet, a small part of you, buried beneath layers of cynicism, always clings to that hope. You can’t help it.

But why would she come back for you? It’s not like you’re anything special. You’re just another stripper in a sea of many, just another body for hire. The harsh truth sinks into you like a cold knife every time you think about it: you promote your body for money and validation. Nothing about you stands out. You tell yourself you’re replaceable, that she probably hasn’t thought of you once since that night. And yet, no matter how much you repeat this to yourself, no matter how logical it seems, the thought gnaws at you.

It’s ironic, really. You can admit to yourself, in the privacy of your thoughts, that the time with her was unlike anything you’ve experienced before. There was something in the air that night, something that made your skin tingle and your heart race. If you could, you’d go back in time just to relive it. Not because you’re in love with her or you’re infatuated with her – you aren’t. You can’t be. It was just a moment, a good time. A fleeting memory. But the weight of it sits heavy on your shoulders, and every other experience since then has felt empty, hollow. No one else compares.

Sometimes, late at night, you wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t broken the rules. If you had kept things strictly professional, like you’re supposed to. That would have solved so many problems. Maybe then you wouldn’t be trapped in this labyrinth of thoughts, your mind constantly circling back to her, trying to decipher what it all meant. You wonder if it was worth it – crossing that line, letting yourself indulge in something you never should have. Maybe you wouldn’t feel so lost now if you’d just stuck to the rules. But you didn’t. And now, you’re paying for it, trapped in a maze of your own making.

You’re fairly certain your manager knows something went down that night. He hasn’t said anything directly, but the way he’s been acting lately tells you enough. He’s more cautious now, more watchful. He used to give you private sessions without a second thought, but now he’s more selective, always quick to check in on you. He doesn’t give you a chance to slip up, doesn’t allow any room for rule-breaking. The rare times he does assign you a private room, he’s there in a flash, popping his head in at the most inconvenient moments, like he’s expecting to catch you in the act again. Each time, though, he finds you where you should be – sitting alone on the bed, zoning out, lost in thought. There’s no one else there. No rule-breaking. Just you and the weight of your own mind, drifting back to her again and again.

You’re in the back room, as usual, waiting for your next cue to head on stage. The noise from the club is muffled, a constant background hum that you’ve learned to tune out. You’re fiddling with your hair, trying to focus on the upcoming routine, when your coworker slides up next to you, fresh from a private session. Her face is flushed, and there’s a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

“I think you have a stalker,” she says with a light giggle, her voice teasing.

“What?” You glance up, startled. The absurdity of the statement makes you blink in confusion before a small laugh escapes you.

“I’m serious!” she insists, though there’s a twinkle in her eyes. “She’s always here when you’re working. Like she knows your schedule or something.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your face neutral, trying not to let on how much the idea affects you. “What are you talking about?”

“She’s here every time you have a shift,” she says, leaning in conspiratorially. “It’s kind of creepy, honestly. I can’t believe you haven’t noticed.”

A flicker of something – hope, maybe? – sparks in your chest, but you force it down. It couldn’t be her. Could it? “What does she look like?” you ask, feigning casual curiosity, but inside, your heart is racing.

Before she can answer, your manager pokes his head into the room, telling you it’s time to go on stage. You sigh, pushing yourself off the chair, trying to brush off the conversation.

“She’s… well, I don’t know how to describe her, but she’s hot,” your coworker says with a mischievous smile, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as if it’ll help you.

“Thanks, super helpful,” you mutter sarcastically.

You check yourself in the mirror one last time, making sure everything is in place before you head out.

“Anytime!” she calls after you as you walk away.

You push the thought from your mind as you step into the neon-lit haze of the club. The familiar weight of your stage persona settles over you, a mask of confidence and seduction that you wear so well. The crowd is already buzzing with anticipation as you walk onto the stage, and you fall into your routine with practised ease. Every movement is calculated, designed to draw their attention, to make them cheer, throw money. You add a little extra spice tonight, just enough to keep things fresh for the regulars.

But then, halfway through a particularly sultry movement on the pole, you see her. Your breath catches, and you falter for the briefest of moments. It’s her. Of course, it’s her. Who else would it be? She sits at the bar, casually sipping her drink, her eyes fixed on you. It’s like she’s been there all along, watching, waiting.

A smirk curls at your lips as you continue your routine, but now there’s something more behind it. You perform for her. Every movement, every twist of your body is for her eyes only. And she’s watching, her gaze never leaving you. She’s been watching all this time, and you didn’t even know.

When your routine ends, you linger on stage, soaking in the cheers, the bills fluttering down around you. But your eyes aren’t on the crowd. They’re on her. She meets your gaze from across the room, and for a moment, everything else fades away. It’s just the two of you, locked in this silent exchange. She lowers her glass, a soft, almost affectionate smile playing on her lips, and then she stands. She walks over to the private rooms, where the requests are made. Your heart races, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going to happen next.

Backstage, you grab your water bottle, taking long, slow gulps, trying to steady your nerves. You sit down, waiting for the inevitable call from your manager, already knowing what’s coming. She’s going to request you. She has to.

But when he finally comes in, he doesn’t call your name. Instead, he calls one of your coworkers. Confusion washes over you, but you force yourself to stay calm. Maybe he’ll come back. Maybe she’s waiting for you. But he never does.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Neon lights flash behind your eyes, laughter and music blend into a distant hum as you make your way through the familiar routine of clocking out. The once-bustling club is emptying now, a hushed contrast to the chaos it held just moments before. You say goodbye to your coworkers, your voice barely above a murmur, your thoughts elsewhere.

You push open the heavy backdoor, stepping out into the cool air of the alleyway. It greets you with an unexpected stillness, a quiet that feels almost foreign after the noise and heat inside. The ground beneath your feet is uneven, the faint smell of rain and concrete hanging in the air, and your breath curls in small clouds as you exhale.

Your eyes catch a figure standing at the end of the alley, partially obscured by the dim light. You squint, taking slow, cautious steps forward. At first, you can only make out the silhouette, but as the soft glow of the streetlamp flickers above, the woman’s features begin to come into focus. Your heart skips a beat as recognition dawns on you. It's Alexia.

She’s leaning casually against the brick wall, arms crossed in front of her chest, but there’s a tension to her posture, something about the way she’s waiting. You pause, momentarily taken aback, your eyes sweeping over her form. Even in the faint light, she looks just as striking as you remember. Her hair catches the glow, her face half-illuminated, her expression unreadable – until she notices you.

Alexia’s lips twitch into a small, almost imperceptible smile. It’s hesitant, unsure. She pushes herself off the wall, taking a couple of tentative steps towards you, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. The sound of her footsteps echoes softly in the alley as she approaches, and you feel a knot of confusion twist in your stomach. What is she still doing here?

When you’re close enough to see her clearly, you glance up at her, still wary, your mind racing with a thousand unspoken questions. She looks nervous – more nervous than you’ve ever seen her – and the usually confident Alexia seems uncharacteristically shy, her eyes shifting as if she’s searching for the right words. Her lips part, but nothing comes out immediately. Instead, she fumbles for a second, her mind clearly working faster than her mouth.

“I was waiting for you,” she finally blurts out, her voice quiet, her thumb gesturing back awkwardly to the wall behind her as if she needs to explain where she’s been standing all this time. “I wanted to see if I could… walk you to your car? Maybe talk?”

There’s a blush creeping up her cheeks, one she seems almost embarrassed by, and you can’t help but notice how out of place she seems in this moment.

You tilt your head slightly, studying her as her words settle over you. It’s strange – everything about this is strange. The Alexia from earlier tonight, the one who watched you from across the room but didn’t come near, who requested someone else… it doesn’t quite fit with the Alexia standing before you now.

“Why didn’t you request a private session with me earlier?” Your voice is quiet, but there’s a hardness to it, a small wall of guardedness that you’ve built around yourself, even if you can’t fully maintain it. You don’t want to give in too easily. You don’t want to let her off the hook without some kind of explanation. She requested someone else – someone who wasn’t you. And that stings, more than you care to admit.

Alexia’s eyes widen slightly at your question, caught off guard by the vulnerability in your voice. She blinks, and you can see the surprise flicker across her face, her lips parting as if she hadn’t expected you to be so direct. “You… you looked at me like you were going to,” you mumble, your words softer now, almost a confession.

She hesitates for a moment, then nods. “You weren’t on the list of people I could request,” she says, her voice gentler now, more sincere. “You haven’t been for a while.”

Her words sink in, and the realisation hits you. Of course. Your manager. He’s known. He must’ve known she was here, must’ve known about whatever… this is. Maybe that’s why he’s been giving you fewer private sessions lately, why he’s kept you from certain clients.

You can’t help but ask the next question, even though the words feel bitter on your tongue. “Did you… have sex with her?” Your voice comes out smaller than you’d intended, a quiet insecurity slipping through despite your best efforts to hide it. You immediately curse yourself for it. Why should you care? You barely know her. You have no claim over her, no reason to be hurt by what she does with anyone else.

But the question hangs there, heavy and unspoken in the silence that follows, until Alexia shakes her head quickly, almost too quickly. “No,” she says firmly. “I didn’t. I even cut it short.” Her voice drops lower, softer. “I don’t want to do it with anyone else… I can’t. It’s not the same.”

You study her face, and for a moment, all you can see is how desperate she looks. Desperate to explain herself, to make you understand something that, technically, she doesn’t owe you at all. You’re not hers. She’s not yours. You have no right to expect anything from her. And yet here she is, standing in the cold night air, waiting for you. Telling you things you weren’t sure you wanted to hear, but things that, deep down, you needed to know.

Your fingers rub at your eyes, trying to make sense of the tangle of emotions building inside of you. “You’re tired,” Alexia says softly, her voice cutting through your thoughts. “Where’s your car?”

“I didn’t bring it,” you admit, your words almost slurred with exhaustion. “I live close by. I usually walk.”

Her eyebrows raise in concern. “You walk?” she repeats, incredulous. “That’s dangerous with your job.”

You shrug, the fatigue weighing down your shoulders, and give her a tired look. It’s late, and you’re too drained to argue or explain. “It’s not that far.”

Alexia’s gaze hardens with worry, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Let me drive you,” she offers, more of a statement than a question. “Come on,” she says, answering for you before you even have a chance to speak, as if she’d protest if you said no anyway. She holds out her hand, the gesture small but inviting, her fingers barely extended toward you. For a brief moment, you hesitate, looking down at her hand. Her confidence falters, and you see it in the way she quickly pulls her hand back, as though embarrassed for even offering it.

But you reach for it anyway. The moment your fingers brush against hers, the tension between you seems to dissolve. She looks more at ease when you finally take her hand, and without another word, she leads you towards her car. Her palm is warm against the cool night air, and the contrast sends a shiver through you, though it has little to do with the cold. You remember the way her hands felt on your body, the strength behind them, how they explored every inch of you with desire. You swallow hard, trying to shake the images from your mind, but they cling to you, lingering as she drives you home.

Her hands grip the steering wheel, but your memory clings to how they felt inside of you, how her fingers trailed over your skin, pressing into the softest parts of you. Your breath hitches, and you shift uncomfortably in the passenger seat, hoping she doesn’t notice the flush rising in your cheeks. You glance over at her, half-expecting to see the same thoughts reflected in her expression, but she’s focused on the road, her face unreadable.

You’re lost in your thoughts when the car finally comes to a stop. She parks outside the location you’d given her. Silence falls between you, the hum of the engine fading, and all you can hear now is the soft sound of your breathing. You turn to look at her, unsure of what to say, if there’s even anything left to say after everything that’s already happened.

Her eyes meet yours, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. The streetlights outside cast a faint glow on her face, highlighting the sharp lines of her cheekbones, the slight parting of her lips. She looks calm, composed, but her eyes are saying everything at once. You can’t tell if it’s your own tiredness warping your perception or if there’s really something there – something you’re too afraid to acknowledge just yet. Is she really looking at you like that, or are you reading too much into it?

“You did look very good tonight, you look good… every night,” she says, her voice breaking the silence.

It’s a compliment that should feel casual, offhanded, maybe even a little too forward. But instead, it flutters inside you, softening the tension you hadn’t even realised you were holding. Your lips curl into a small smile, and she mirrors it, her own smile shy but sincere.

“Thank you,” you whisper. The words are barely audible, but they hang in the space between you, fragile and intimate.

She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with the weight of it, and you can feel the air shift. The tension thickens again, making it harder to breathe. Her eyes never leave yours, wide and expectant, and you know exactly what she’s thinking. The unspoken question lingers in the air, written in the way her gaze drops to your lips and back to your eyes.

You nod, just once, giving her silent permission. You’re making it easy for her, letting her know what you both want without either of you needing to say it. There’s a brief hesitation, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, before she finally leans towards you. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you lean in to meet her halfway.

Your lips hover just inches apart for a moment, you can feel her breath against your skin, warm and steady, and then, finally, she closes the gap. The kiss is firm, commanding – just like last time. It’s hungry, almost desperate, as if she’s trying to claim every part of you in that single moment. Your head spins, your mind lost in the softness of her lips, the heat of her body awkwardly pressed against yours over the console.

Her hands move with purpose, fingers brushing over your neck, trailing up to cup your face, then into your hair. You feel the familiar rush, the way your body responds to her touch without hesitation. Before you even realise what’s happening, you’re both in your bed, the remnants of your clothes scattered carelessly on the floor.

The only sounds now are your ragged breaths, uneven and heavy in the quiet room. The first hints of dawn are creeping through the blinds, and you can’t help but wonder how she’s still awake, how she’s managed to keep going for this long. Doesn’t she have training? Responsibilities to attend to? But the thoughts are fleeting, drowned out by the haze of exhaustion and everything that’s happened tonight.

You lie there, tangled in the sheets, unsure of what to do next. Part of you wants to tell her to leave, to restore some sense of normalcy and control. But another part – the part that’s far more vulnerable – wants her to stay, to hold onto this moment for just a little longer.

She lets out a soft sigh, her body going limp as she rolls to her side, facing you. You turn to meet her gaze, your eyes locking with hers. She looks drained, as if the night has taken everything out of her, her eyes barely open as sleep threatens to overtake her.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper softly, your voice barely more than a breath.

She doesn’t argue, doesn’t protest. Her eyelids flutter shut, and within moments, her breathing evens out. You lie there, staring at her peaceful face, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. You know you should sleep, but your head is too full, too loud to quiet down just yet.

For a long while, you stay like that, watching her sleep, until you’re sure she’s fully gone, her body relaxed into the mattress. You move carefully, shifting closer to her, biting your lip as you contemplate what to do next. You want to feel her against you again, the warmth of her body, the comfort of her presence.

Hesitantly, you reach for her arm, the one tucked beneath her chin, and lift it, shifting it over your waist. You roll onto your side, pressing your back against her front, her arm draped over you like a safety net. For a second, you worry it’s too much – that she’ll pull away or wake up – but instead, she tightens her hold on you, pulling you closer.

Your eyes widen, your body stiffening at the unexpected embrace. But then you feel her nuzzle her face into the back of your neck, her breath warm against your skin, and slowly, you relax. The tension seeps out of your muscles as you melt into the bed, her body fitting perfectly against yours.

The weight of the night finally catches up with you, the exhaustion settling deep into your bones. Your eyes drift shut, and before you know it, you’ve fallen asleep in her arms, your mind still spinning with the uncertainty of what comes next.

Because now, there are questions you can’t avoid – questions about what this means, what she wants, what you want. You’ve never been one for casual, never been someone who can just let things be. But you don’t know if she feels the same. You want more, you always want more, but is she ready for that? Is she willing to give you everything, or will she walk away in the morning, leaving you with nothing?

—

You can't help but think about Alexia constantly, her presence infiltrating your thoughts, making it impossible to focus on anything else. The way she effortlessly slid into your life after that second encounter felt like fate – or maybe something far more dangerous. There's a part of you that wonders if she wanted more from the very beginning, but you hadn’t dared to ask, and she had never outright said. But you know she does, at least, you think she does. You tell yourself that, over and over again, hoping that her actions speak louder than her silence. And yet, the uncertainty still lingers in the back of your mind like a weight pressing down on your chest.

Alexia never says much, but what she does do feels like more than enough. It's in the way she makes sure you're fed after work, even if it's just a late-night diner run. You’re exhausted, but she insists on taking you out, getting something to eat before she drives you home. For you, it’s dinner; for her, it’s breakfast. Those meals have become a ritual, something you’ve come to expect at the end of your long shifts. It feels like care – like a routine that connects the two of you in ways you’ve never quite been able to explain.

You tell yourself it’s her way of showing affection, but as you sit across from her at those quiet, hole-in-the-wall diners, watching her sip her coffee while you nurse a plate of greasy food, the doubt creeps in. It’s never more than casual conversation. The little moments between bites and sips when she smiles softly at you, but never gives away too much. You realise that you’re the one doing most of the talking. Alexia listens, her eyes focused entirely on you, as if absorbing every word, but offering so little in return. You talk about your life, your shifts, your exhaustion – she listens, but what does she say about herself? Nothing that you don’t already know. She’s a public figure, and while her career isn’t something new to anyone, especially not you, there’s a strange emptiness in realising that you know so little beyond the headlines.

It’s in those quiet moments, where her silence stretches on, that you begin to wonder – does she really care? Does she want you, or is it just the convenience of having you after a long night?

And then there are the dates. They’re not frequent, but they feel significant. Sometimes she’ll call you when you’re both free, offering a night out, away from the club and the noise of your everyday life. You walk through the city together, the conversations light, sometimes playful, but never diving deep enough for you to understand her fully. Alexia’s hand will brush yours as you stroll along the sidewalks, her touch lingering just long enough to send a quiet thrill through your body. Every time it feels like she’s leading you towards something more, something real. But before you can grasp it, it slips away, just like the smile she gives when you try to ask more about her life.

She always makes time for your performances, though, especially when she has the next day off. Her presence in the crowd is unmistakable, her eyes locked on you like you’re the only person in the room. It’s intoxicating, the way she watches you. You can feel her gaze burning into your skin, watching your every move with an intensity that makes you shiver. And it’s not just lust – it’s something deeper, something you can’t quite put into words. But as much as she watches, she never stays long after the show. She’ll wait until your shift ends, and then pull you aside, whisking you away like you’re a secret only she’s allowed to keep.

It’s strange, though. As much as you love those moments with her, there’s always a distance, always a barrier you can’t cross. You want to reach her, to see what’s behind that cool, collected exterior, but she keeps you at arm’s length, even when she’s pulling you closer physically.

And now, with your return to private sessions, the intensity has only grown. Your manager put you back on the list, trusting you again after a long period of caution. You didn’t miss those private rooms, the way they felt so closed in, so suffocating with other clients. But with Alexia, it’s different. She’s the only one who you want to request you, and when you step into that dimly lit room and see her waiting for you, a strange calm washes over you.

Private sessions with her are unlike anything else. The moment the door clicks shut, it’s as if the rest of the world ceases to exist. It’s just the two of you, wrapped up in each other. You’ve never felt so exposed, yet so safe, as when Alexia’s hands trace the lines of your body, her touch always firm but careful. You lose yourself in her, in the way she undoes you so easily, like she knows every secret place, every vulnerable spot that makes you melt. It’s a dangerous game, this intimacy you share with her behind closed doors, but you can’t bring yourself to stop.

The nights always end the same. Whether it’s after a performance, a date, or one of these private sessions, it all leads to the same conclusion: you and her, tangled together in bedsheets, limbs intertwined, bodies bare and spent. Her touch lingers long after the moment passes, leaving you breathless and aching for more. But she’s always the first to move. She’s quick to dress you, her fingers moving deftly as she glances toward the door, always alert, always watching for your manager to walk in. You don’t know why she’s so cautious. He knows she’s in there with you. But the moment her task is done, she slips away, like a shadow disappearing before the light can expose her.

And you let her. You never ask why. You just watch her go, your heart heavy in your chest as the door closes behind her, leaving you alone in the aftermath of what just happened. You tell yourself it’s because you trust her. But do you? Or is it that you’re too afraid of the answer you might get if you ask?

Today, though, things feel off. There’s a tension in the air as you walk into the club, ready for another night of work. You’re exhausted, your mind already drifting towards thoughts of Alexia, of the moments you might share later.

“Y/n, come in here, please.”

The sound of your manager’s voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, pulling you back to reality. You swallow hard, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. You’ve been called into his office plenty of times, but this feels different. There’s a sternness in his tone that sets you on edge. Nerves coil tightly in your stomach as you step inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

He leans back in his chair, his fingers lacing behind his head as he studies you. His posture is casual, but the intensity in his eyes is anything but.

“This woman,” he starts, his voice measured, “the one who comes in every other week, always requesting you. Who is she? What’s her name?”

Your mouth goes dry. You knew this would come up eventually, but you hadn’t prepared yourself for it. You glance around the room, avoiding his gaze for a moment, searching for something to anchor yourself to.

“Her name is Alexia,” you finally say, your voice quieter than you intended.

“And…” he hesitates for a beat, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you and Alexia dating?”

The question catches you off guard, you shake your head slowly, unsure of what else to say.

“Then why does she keep coming back? And only for you?”

You shrug, your shoulders heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. “I don’t know,” you murmur, though the words feel hollow, even to you. You want to believe that it’s more than just convenience for her. You want to believe that she sees you as more than just the girl she can have when she wants. But you don’t have the answer your manager is looking for. You’re not sure you have any answers at all.

Your manager leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk as his gaze sharpens. “I have a feeling,” he says slowly, “that you’re doing something you’re not supposed to be doing in these private sessions.”

The disappointment in his voice stings more than you expected. You try to open your mouth, to defend yourself, but the words die on your tongue. What could you say? You’re breaking the rules, and you both know it.

“If you’re engaging in acts with clients, you know that’s prohibited here,” he continues, his voice firm. “If we find out you’re involved with her like that, you’ll be fired.”

Panic flares in your chest, but you force yourself to stay calm. You can’t lose this job. But you also can’t lie. So you say nothing, just nodding in acknowledgment, hoping it’s enough to show him that you understand.

“I want you to tell Alexia that she can no longer request you,” he says, his voice unwavering. “And if you don’t, I will. I’ll make sure she doesn’t come here for you anymore.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs. The thought of not seeing Alexia anymore, of losing those quiet moments with her, makes your heart ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

But what can you do?

“You can’t ban her,” you protest, the disbelief thick in your voice. It’s the first time you’ve ever raised your voice to him, and it surprises you as much as it seems to surprise him.

“I can,” he cuts in sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. His expression is calm, but the firmness in his voice makes it clear he’s not bluffing. “I will, if I have to.” He takes a moment for his words to settle in, “I don’t know her intentions with you, and that’s the problem,” your manager continues, his voice softer now, almost concerned. “I want you to be safe, Y/n. You know how dangerous this job can be, especially with private sessions. If she wants something more with you, fine, but it can’t happen here. If you’re involved with her, keep it professional – or handle it outside of work.”

You can’t even form words, your throat tight with frustration and confusion. You nod, though it feels like you’re surrendering. “I’m sorry,” you manage to whisper, the words barely audible.

For the first time, his expression softens. He sighs, looking at you with something that almost resembles pity. “Go get ready for your shift,” he says, his voice no longer sharp but weary. “We’ll talk more later if we need to.”

You push yourself out of the chair, your legs unsteady beneath you as you make your way to the dressing room. The usual routine feels foreign, mechanical, as you go through the motions of preparing for the night. Your mind, however, is far from the club, far from the neon lights and pulsing music. All you can think about is Alexia – what she means to you, what you mean to her, if anything at all.

For the rest of the night, you’re distracted. You go through your shift like a ghost, barely present, your thoughts consumed by what your manager said. What does Alexia really want from you? Every time she comes to see you, every time she takes you out, it always ends the same way – with her hands on your body, with the two of you tangled together in bed. She’s always so focused on you, so intent on touching you, pleasing you – but what about you? Does she want more than just your body?

It’s frustrating – infuriating, even – that you’ve given so much of yourself to her, but know so little in return. You want to be more than just her escape, more than just a body she can touch and leave behind. You want her to see you, really see you, for who you are beyond the roles you play in the dim lighting of the club.

—

The next time you see Alexia, it’s just a few days after your manager had that quiet talk with you about her. He’s been watching you more closely lately, not with suspicion, but with a kind of silent expectation. Every time you pass him, his eyes lock onto yours, silently asking the question you still can’t answer. Each time, you give the same small shake of your head, lips tight, and his face crumbles into thinly veiled disappointment. It’s like a ritual now, and before you can stop yourself, the same tired promise escapes your lips: “I’ll tell her soon.” He never pushes for more, but you can feel it, that invisible clock ticking down. You know what he’ll do if he ever sees her.

When you finally spot her tonight, she’s sitting at the bar, as calm and radiant as ever. Her usual drink sits untouched – just a glass of water tonight. It’s mid-season, after all. She’s been coming less and less, and you know why. The intensity of her schedule, the demands of being a professional athlete, are pulling her further away from these nights, from you.

You stick to the routine, the one that feels mechanical now, rehearsed to the point of exhaustion. There’s no spark, no new energy flowing through you, and for the first time in a long while, her presence doesn’t fuel you like it used to. Your movements lack the usual grace, the confidence that she used to stir in you simply by being there. Maybe it’s the worry gnawing at your insides, the creeping thought that tonight could be the night your manager catches her.

When the routine ends, you glance towards her, and for a brief moment, your eyes meet. She gives you that familiar look – the one that says she’ll wait for you in the room. Usually, it would send a small thrill through you, a silent anticipation of what comes next, but tonight, you simply shake your head at her. Her expression flickers with confusion, but she only shrugs, abandoning her glass with a casual nonchalance that stings more than it should. She waves, a small, half-hearted gesture, and walks out the door.

She didn’t even seem to care. There was no lingering glance, no hesitation in her step. It was as if your rejection meant nothing to her, like you meant nothing. Your chest tightens, a dull ache spreading through you, and the thoughts you’ve been trying to suppress rise to the surface. Maybe she doesn’t care. Maybe she really only wants you for your body. And since you can’t give her that tonight, she just leaves.

The thought churns in your mind, twisting and turning, but you push them down, refusing to let them take root. You won’t let this affect you, not tonight. You force yourself to stay focused, to remain in control. The rest of the night drags on, slow and unremarkable, but you manage to hold it together until the end. When the last person leaves, you clock out without a second glance and head for the backdoor.

The night air is crisp as you step outside, the alleyway bathed in dim light. The world feels quiet, muted, as if it’s holding its breath. You walk the same path you always do, your feet carrying you down the alley and onto the sidewalk. When you reach the street, you glance down the road to where she’d usually be parked. There’s a flicker of relief when you see her car still there, waiting for you. But then, just as quickly, annoyance takes its place. Because she should be home by now. She’s a professional athlete. She should be getting her rest, not waiting up for you like this.

Still, you find yourself moving towards her. You open the passenger door and slide into the seat beside her. The car is silent, the atmosphere thick with tension. She stares out the window for a long time, her profile illuminated by the faint streetlight outside. The silence stretches between you, heavy and uncomfortable, until finally, she turns to you, her eyes searching yours.

“Did I… do something?” Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but there’s a vulnerability in it that catches you off guard.

You shake your head, but the words don’t come easily. You’ve been holding so much back for so long, and now, with her looking at you like this, it’s hard to keep the dam from breaking.

“Why didn’t you want to go to the room?” she asks, her voice trembling slightly, like she’s afraid of the answer.

You sigh, turning away from her gaze, staring at your hands instead. "Because my manager’s onto us. He doesn’t want you coming back anymore. I’m sorry, Alexia."

She huffs, shaking her head as if the answer wasn’t enough. “We should’ve been more careful,” she mutters under her breath, her frustration evident. Then, after a long pause, she turns to you again, her voice softer, almost hesitant. “Can I still… see you?”

There’s a knot in your chest, tightening with each passing second. You nod, but the motion feels hollow, automatic. You don’t know what else to say, how else to respond.

After a stretch of silence, you speak, your voice barely masking the weariness you feel. “Are you taking me home, or are we sitting here all night?”

Her lips curve into a small, teasing smirk, a flash of the confidence you’ve always known in her. “Are you hungry? We could get something to eat.”

“Not tonight,” you murmur, rubbing your forehead. “Just take me home, please.”

The smirk fades, and she nods, starting the car in silence. The drive back to your place is quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine. You lean back in your seat, your thoughts swirling, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t shake the unease. You know what she wants. It’s written in the way she looks at you, the way her fingers occasionally flex on the steering wheel. But tonight, you’re not sure you can give it to her. You’re not even sure you want to.

When you arrive at your place, she goes to park the car, but before she can shift into gear, you place a hand over hers, stopping her movements. She looks at you, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“I don’t want to have sex tonight,” you say, your voice steady but quiet, the words feeling foreign on your tongue.

Her lips part in surprise, and for a moment, you think she might argue, but she doesn’t. Instead, she nods slowly, her confusion giving way to a softer, more understanding expression. “Okay,” she says, though you can hear the uncertainty in her voice.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about, though,” you continue, feeling the weight of what’s to come. “Can you come inside?”

She doesn’t argue. She simply nods, her expression unreadable as you both step out of the car and head towards your apartment. When you finally unlock the door and step inside, the air between you feels charged, tense, like the calm before a storm.

You settle onto the couch, and she follows, her limbs sprawling out in that casual, confident way of hers. She leans her head back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling, waiting for you to speak. But the words stick in your throat, and instead, you find yourself staring at her.

For a moment, you wonder what she sees in you. She’s so put together, so effortlessly perfect, and you feel small. Inadequate. The weight of your insecurities presses down on you, and for a moment, you question everything. Maybe what you’re about to say is stupid. Maybe it doesn’t even matter.

She turns her head slightly, catching your gaze, and you quickly look away, focusing instead on your hands resting in your lap. After a long, uncomfortable pause, you finally speak.

“What exactly… do you want from this?” Your voice sounds small, uncertain.

She lifts her head, looking at you with a mixture of confusion and surprise. "This? As in us?"

You nod, unable to meet her gaze, afraid of what her answer might be.

Her brow furrows as she thinks for a moment, biting her lip. “I don’t know,” she admits quietly. “I haven’t really thought about it like that.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. She hasn’t been thinking about you. Not the way you’ve been thinking about her. While she’s been a constant presence in your mind, an endless loop of thoughts and feelings you can’t escape, you’ve barely registered on her radar. You feel the sting of it, sharp and cutting, sinking into your chest. For a moment, the room seems to tilt, and your heart drops. You were a fool to think she felt the same way, to let yourself hope for something more when she hadn’t even bothered to consider it.

“Do you want more?” she asks, her voice hesitant now, faltering as she glances at you. Her eyes flicker, catching the hurt in your expression, and you can see her start to second-guess herself. “I thought we were just… casual.”

Her words slice through the air between you, the final confirmation of your worst fear. Casual. That’s what this was to her. Just a passing thing, a distraction from her busy life. Meanwhile, you’ve been caught up in thoughts of her constantly – wondering what you mean to her, why she shows up at your place after nights out, why she sticks around, why it always felt like there was more. But to her, it’s just casual.

Your voice is barely a whisper when you finally speak. “I don’t like casual.” The words feel pathetic on your tongue, like you’re exposing something weak and fragile about yourself. “I thought you taking me out and waiting for me meant something more than it actually did.”

The silence that follows is deafening. You expect her to say something, to argue or apologise, but she just looks at you, her mouth slightly open as if she doesn’t know what to say. And maybe she doesn’t. Maybe there’s nothing to say.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. "I want you to leave if you don’t want more," you say, the words coming out stronger than you feel. “I’m not going to keep doing this with you if it leads to nothing in the end.”

The shock on her face is clear, her eyes wide as she stares at you, and for a brief second, you wonder if you’ve pushed too hard. Maybe you’re being too dramatic, letting your feelings spiral out of control. Maybe this is how she shows love, maybe you’ve misread everything. But at this moment, your heart is screaming for more, for something solid, something real. You can’t live in this uncertainty anymore.

You offer her an out, your voice quieter now. “I can give you time to think…”

But before you can finish, she shakes her head, and you brace yourself for the worst. You think this is it, the moment she’ll stand up and walk out of your life for good, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your heart on your own.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she moves closer, wrapping her arms around you, pulling you into a tight, almost desperate embrace. It catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to react. Her hold is firm, like she’s trying to hold you together, trying to keep you from slipping away from her.

“I’m not going to leave,” she whispers into your hair, her voice raw with emotion. “I want the same thing. I was just too scared to tell you because I didn’t know if you felt the same. I didn’t want to embarrass myself or… or lose you.”

Her words wash over you, and for a second, you’re not sure if you should believe her. You’ve spent so long convincing yourself that she didn’t care, that this was all just surface-level for her, that now, hearing her say otherwise feels surreal. But there’s something in her voice, a vulnerability you haven’t seen before, that makes you pause. Maybe she’s been scared, too. Maybe this whole time, she’s been holding back the same way you have, afraid of what it might mean to open up completely.

“I didn’t want to let you go,” she continues, her breath warm against your skin. “I couldn’t ever let you go.”

Her words feel like a balm to the ache that’s been building in your chest, soothing the tension that’s been twisting inside you for weeks. You take a deep breath, the scent of her perfume filling your lungs, mixed with the subtle scent that’s uniquely hers. It’s comforting, grounding, and you let yourself relax into her embrace, closing your eyes for a moment as the weight of your fears begins to lift, just a little.

“I want to be something more with you,” she murmurs softly, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. Her hands cup your cheeks, her thumbs brushing gently over your skin as she holds your gaze. There’s something new in her eyes, something tender and raw – an emotion you’ve never seen before. Adoration, maybe. Admiration. You can’t quite put a name to it, but whatever it is, it makes your heart swell in your chest.

“I do, I really do,” she continues, her voice steady now, more certain than before. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. You just sit there, staring at each other, her hands still cradling your face as if she’s afraid to let go. Her gaze roams over your features, taking in every detail as if seeing you for the first time, and then her eyes drift down to your lips.

The kiss, when it finally comes, is tentative at first. Slow. Gentle. There’s none of the urgency or heat that usually ignites between you. Instead, it’s soft and tender, filled with a quiet longing that takes your breath away. It’s a kiss that says more than words ever could – a promise, an understanding. It’s everything you’ve been wanting from her, everything you’ve been waiting for, and you can feel the weight of it in your bones.

When she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours, and you sit there in the quiet of your apartment, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. Your mind races, a thousand thoughts swirling at once, but before you can speak, she asks the question that’s been pressing on your mind.

“What are you thinking about?” she whispers.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to voice the doubts still lingering in the back of your mind.

“Are you… okay with what I do?” you ask, your voice wavering slightly. “I mean… the media is going to say so much when they find out about me. About what I do.” You pause, your chest tightening as you search her eyes for any sign of doubt. “Are you comfortable with me dancing for others? Letting others see me like that?”

She’s quiet for a moment, her eyes searching yours, and for a brief second, you feel your heart clench in fear. But then she smiles, a slow, warm smile that sends a wave of relief through you.

“Who cares what they say?” she murmurs, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Own what you do. You’re sexy, and I love it.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the tension start to ease from your body. “But–”

“I trust you,” she cuts in gently, her eyes locking onto yours with a sincerity that leaves no room for doubt. “I trust that you won’t do anything to hurt me. And if something does bother me, I’ll tell you. But for now, let’s just focus on us. On where we want to go, okay?”

Her words settle over you like a blanket, warm and comforting, and you nod, unable to find the words to express the gratitude swelling in your chest.

She stands up, offering her hand to you, and together, you make your way to the bedroom. But this time, there’s no rush, no urgency. This time, you fall into each other’s arms, but not out of lust. And as you drift off to sleep, her body wrapped around yours, you feel a quiet contentment settle over you, knowing that for the first time, you’re both on the same page.

Over the months that follow, her actions speak louder than any words ever could. She shows you, day by day, how much you mean to her – how much she wants this, how much she wants you. You watch as she slowly lets her guard down, revealing parts of herself that she’s never shared with anyone else. It’s in the small moments, the little gestures that show you how much she’s come to care. She holds your hand in public without hesitation. She asks you about your day and genuinely listens, her attention unwavering.

And when she finally tells you she loves you for the first time, it’s in the quiet of your apartment, after a long day. She doesn’t plan it, doesn’t make it a big moment. It just slips out naturally, like it was always meant to be said, and you realise then that you’ve been waiting to hear those words for far longer than you knew.

It’s in the way she moves in with you, how the two of you build a life together. It’s in the way she surprises you by proposing, years later, after you’ve both grown together, after you’ve come to know every inch of each other’s hearts. And when you stand at the altar, exchanging vows, you see the truth in her eyes – the unwavering love that’s been there all along.

And it’s in the way she stands beside you when your first child is born, holding your hand through every pain, every joy, until you’re both holding the life you created together.

Looking back, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of relief that you didn’t let fear or pride get in the way of what was right in front of you. You allowed yourself to love her, and just as importantly, you allowed her to love you. And that, you realise, was the bravest thing you’ve ever done. It wasn’t easy to be vulnerable, to lay your heart bare in front of her, but it was worth every moment of uncertainty, every doubt you ever had.

You can’t help but feel a surge of gratitude for the people who played a part in allowing you to be here. Your manager, for one, comes to mind, and a small, appreciative smile tugs at your lips. He had seen it all, from the beginning – how you danced around the truth for so long, how you kept things under wraps until it became impossible to hide.

You remember the day you finally told him about Alexia, bracing yourself for judgement or worse, thinking he’d tell you it was too much of a risk to keep seeing her. But instead, he had simply rolled his eyes in that familiar, knowing way and shrugged. When you later told him you were getting married to her, you’d half-expected him to lecture you or at least bring up how complicated it could be with the job. But no – he barely blinked, just gave you a look that said, I knew this was coming, before congratulating you with a smirk.

And that was it. No drama, no judgement. He didn’t treat you any differently, didn’t look at you any differently, and most importantly, he let you keep your job. He understood – maybe more than you gave him credit for – that love was something worth fighting for, something worth protecting. You’re thankful for that, for his quiet support and the way he let you figure things out without pushing too hard.

You’re grateful for him, for the way he respected your boundaries, your choices. And in a strange way, you’re even grateful for the moments of discomfort and uncertainty, for they ultimately led you to where you are now – deeply in love with a woman who loves you just as much, if not more.

there were sooo many ways i could’ve taken this so im very anxious as to what you think about this 🫠

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso x reader #barca femeni #barca femini x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader

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fanonical · 7 months ago

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look people who've been around here for a while know exactly how i feel about the early doctor who serial edge of destruction but i rewatched it recently and i have feelings

so edge of destruction is the third ever serial of doctor who, right? it's an unearthly child, the daleks, then edge of destruction. and it's also kind of a bottle episode. edge of destruction is a two-parter, and is set entirely on the tardis featuring only the main cast

the plot is weird. everyone wakes up in the tardis with confusion and memory loss, not knowing what's going on. the tardis isn't safe, and strange things are happening. the ship seems to be malfunctioning, but there's nothing notably wrong with it. everyone's freaking out and accusing each other of sabotaging the tardis or hurting each other

now, as i said, this is early doctor who. companions barbara and ian had been kidnapped by the doctor and susan so they don't tell anyone that time travel is real, and at this point they don't trust the doctor and the doctor doesn't trust them. the doctor immediately starts accusing barbara and ian of sabotaging the ship to force him to take them home, which they angrily refute. they've spent the last two stories saving the doctor and susan from whatever's trying to kill them

barbara has a speech here which is brilliant and i can quote verbatim. 'do you realise, you stupid old man, that you'd have died in the cave of skulls if ian hadn't made fire for you? and what about what we went through against the daleks? not just for us, but for you and susan too. and all because you tricked us into going down to the city. accuse us? you ought to go down on your hands and knees and thank us! but gratitude's the last thing you'll ever have, or any sort of common sense either'

and the doctor spends the whole two episodes either accusing ian and barbara of being evil or being wholly unhelpful. (he straight up drugs everyone with a sedative at one point!) yeah, turns out the tardis is trying to tell them what's wrong via cryptic clues, and barbara's putting the pieces together. and the doctor still doesn't listen to her! she's so close to figuring it out and saving them all - they're all gonna die in about ten minutes and the doctor's basically given up, but barbara's trying to solve the problem

and in the end, they have the eureka moment and get out of trouble, but barbara's still understandably pissed. that is, until the doctor takes the time to apologise to her and tell her that yeah, she was right and he's sorry he didn't listen to her and he's going to do better to respect her opinions in future. they go into the next serial as friends, a first for the series to that point

so why do i love this weird little two-parter so much? because it is the moral centre of modern doctor who. this is the start of the characterisation of the doctor that we know and love. before this, the doctor is ruthless! he tries to kill a guy with a rock! he sabotages the tardis to satisfy his curiosity and lands everyone in danger from the daleks! he drugs them just because he doesn't trust them! he thinks he's smarter, better, and more important than the people he travels with

but then barbara stands up to him. she tells him that, no, she and ian are important too. and no, they're worth listening to. and yes, they can help and are worth something. and that's important, because barbara and ian are way more compassionate than the doctor is at this point. they want to help people they come across even if it means putting their own lives in danger.

sound familiar? yeah, the doctor's whole thing of helping everyone they come across and compassion towards everyone starts here. this is one of the most enduring things about the doctor and it would never have happened without barbara telling the doctor he's full of shit

and it's all because he listened to an ordinary woman

#Doctor Who #Classic Who #Ian Chesterton #Barbara Wright #First Doctor #Susan Foreman

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nickeverdeen · 2 months ago

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Hi could you do a five hargreeves x female!reader where reader is normal and doesn't have powers but she's a genius and basically has a photographic memory, and she meets five and he's a bit mean and snarky but eventually he starts to fall for her

I also think it would be funny if she was kinda best friends with Klaus and he kinda teases her about five, but you don't have to include that

Guns And Brains | Five Hargreeves x genius fem!reader

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x fem!reader, Klaus Hargreeves x fem!reader (best friend)

Warning: None

PS: Sorry for the unoriginal title

———————————

You were used to being the smartest person in the room. It wasn’t arrogance; it was simply a fact. Your photographic memory allowed you to absorb and recall information with an almost eerie accuracy. In school, you never needed to study, and in life, you rarely encountered a problem you couldn’t solve. You had grown accustomed to the bemused looks and occasional irritation that came from people who found your talents either intimidating or annoying.

Yet here you are, standing in the middle of an ancient-looking mansion, face-to-face with a boy who exuded an air of superiority that rubbed you entirely the wrong way. Five Hargreeves—if you remembered correctly from the vague mentions in tabloids about the dysfunctional Umbrella Academy—was a strange, prodigious enigma. He looked like a teenager, but there was something in his eyes that suggested he was anything but.

From the moment Klaus had introduced you, you could sense the tension brewing. It wasn’t just the way Five had narrowed his eyes at you, or the clipped tone he used when addressing you. It was the challenge in his gaze, the unspoken assertion that he was smarter, quicker, better. The way he practically dared you to prove him wrong.

“Who’s this?” Five had asked, his tone flat and disinterested, as if your presence was more of an inconvenience than anything else.

“This is Y/N,” Klaus had said cheerfully, apparently oblivious to the storm clouds brewing between them. “She’s got a brain like a supercomputer—remember everything she’s ever read, seen, or heard. Thought she might be able to help us out.”

Five’s eyes had flickered with something—annoyance, skepticism, you couldn’t quite tell. “We don’t need help,” he’d said brusquely. “Especially not from someone who thinks they can waltz in and solve problems that are far beyond their understanding.”

And there it was—the gauntlet thrown down. You had felt your spine stiffen, your own competitive streak flaring up in response. You didn’t like the way he assumed you were just some book-smart outsider with no practical experience, especially when he hadn’t even given you a chance to prove otherwise.

“I’m not here to solve your problems,” you replied, your tone sharp. “But from what I’ve heard, you could use all the help you can get.”

Klaus had tried to mediate, sensing the tension. “Alright, kids, play nice. We’re all on the same team here.”

But you had seen the look in Five’s eyes—a mix of condescension and irritation. He clearly didn’t think much of you, and that was something you weren’t about to let slide. If there was one thing you despised, it was being underestimated.

The first few days in the mansion were… interesting, to say the least. Klaus had introduced you to the rest of the siblings, all of whom had their own unique quirks and issues. Luther was stoic and serious, Allison was kind but guarded, Diego was intense, and Viktor was quiet, almost withdrawn. They were an odd bunch, but in some ways, you felt more at ease with them than you did with Five.

Five, on the other hand, seemed determined to make you feel unwelcome. Whenever you offered a suggestion, he’d shoot it down without a second thought. When you tried to engage him in a discussion about the theories he was working on, he’d dismiss your opinions with a wave of his hand, as if your thoughts were nothing more than background noise.

It was infuriating.

At first, you tried to stay calm. Your reminded yourself that you were here to help, not to butt heads with a stubborn man who had likely seen more in his lifetime than you could ever imagine. But as the days passed, you found your patience wearing thin.

The breaking point came one evening when you were all gathered around the dining table, discussing the latest anomaly that Five was trying to unravel. He was pacing back and forth, spouting off calculations and theories at a rapid pace. The others were listening intently, but you could see the confusion in their eyes.

“Maybe if we adjusted the parameters slightly,” you suggested, your tone measured, “we could account for the temporal flux and—”

Five cut you off with a snort. “That’s a ridiculous idea. Adjusting the parameters would only destabilize the entire equation. You clearly don’t understand the complexities of time travel.”

Your jaw clenched. “And you clearly don’t understand the value of listening to other people’s input. Just because you’ve traveled through time doesn’t mean you know everything.”

Five stopped pacing and turned to face you, his expression cold. “I’ve spent decades—decades—working on these equations. You’ve been here for a week. Don’t presume to know more than I do.”

The room went silent. The others exchanged uneasy glances, but you didn’t back down. You were tired of Five’s arrogance, tired of him treating you like you were some naive child who had wandered into his domain.

“Maybe I don’t know more than you,” you said, your voice steady. “But I’m not an idiot, and I’m not going to stand here and let you treat me like one. If you’re so confident in your theories, then why not test them? Or are you afraid that someone else might actually have a better idea?”

Five’s eyes narrowed. “Fine,” he said, his tone icy. “Let’s test it. And when it fails, you can stop wasting our time with your half-baked theories.”

You didn’t respond. You simply nodded and turned your attention back to the problem at hand, determined to prove him wrong.

The next few days were tense, to say the least. You and Five worked together, but it was clear that neither of you were happy about it. Every interaction was laced with sarcasm and thinly veiled insults. Yet, beneath the hostility, there was a grudging respect forming, though neither of you would admit it.

Despite his arrogance, you couldn’t help but be impressed by Five’s intellect. He was brilliant, there was no denying that. His mind worked at a speed that rivaled your own, and his knowledge of temporal mechanics was unmatched. But he was also infuriatingly stubborn, refusing to consider any idea that wasn’t his own.

For his part, Five found himself both annoyed and intrigued by you. You were smart—smarter than he’d initially given you credit for. Your insights were often sharp and on point, even if he was loath to admit it. But what bothered him the most was how you challenged him, pushing back against his authority in a way no one else dared to. It was unsettling, and yet… he found himself drawn to it.

One afternoon, as you were pouring over another set of calculations, you suddenly spoke up.

“I’ve been thinking,” you said, not looking up from the paper in front of you.

“Dangerous,” Five muttered under his breath, but there was no real bite to his words.

You ignored him. “You’re right about the temporal flux destabilizing if we adjust the parameters too much. But what if we didn’t adjust them directly? What if we introduced a stabilizing agent that could counterbalance the fluctuations?”

Five paused, considering your words. It wasn’t a completely ridiculous idea. In fact, it was… interesting. But he wasn’t about to let you know that.

“It’s a long shot,” he said instead, his tone dismissive.

“Maybe,” you conceded. “But it’s worth a try. Unless you have a better idea?”

Five scowled, but there was no real heat behind it. “Fine. We’ll try it your way. But don’t get used to it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied, a small smirk playing on your lips.

As you worked together, there was a noticeable shift in the air between you two. The barbs were still there, but they were less sharp, the insults less cutting. It was as if you were beginning to acknowledge each other as equals—rivals, perhaps, but with a mutual respect that was slowly, begrudgingly, forming.

Weeks passed, and the initial tension between you and Five began to ease, replaced by a rhythm of sorts. You still bickered, still challenged each other at every turn, but there was a camaraderie in it now. A strange, twisted camaraderie, but camaraderie nonetheless.

The others noticed it too. Klaus, in particular, found endless amusement in your interactions, often teasing you about your “little crush” on Five.

“Admit it,” Klaus says with a grin. “You two are just one good argument away from kissing.”

You roll your eyes, brushing off his comments, but you couldn’t deny that there was a certain… tension between you and Five. Not that you would ever admit it out loud. The last thing you wanted was to give Five the satisfaction of knowing he got under your skin in more ways than one.

But the turning point came one evening, when you were working late in the mansion’s library. The room was dimly lit, the only sound the soft rustle of papers as you pored over your latest set of equations. You were focused, your mind fully absorbed in the problem at hand, when you felt a pair of eyes on you.

You looked up, only to find Five watching you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of you spoke. There was something in his gaze, something that made your heart skip a beat.

“What?” You asked, your voice softer than you intended.

Five hesitated, as if weighing his words carefully. “You’re not as annoying as I thought you were.”

It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but coming from Five, it was close enough. You felt a small smile tug at your lips. “You’re not as unbearable as I thought you were either.”

Five’s lips quirked up in the faintest hint of a smile. “High praise.”

You fell into a comfortable silence after that, the tension between you two shifting into something else. Something neither of you were quite ready to name.

#request #imagine #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves x reader #enemies to lovers #number five x reader #five tua #five hargreeves

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clockwayswrites · 1 year ago

Text

Both Ways at Once Part 4

WC: 668, Masterpost

Jason inched forward and pressed his ear to the door Tim had just gone through.

“What’s wrong?” Tim asked.

There was silence, then “Where’s Jason?”

That was Dick. He’d been staying at the manor since it all happened. It was a little weird to have him a round like that.

“Asleep. He’s still getting exhausted too easily.”

Dick would buy it, of course he would. For one, it was true; Jason was exhausted. For another, Jason had been good. He rested when he was told. He ate when he was fed. He spent most of his time awake in the library just reading. He was passive.

He may have set them up, but it was their own damn fault if they bought it.

Dick let out a sigh. “Yeah, I know, I’m worried about that. So’s Bruce. They had Constantine bring in another specialist…”

“No good?”

“Don’t know. He sorta…” Dick laughed but it was strung out sounding. “He phased into the cell and then refused to let go of Hood. Or Hood refused to let go of him, we’re not sure. They’re in a meeting room now. According to him, they were basically torturing Hood by keeping him locked up in the Watchtower—”

Jason didn’t hear anything else. Blood was rushing in his ears. They were hurting him.

When he had come to in that basement, Jason had been confused. He hadn’t known how he had gotten there or what was happening. But also he had. Part of him had known, instinctively, that the huge man next to him was important and that they needed to stay close together.

His head had felt like it was splitting in two as what he knew and what was overlapped. His skin had felt too tight, like he had been stuffed into it. Everything had hurt. And so when his family had arrived and whisked him one way and the other man another, Jason had let them.

He had regretted it ever since.

Bruce and Constantine had sat him down the next morning, explaining that he had been hit with a magical spell that affected him mentally and physically. He had been split into two. He wanted to see the other part of him, but they said no. They had to find out more about the situation first, he was told. There could be a magical backlash. It was dangerous. They were keeping him in the dark, that’s what.

Fuck that. Jason had started using his exhaustion and pain as a cover as he worked to find out information. He learned: - The man was called Red Hood (no, not that Red Hood). - Apparently he used to look a lot closer to how Red Hood did. - The memories he knew of the last few years never happened. - They were keeping Red Hood in the Watchtower. - He needed to see him.

Jason was still putting together a plan, and now this consultant had solved one of the biggest problems about how to make it happen, Red Hood was out of his cell. Half baked plan or not, there was no time like the present.

Careful to keep his steps soundless, which was easy enough in the thick socks he wore to desperately try and stay way, Jason crept away from the door and took off to the Bruce’s study. He was grateful that while things about the present overlapped weirdly with his memories, like half dreams and stories, anything before he had… anything before Ethiopia still made sense. Anything after was a crap shoot if it was real.

The hands on the clock turned easily, his thumb print still scanned, and the door still opened. The way to barricade the door from the inside was the same too. It wouldn’t hold any of the Bats for long, but it was enough for Jason to scramble down the steps and over the the Zeta tube.

He just needed Red Hood to hold on.

He would be there soon.

He needed to see him.

-----

AN: So maybe I'm spoiling you all with another update today, but it is dark and stormy and I'm burrowed into a blanket with cats and a headache, and people have been asking about smol!Jason so I felt you all should get to meet him!

Stay delightful and dry, darlings!

I no longer tag people, but you can subscribe to the masterpost to be notified!

#dp x dc #dead on main #dead on main street #both ways at once

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kamesama · 10 months ago

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sukuna and yūji as siblings ( inspired by this post by @nessieartss )

they are nearly spitting images of one another, but they get gravely offended if someone gets their names mixed up. calling yūji by sukuna's name is always followed by a scowl and his brows wrinkling his skin. sukuna's reaction is the same, making them even more similar. these offences lowered in number after sukuna got his face tattoos, however, they still happen every now and then.

on that note, although they behave differently and have nearly opposite worldviews, there are a couple of gestures that seem to be a shared muscle memory; the way they twist their necks and look at some wandering source of stupidity with the same unimpressed gaze being one of them. of course, they do so in a sync. the way they run their hand through their hair and scratch their head a little when confused. the way they fix their shirt and turn to the side in front of a mirror to judge its fit.

yūji is most definitely subjected to sukuna's insults, but he takes them pretty well; he puts up a fight of his own which sukuna appreciates ( invisibly ). he is happy to know his little brother is resilient. however, there are days where yūji simply cannot stomach the proportions of sukuna's asshole-ry. why are you such a prick?

fights — both verbal and non-verbal, physical and non-physical — are nearly a religious everyday routine. some days it's just sukuna walking by and ruffling yūji's hair as he leaves home, and some days it's a ferocious battle ending with yūji in a headlock because he responded to sukuna's random insult with an exasperated and serious, what the fuck is your problem, dude?

sukuna always ends up having an upper hand.

no one gets to bully sukuna's younger brother — other than him. sure, now when they are older, yūji can handle his own ordeals, but as children, one glare from sukuna was enough to provide salvation for his little brother. sukuna also had a way with their parents to get them out of trouble. how he managed to talk things out with them is beyond yūji even today, but sukuna always saved his ass, walking into crying yūji's room with a confident grin on his face to tell him problem's been solved and he can start kissing his feet.

sukuna found a scrunchie laying around at some point and gave yūji the worst time ever because he teased him so much.

yūji — god bless his wonderful soul — is undoubtedly the more respectful one of the two, unsurprisingly so. that pudding in the fridge that he knows belongs to sukuna? he doesn't touch it. he has no interest in it whatsoever. sukuna, on the other hand, will devour anything and everything he gets his hands on with no regard for ownership. i licked it so it's mine kind of logic. yūji starts hiding his snacks. sukuna nonchalantly finds them.

sukuna busts into yūji's room with nearly no announcement and regard. yūji, on the other hand, always knocks. at some point in the early teenagehood, sukuna's room was a yūji-free zone. no brats allowed. as such, yūji has lesser knowledge of sukuna's room than sukuna has of yūji's.

blackmail. threats. vile words and promises. "brat, give that back or you will never see your vanity fair jennifer lawrence poster again." "*gasp* you wouldn't." "oh, i will."

sukuna finds ways to get certain posters, photos, stickers, merch and absolutely whatever else yūji is dying to have, only to bully the poor boy. "can i see?" "no." "you don't even like that show!" however, these things always find their way onto yūji's desk in the end, or wind up under his bed. when they do, yūji strolls over to sukuna's room with the brightest sun-kissed smile on his precious mouth and expresses his gratitude with the utmost of sincerity and child-like joy. sukuna responds with aloof indifference and a middle finger. it's the tough love.

the times they do get along is when they watch movies together. it's never explicitly admitted, but it has to be their favourite way to spend time in each other's presence. they will binge a show, discuss characters, eat an unhealthy amount of snacks along the way, completely unfazed while someone's guts get clawed out and slurped on screen. horror movies are their forte but yūji successfully got sukuna hooked onto some slice-of-life romance drama here and there. if they are not watching something on some brimming-with-viruses-and-completely-illegal website at home, then they definitely go to the cinema.

the 3 am conversations about life happen. they chew on leftovers of a cold pizza, home alone, under the kitchen light, slowly and calmly commenting on the unyielding passage of time, importance of ambition and drive, and the paradox of life's meaningful meaninglessness. they do so for nine minutes before falling into silence and commenting how stupid that cliff hanger was and how a manga chapter will be delayed again.

yūji's music taste is a spectrum far wider than sukuna's, and although he prefers pop, there are some questionable and edgy songs that seem to crawl their way into his ear because sukuna keeps listening to them on high volume while showering.

surprisingly, yūji is messier than sukuna. both are relatively clean in a way that neither of their rooms resemble a pigsty, but yūji has stray hoodies on his chair or textbooks spread and splattered over his desk ( whether he actually reads them is a separate topic ). sukuna keeps his things relatively neat and leans more towards minimalism in certain aspects.

their styles most definitely clash, but not too drastically; sukuna always seems to wear something of a darker hue to the point yūji strongly questions if he owns something that isn't red, black, white or some shade of grey. on another hand, yūji adores his vivid colours; ugly mustard yellows and pastel pinks and forest greens. sukuna likes his accessories a little edgy but tasteful; yūji finds those to be a hassle because he moves around so much. however, they both seem to show affinity towards comfortable and casual wear.

because of their contrast in terms of dressing, they rarely steal borrow one another's clothes. however, there is a very cool-looking dark blue denim jacket of sukuna's that yūji's got heart eyes for, and every now and then he wears it without having asked for permission. yūji's cheeks are stuffed with his order of burger and french fries when he gets a call from sukuna. he picks up, and all that greets him is a frigid and irritated, brat, did you steal my jacket again? yūji swallows and hangs up.

yūji's socks keep disappearing. it takes him a while to realise it's because sukuna is stealing them, solely because they are made of cotton and comfy.

yūji likes sukuna's phone cases; most of them are dark-ish, sure, but they have this visual effect of elegance that makes the phone look nice. no, sukuna does not give them to his brother. the chambers of his heart are not that vast.

sukuna is more familiar with yūji's friend group than yūji is with sukuna's. he gets along with megumi, enough to acknowledge him as a good friend of his little brother. originally, he teased yūji about nobara, but once he met her, he stopped with a claim that there is zero chemistry between the two and that they're just no fun ( nobara gave him a death glare ). he calls them brats, collectively. on another hand, yūji is not well-versed enough to have a stable opinion of uraume, who seems to be sukuna's partner in crime, but he is very familiar with how irritating his brother finds yorozu who just cannot seem to stop annoying him.

thank you for reading!

— kamesama.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk yuuji #jjk sukuna #itadori yuuji #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jjk headcanons #headcanons #yuuki headcanons #sukuna headcanons #kamesama

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inbarfink · 1 year ago

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Part of Fionna’s frustrations with Mundanewold were subconscious longings for her old life of magical adventure, but a lot of her problems tied more into deeply-rooted issues of monotony and a feeling like she can't do anything to change her lot in life and like her actions don’t matter.

And it does seem like Fionna and Friends’ lives have been kinda Stuck in a Rut - especially when you compare the way their lives parallel and diverge from their Mainworld counterparts. Most of the differences are... rather than just different choices diverging into different arcs - it’s the same arc, but the Fionnaworld characters are just stuck behind.

Fionna is still reeling from the breakup with DJ Flame and only met Hunter at the very day our story starts. Marshall Lee has more Unresolved Issues with his mom compared to Marceline and her dad. He and Gumball haven’t even met yet. Not to mention the Mundaneworld-specific problems like Fionna being unable to hold a steady job or Gary eternally spinning his wheels about opening his own bakery.

Fionna thought she wanted a world of magic, but while the added bits of strangeness and whimsy to Fionnaworld by the end of the show are certainly a cool fun bonus (and Cake is surely thankful to have the ability to freely think and speak her mind and stretch) - what Fionna and friends were really missing was a world where their actions matter, where things change, where they are real.

And especially important for Fionna and Cake to admit it, because handling the fact their actions have consequences has been a huge part of both of their character arcs. For Cake it was all about getting used to the fact that her newfound human-like sapience means being measured against human-like morality. For Fionna it's about not comparing everything in her life to video games and thinking through her actions at least a little bit.

Consequences are the thing Fionna and Cake struggled with the most, but it was what they were missing all along.

Now this seems to be, like, an actual metaphysical thing. I mean, the show hasn’t gone super into detail of how Fionnaworld worked but it does seem like Prismo’s stories had an active role in moving the events of the World forwards, possibly using the same event-manipulating-Magic that make sure his Wishes have that Obligatory Ironic Twists?

And once Ice King turned back to Simon, Prismo lost all ability to observe or create stories for Fionnaworld. And what happens to characters of a story once the writer can’t access their external hard-drive anymore? They just sorta get stuck. Moving their own lives forwards without Prismo’s stories is just a lot harder.

And if there is some sort of force in control behind the scenes of Fionnaworld at the start of the series, it’s only Simon’s subconscious - a fact F&C alludes to numerous times

And at the start of the show, how was Simon’s feeling about his own life?

In addition to Simon’s longing and memories for the pre-War world shaping the exact form of Fionna’s nonmagical world, perhaps his feelings of ennui and depression and helplessness have also subtly ‘infected’ this world?

It is perhaps not a coincidence that Marshall Lee and Gary Prince’s storyline only starts moving forwards after Simon embarks on the adventure and starts climbing out of his mental rock bottom. When things seem to move forwards for him as well.

As such, ‘Canonizing’ Fionnaworld solves more of Fionna’s problems much more than simply making it as magical as Ooo but keeping it as a tiny hidden bubble in someone's dome. It ensures the World’s inhabitants’ free will and agency and ability to enact change on the status quo with no need for Prismo’s stories or being dependent on the still-kinda-shaky mental health of Simon Petrikov. Thus giving them a world where everything matters and things can always change.

But also there's a psychological element for the Fionnaworld protagonists. You know, the reason why Fionna is stuck in her rut is because she’s too impulsive and careless. Gary is too perfectionist. Marshall never had someone who would stand up to him against his mom.

Fionna’s whole arc in the show is about learning to be more thoughtful and careful and considerate through her Multiverse Adventure. While Gary and Marshall Lee find release from the thing holding them back within Fionnaworld, with each other.

‘Canonizing’ Fionnaworld is like... half actively altering their world into a ‘real’ one where change is possible, or at least easier - and half about an affirmation that their world was always real because change is about them outgrowing their personal issues (and also, y’know, about protecting their universe from the spiteful Beetle Cop).

And with how Fionna used to feel ‘trapped’ in the City, with nowhere to go and nothing to do - there is another change in Fionnaworld as a result of ‘canonization’ that feels very notable.

I’m not entirely sure, but from Scarab's dialogue it seems likely that becoming a ‘real’ authorized universe just kinda manifested a whole planet and universe beyond the borders of the small existing Fionnaworld. Although I guess it's also possible that the process of repairing the existing city they found a way to expand it gradually - maybe it doesn’t matter as much as the fact that either way, Fionna’s horizons have been literally expanded.

So you know, if she ever gets that thirst for adventure again... she actually has a Whole New World to travel and explore, it might not have (a lot of) magic but... she already heard Simon's stories of his adventures in a similar low-Magic world. It's a totally viable outlet for her.

What Fionna really needed to find the joy in her life is to be Real - to know that her actions have consequences for ill and for good. Because sometimes an adventure looks like saving a Prince of candy from an evil Ice Witch, or going on a multiverse journey to uncover a cursed Magic Crown… but it can also look like backpacking through Europe or campaigning against your evil landlady.

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 3 months ago

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The Arcana HCs: What M6 get from their parents

~ for the Vesuvia Weekly prompt, "I see where you got it from"! ~

Julian

For someone who's never claimed to be a sailor, he sure spends a lot of time at sea and dreaming about future boats

It's much less surprising when he starts talking about the few hazy memories he has of being the oldest son of merchant parents. His early childhood was spent playing above and below decks

Which explains his specific brand of wanderlust pretty well. Instead of it being a boredom with the mundane or a fear of commitment, it's this deep sense of himself as a global citizen

He's happiest in marketplaces and finding his family among odd groups of people from all over the world, what can he say??

Not to mention his "if I can't find what I need here, maybe I just need to try somewhere else" mentality when it comes to problem solving. Need more education? Time to visit a new country!

It would make sense for his natural aptitude with learning new languages, forming quick connections, and creating collaborations to have come from fairly successful merchant parents as well

Whether that's also where he got his godawful cooking skills from, or whether that's just a "him" thing, remains up for debate

Asra

You learned it pretty quickly after meeting them - you know exactly where that constant, almost insatiable curiosity comes from

That, and the tendency to have a new thought, forget the current conversation, and trail off into disjointed mumbles as said thought gets rapidly unpacked and explored from several angles

If Salim is who Asra gets his brain from, Aisha is where he got his spirit. That stubborn hope and determined dedication to care for who he loves? He got that from the women who looked the Devil dead in the eye and told him to leave her child alone or else

You can also see a lot of the way Asra relates to you in the way their parents relate to each other. It's that easy, intuitive comfort of shedding pretenses from the get go and embracing uniqueness

Why bother trying to show off what you're good at, when you could try something new together instead? Sure they could give you a tour of their gate - or Salim could give his experimental magic a test run now that you're around to help out!

Not to mention how all three of them seem to know healing magic

And they all love a good cup of tea

Nadia

She could spend hours telling you exactly how unlike her sisters and parents she is, but let's be real. Satrinava genes are strong and you could pick one out of a crowd any day

The intelligence levels she couldn't hide if she tried? Check

The absolute perfection of her fashion choices? Check

The habit she can't turn off of looking not just at you but through you with a kind of perceptive, piercing gaze that has no intention of telling you what she's figuring out about you? Also check

(Seriously, every member of her family does it nonstop and at this point you're wondering if you should just give up all your secrets)

The tendency to approach any problem or conflict by openly stating her own opinion/perspective first? Check

The down-to-earth openmindedness that you have to actually talk to her to discover? Check. Nazali seems to be the one exception, but you're pretty sure that's after years of traveling around

The immediate need to take responsibility for whatever's going on, or more accurately, going wrong? Check

Somehow always smells nice? Check

Muriel

There was a lot about Muriel that you thought was "just Muriel" until you made that trip South together and saw all the subtle ways he became more grounded in himself

Nobody's concerned about taking up too much space in vast tundra. No wonder he always seemed to feel cramped

It also seemed a bit counterintuitive for such a minimalist furnace of a man to own a veritable pile of furs until you walked into Khamgalai's hut. He might not remember it, but he probably spent his first few years wrapped and dressed in them

Not to mention his tendency to fill his space with earthy, herbal smells to the point of carrying pouches of it with him. There were dried foraged plants all over the rafters there

What eventually came to be one of his strongest ties, though, was his craftsmanship. How someone who disliked frivolous things did so much detail was beyond you, until you saw those tapestries

And, of course, the remnants of years of nomadic movement in his need to spend hours at a time outside every day, keeping a steady pace through the forest to assure himself that all is well

Portia

This didn't spring out at you from her the way it did from her brother, but Portia has a capacity for dramatics that she does a deviously excellent job of downplaying

Sure, she seems considerably better adjusted and grounded than he does, and sure, her tendency to compensate for the unique needs of her loved ones shows up in being hypercompetent

But you're certain at this point that at least one of her parents was a hell of an actor/dramatist. You've watched how easily she can put on whatever face she needs to accomplish what she wants

Not to mention the love of stories and art of storytelling. You know you're at a Devorak gathering when both you and half the other people in the area are totally drawn in to a fond memory retelling

You can also see the makings of traveling merchants in her job as Vesuvia's ambassador. It's almost scary how easily she makes herself at home spending months at sea, going place to place

And both scary and awe-inspiring when she finds herself locked in negotiations. Whether with a marketplace stall owner, or a stubborn noble with an import she wants, she's indomitable

Lucio

Honestly, beyond their physical similarities, it's pretty hard at first to see all the ways in which Lucio takes after his mother

They're both such strong products of their environment. Morga is stern, stonefaced, and (to put it bluntly) stingy, but she takes accountability beyond her means and always faces hard choices

Lucio is the opposite. Loud, expressive, flamboyant, unconcerned with discipline or rules, terrified of hard choices or accountability, and (when he's not under duress) generous to a fault

The first place you saw it? Their dismissiveness, unfortunately

As soon as it's not something they understand or relate to, they both lose interest in talking about it and tend to be quick to brush it aside, often without pausing to consider other's feelings first

Not to mention how quickly both of them jump to using aggression to express themselves. You can tell it's got a whole lot more to do with how intensely they feel things than any bad intentions

But the trait you learn they share most is what you take the longest to notice: quiet, unassuming protection as a subconscious love language. They'll always keep watch when you're vulnerable

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson #vesuvia weekly #where you got it from

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rin-fukuroi · 10 months ago

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𝐖𝐡𝐨'𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐌𝐞? [𝐀𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairings: older brother!Alhaitham x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, modern AU, incest, loss of virginity, size kink, cockwarming, creampie.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. Tommee Profitt feat. Jung Youth - Who's Gonna Stop Me

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

Just let me be reborn as the younger sister of this divine man (っ˘ω˘ς )

art: @eriimyon

You've never even thought about the fact that girls your age should be interested in guys. Every time you heard your friends enthusiastically discussing the looks of your classmates, you felt so far away from it. Your gaze has never clung to men passing by, and your heart has never even been touched by sympathy for anyone. That's how it was until it came to your brother.

«Your brother is so sexy! Does he have a girlfriend?»

Is it true? Perhaps… the only man you've ever looked at has always been him. Since childhood, you have secretly admired the success of your older brother, not missing the opportunity to ask him to pull you up in your studies when he had a free minute. It could hardly be said that Alhaitham enjoyed spending time with you when you were a child. This man is too difficult to understand. This stoically indifferent expression on his face, the cold gazes of emerald eyes and a monotonous low voice are what have accompanied you since birth.

As soon as Alhaitham saw tears welling up in your innocent eyes, he instantly silently left your room, before getting a clear answer who made you cry. You didn't know where he went or what he was doing, but any of your problems were solved the very next day, which gave rise to this feeling of unconditional security when you looked at his tall figure and heard these quiet sighs and banal phrases uttered in a quiet indifferent tone only to dismiss your obsessive questions about what suddenly happened to the classmates who bullied you. A certain modesty of your older brother has planted in your heart the belief that, no matter how distant Alhaitham may seem, he cares about you in his own way and will never allow his little sister to cope with difficulties alone, even if you'll hardly ever be able to hear words of support from him.

And now, ten years later, you still look at Alhaitham with unspoken gratitude and adoration, despite the fact that his presence in your life is barely noticeable. You always sneak a peek into your brother's room when he's not at home, carefully examining the few things he left on the table. Everything that belongs to Alhaitham always arouses your genuine interest, although the entire contents of his room, perhaps, can be classified as essential items and mountains of books filling the shelves of tall cabinets. Every time your fingers slide over the numerous book spines, and your eyes memorize several titles in order to secretly read them. Maybe this way you can get closer to him — that's what you always thought.

But still, is your obsession with him really normal? This question has been in your head since the image of Alhaitham began to pop up in your thoughts more often when you were alone with yourself. Loving your older brother is absolutely normal, isn't it? And remembering how you once saw Alhaitham tired after work, throwing off his shirt and exposing his muscular back and broad shoulders in his room while you were passing by the ajar door is also normal. You only had a moment to capture in your memory the elastic muscles of his chest and the V-shaped line of his abs disappearing behind his lowered trousers, but it was more than enough to keep this image in your thoughts for several weeks.

«Your brother is so sexy...»

Is this the real reason why a blush now sticks to your cheeks when your eyes meet Alhaitham's gaze? Is this the reason why you're touching yourself so obscenely for the first time, replaying over and over in your memory what you probably shouldn't have seen? But you comfort yourself with the thought that men often strip to the waist and there is nothing indecent about it. You've already seen him in this form as a child, but why does it bother you so much now and seem so wrong?

You need to stop this.

You've spent hours watching guys your age, trying to awaken those emotions that should torment a girl's heart when looking at admittedly attractive members of the opposite sex, but you don't feel anything. Just boredom.

You've also never heard of Alhaitham having a relationship with anyone. Of course, if you had asked him a question, he would have replied that he is too busy or that he isn't interested, but then what about you? Are you also not interested in relationships, or is there another reason why you can't keep up a conversation with friends who are so immersed in matters of the heart that you don't understand? The answer seemed so close, somewhere on the surface. You only have to stretch out your hand and you'll see what you are trying so desperately not to notice.

Therefore, now you try not to make noise, sneaking back to Alhaitham's door when you hear him enter his room late at night, probably tired after a hard day's work. You need to look at him again, but your heart is so restless every time you even try to imagine how you start a conversation with him. Since when did it become so difficult for you to communicate with your own brother?

You peek cautiously through the half-open door, noticing Alhaitham lounging in an armchair with a book in his hand. His long fingers cling to his black tie, getting rid of the suffocating pressure on his neck in one light practiced movement. His lips are slightly parted as your brother sighs heavily, unbuttoning the top couple of buttons on his slightly rumpled shirt before leaning back in his chair.

Long eyelashes barely touch the skin of Alhaitham's face when he closes his eyes, combing the unruly strands of silver bangs with his palm. He's really handsome, you can't deny that. But you've seen enough men that you could call beautiful, but just looking at Alhaitham causes a thrill in your chest, the nature of which you are so desperate to understand.

— How long are you going to stand in the doorway? If you need anything, come in.

Your eyes widen with fright, and your muscles seem to turn to stone, not allowing you to move from your place, when you hurriedly shift your gaze from Alhaitham's chest slightly peeking out from under the cotton fabric to the emerald irises looking at you with slight irritation.

— I, uh… I'm sorry, I don't need anything! — you almost take off, ready to run back to your room, when you notice Alhaitham getting up from his chair, approaching your confused figure.

It all happened so fast. You didn't even have time to understand anything, as Alhaitham's big hand wrapped around your shoulder, forcing you to go inside, when you heard the slam of the door behind you, to which your back is now pressed. Your brother's free hand presses into the wooden surface, enclosing you between him and the door, while the fingers of his other hand cling to the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning one by one and exposing the relief of Alhaitham's body right in front of your face.

— Wh-what are you doing?! — you turn away, blunting your gaze to the floor, trying to hide the way your cheeks instantly flushed when the pleasant scent of his perfume hit your nose.

— Huh? Isn't that what you were just looking at?

— I don't…

The words get stuck somewhere deep in your throat when Alhaitham's long fingers wrap around your wrist, guiding your hand to his chest. As soon as the pads touch your brother's skin, this aching pain comes back to your lower abdomen. He's so warm. You can feel the muscles tense under your touch, becoming even harder, you can feel his heart beating steadily, as if absolutely nothing unusual is happening right now. Alhaitham is calm, as always, carefully watching your funny reaction from his height. Your hand trembles in his grip, but your fingers lightly press on the elastic flesh, causing embarrassment to tingle the skin of your face even more.

— Do you think I don't notice the way you look at me? I always assumed that my sister was a diligent good girl, but what do I see now? — Alhaitham leans towards your ear, guiding your palm lower over his prominent abs as his hot breath touches your face. — Now you're just as spoiled as all adults.

His words make your stomach churn with fear. The way the pads of your fingers slide over every bump of his tense stomach, the way his lips are close to your face, the way Alhaitham's breathing becomes more ragged when your hand stops on the belt of his trousers, it seems so wrong, but for some reason you just stay silent, letting him do it to you. You can feel the heat rushing to the bottom of your stomach when Alhaitham guides your fingers to his groin. You've never touched anyone… there before. Even through the dense fabric, the warmth emanating from his dick touches your hand, which unconsciously wraps around the hard bulge, causing your heart to pound wildly, pulsating in your ears.

— H-Haitham, stop it, I don't understand what you want… — the volume of your voice drops to a whisper.

It's so damn hard. Your body heats up treacherously, and moisture begins to accumulate between your clenching thighs. You press against the door, trying to escape at least somewhere from the cage in which Alhaitham imprisoned you, but he sees how your legs are shaking and feels your pulse quicken, quietly grinning at how something your body tells him goes against the words that come unsteadily from your tongue.

— I don't remember teaching you to lie. Didn't you spy on me a few weeks ago because you wanted to? And that's what you came for today.

— No! I would never…

— You're too bad at hiding your desires for a girl who knows better than anyone that I'm observant enough. Can't any of your peers meet your needs, huh?

— How do you…

— I know everything I need to know. I even know you're still a virgin, but you still want me to fuck you. But it's reasonable.

— What are you talking about?! Is it okay to want something like this with own brother? — you pull your hand back, ostentatiously clenching your fingers into a fist and pulling away from Alhaitham's face, almost buried in the curve of your neck. Your brother straightens up, towering over you like a heavy shadow, now looking into your eyes, desperately trying not to break eye contact. What do you want to prove to him if your other hand is now nervously fiddling with the fabric of your nightgown, and your teeth are unconsciously biting your lower lip, trying hard to remain calm even when the fabric of your underwear is soaked with warm moisture?

— Yes, — your heart sank in your chest when you heard such a short and clear answer, uttered with a completely serious expression on your brother's face. — There's no one who knows you better than I do. It makes sense that you want your first time to be with me. Objectively, I think girls your age really find me attractive, so that doesn't raise any questions either. I don't understand why you're so puzzled, Y/N, given the fact that, obviously for both of us, you've wanted this for a long time, which means you've had time to weigh all the pros and cons since you came to me today.

His words sound like this… makes sense, but then why do you feel that your desires are so obscene? Is the problem that he's your brother? But Alhaitham is right, you spent almost every day of your life with him, shared your most intimate things with him, even if he wasn't interested, he was always there for you, and what's strange about the fact that you are... in love with him?

— I… I think I'm just confused… I need to be alone and think about this...

— There's no need for that.

The randomly scattered pieces of the puzzle finally came together in a clear picture. You can feel your brother's soft lips pressing against yours, the warmth of his palm sliding up your thigh, making its way under the fabric of your homemade shorts. And it doesn't seem wrong. It's so good. Finally, the warmth that your friends seemed to be talking about spread in your chest. When a loved one touches you, when he presses his lips to yours for the first time. Your body answered all the questions swarming in your head for you as your arms wrapped around Alhaitham's neck, deepening the kiss. So clumsily, but your tongue meets his, more insistently dominating your mouth. What an indescribable feeling.

It's so hot, it's so hard to breathe, but you want more when you pull your brother closer, and his knee settles so vulgarly between your legs, pressing into the heat of your crotch. You wanted to push Alhaitham away so as not to stain his trousers with the moisture that your shorts must have soaked through, but there was nothing you could do with how damn pleasant this friction feels caused by his knee pushing against your writhing body.

Alhaitham's fingertips hook into the waistband of your shorts, hastily sliding the soft fabric down your thighs until it crumples on the floor under your feet. A moan escapes from your chest, muffled by his lips, when you feel your toes lift off the floor, and your back presses harder against the door of your brother's room while he scoops you up in his arms, forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips. A hard cock presses against your crotch through the fabric separating you from the hot flesh.

It's only when his lips finally leave yours that you realize what's going on. Alhaitham's green eyes seemed to look as clouded as yours. You've never seen him like this before. Although his face still didn't express a single emotion, something had clearly changed. Your brother is looking at you with a desire you've never seen in anyone's eyes. It's so strange, so unusual, but the only thing you know is that you like it. You like to feel desired, you like to feel his dick throbbing with another unobtrusive thrust between your legs spread for him, you like to hold on to Alhaitham's muscular shoulders like this while he hastily unbuttons the belt and zipper of his trousers, then pushing aside the lace fabric of your underwear.

The hot head of the cock slides up your slippery crotch, covering the base with sticky moisture. Even without looking down, you could feel with your own body how impressive Alhaitham's dick is. If it weren't for the intoxicating pleasure caused by the delicious friction of his throbbing erection, you'd probably be terrified even at the thought of him entering you. But there was another good reason for your calmness. You know your brother will never hurt you. Perhaps he was right again, as always. You only want him because no one will take care of you like Alhaitham is.

Your throat is bursting with moans that you are desperately trying to hold back so that your parents on the ground floor won't hear you, and it gets even harder when you feel Alhaitham's cock slowly begin to stretch you, sinking inch by inch into your warm insides.

— You're damn tight, Y/N. I'm even flattered that you saved yourself for me.

— Haitham, stop embarrassing me! — you whisper loudly, barely managing to cover your mouth with your hand when his hips meet your ass in one sharp thrust. It… hurts a little, but how perfectly his cock filled your insides. You can feel the blood pulsing in the veins running along the base of his hard organ while he remains motionless, causing your walls to involuntarily contract.

— Why are you confused by such simple facts? I find such emotions inappropriate when my cock is already inside you.

— Just… move… — you look away, tightening your arms around his neck.

— Hm-m? You got used to it so quickly, it's commendable, — you feel Alhaitham's dick pushing even harder into your cervix, which seemed impossible when he pressed his hips even tighter against yours.

It's so unusual to feel him so deep inside. His cock is so huge that it feels like he's forced all the organs in your body to make room. But it's so damn little. Your walls spasm around the hard flesh over and over again, wanting to feel more stimulation, which Alhaitham deprives you of just watching you squirm in his arms, and tears come to your eyes.

— Haitham! — you scream, digging your nails into the skin of the back of his head, when footsteps begin to be heard approaching the door.

— Y/N! Y/N, are you at your brother's?

Shit. As soon as you hear your mother's voice, your stomach twists painfully, and you freeze, holding your breath, casting a frightened look at Alhaitham.

The corners of your brother's lips turn up in a slight smile as he brings his index finger to his lips, motioning for you to be quiet.

«What the hell is that supposed to mean?!»

— Yes, mom, she's in my room.

You exhale with relief, seeming to understand what he meant, but your calm is instantly disrupted when Alhaitham's cock abruptly bursts out of your insides, then stretching and filling you to the limit again. Your eyes widen in mute shock as you press your palm tightly to your mouth, trying to swallow any sound that intends to escape from your throat. Your back is pressed against the door over and over again, the only barrier between the dirty sight that is happening in your brother's room from the eyes of an unsuspecting mother, while Alhaitham's hips slam into your ass with a soft thud at a rough impatient pace.

— Oh, then I'll come to you now!

Your brother is silent, not stopping for a second, further terrifying your poor pounding heart. You tremble, shaking your head in panic, trying to convey to Alhaitham without words what he himself should understand, but for some reason his lips stretch into an even wider smile when one of his palms moves to your crotch, and his fingers press on your clitoris, sending a treacherous wave through your body pleasure.

The moment it took your mother to get to the door seemed to last forever, while your lower abdomen was bursting with delicious spasms that you couldn't resist. Your back arches and your hips shake as the knot in your stomach unties. This orgasm isn't comparable to the ones you brought yourself to on your own. The heat settling in every cell of your body is so intoxicating that it seems as if you are about to lose consciousness. The walls of your vagina clenched so tightly around Alhaitham's cock, still not slowing down, that even he couldn't restrain the quiet moan that escaped from his lips while his fingers continued to massage the sensitive bundle of nerves, only prolonging this magical feeling that causes addiction.

The handle twitches, and you feel a slight pressure from the other side of the door.

— Haitham? Is your door closed?

Your mother's worried voice dispels the fog that has enveloped your consciousness.

— I'll be down in a minute, mom! Brother, n-gh… Helps me with the preparation for the test, — you needed all the self-control you had left so that at least your voice didn't tremble, sounding confident enough without arousing suspicion.

— Are you all right? You sound kind of upset...

— Yes, it's all right! Just wait for me downstairs!

It's unbearable. You are so sensitive, but your brother's cock continues to persistently penetrate you, touching all the right points in your insides to make you feel that heady heat rushing to the bottom of your stomach again, even when his hand, covered with your moisture, returns to your thigh. You can hear your mother muttering to herself before you hear soft, retreating footsteps in the hallway.

— What the fuck, Haitham?! — you snap back, weakly slapping your brother, who is apparently amused by your outburst, on the shoulders.

— You did a great job. It would be awkward if she insisted on coming in.

— Awkward?! D-damn it! — you no longer hold back your moans, desperately biting your lower lip to somehow muffle your sounds, when your hands cling to Alhaitham's neck again, gaining an even more careless and rude pace.

The door knocks softly under the pressure of erratic thrusts. Your brother's cock seemed to get even bigger and harder, stretching your tight walls almost painfully. For the first time, the soft sounds of Alhaitham's hoarse moans cut into your ears, which sound even more beautiful than you could have imagined in your dirtiest fantasies. His lips are open, and the muscles of his forearms are so sexually tense when he literally hammers you into the door, chasing his own orgasm. You don't know how it should feel, but you're sure that he's as close as you are, teetering on the edge of a high that seems to drive you crazy.

A second orgasm hits your poor body just when you feel something warm and sticky spreading in your insides, and Alhaitham's hips are pressed tightly against your ass, remaining almost motionless. He rests his head on your shoulder, exhaling heavily from his lungs as you both try to relive the intense pleasure spreading somewhere under your skin.

You barely come to your senses when you feel your brother's cock leaving your insides, and he gently lowers you to the floor, barely standing on your feet and instantly grabbing his arm to keep from losing your balance. Sticky drops of semen trickle down the inside of your thighs, and you watch in fascination as they settle on the floor, gradually coming out of a state of intoxication and digesting what just happened.

— So you need help with the test? — Alhaitham's voice sounds as cold and indifferent as usual again, as if nothing unusual has happened right now, as he takes off his shirt and slides his trousers down his muscular, seductive thighs. You give an awkward glance at his cock as he walks past, heading to the closet to change into his home clothes. How did he fit in you anyway…

— Very funny… — you adjust your underwear, awkwardly trying to pick up the cream drops from your feet before you see your brother handing you a napkin. — Thanks.

Alhaitham silently turns away, pulling a T-shirt over his magnificent body, and you are mesmerized by watching him now at a close distance, and not hiding behind the door of his room.

— Listen… You're going to move away from here, aren't you? Well, someday.

— Huh? Why do you ask? — your brother turns around, looking at you through slightly narrowed eyelids. — Yes. I've only stayed in this house to keep an eye on you sometimes, but I guess my help won't be needed anymore.

— Take me with you! — you grab the soft fabric of his T-shirt, looking up at Alhaitham with a pleading look.

— Ho-oh, I didn't think you didn't like to be here so much, — your brother crosses his arms over his chest, taking in your petite figure with an appraising glance. — What if I ever get into a relationship?

You're sulking, hastily pulling your hand away, about to just leave, when Alhaitham's big palm touches your jaw, pulling your face down for a kiss. Now your beloved brother's lips are touching yours not with the same desire that they touched the first time. Is he kissing you now… tenderly?

As soon as his lips leave yours, you feel your face turn red again when your gaze meets his cold aquamarine eyes.

— If that's what you want, I don't mind.

#headcanons #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin drabbles #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham smut

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strawberryya · 1 year ago

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notice me!

pairing: jihoon x reader

synopsis: Your boyfriend has a hectic life, but he usually has at least a little time to spare for his girlfriend. Now it has been two months since he last spent some alone time with you and you're losing your mind just a little over it... luckily, angry make-up sex can solve any problem!

word count: 2.1k

genre/cw: smut, angry sex, also make-up sex, established relationship, feeling neglected in relationship and bad ways of handling said feeling, unprotected sex, manhandling, light choking, fem reader, musician/producer! woozi.

rating: 18+

a/n: I had a moment a couple weeks ago where I wrote this whole thing in one hour in the middle of the night, and then I forgot about it and now I'm in shock just a little bit... anyhow, yay angry sex with wooziiii

network tagging: @svthub @cultofdionysusnet @k-labels @kvanity-main

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You watched your boyfriend of two years looking at his phone, scrolling mindlessly across whatever app he found more interesting than his girlfriend sitting on the other end of the couch. You were barely wearing anything, a large t-shirt barely covering the sexy lingerie you had put on for tonight.

“Jihoon, it’s been two months.”

You wanted him to notice you. He had barely been home at your shared apartment for weeks. You knew his work was demanding, and that he gave it his all no matter what. But you have been feeling neglected lately. He had been coming home late, crashing on the couch instead of sleeping in your bed. Only giving you a chaste kiss before running off to work the next morning with a groggy “Sorry I missed dinner last night,” as a greeting.

He hadn’t touched you in two months. You had counted the days, and after three weeks you were wondering if he wasn’t stressing too much about the latest album. After six weeks you had been feeling too horny for your own good, and your toys weren’t fulfilling your needs anymore. You wanted to feel him again. It didn’t matter how many times you came. It didn’t hit the spot. After two entire months of him being abstinent, you had begun getting snarky at the smallest things he did wrong.

Jihoon looked up from his phone at your statement. He carelessly scratched his chin, making your pussy clench at the memory of those perfect hands being all over your body once upon a time. “Two months? Of what?”

“Of you acting like a damn nun,” you said, dead serious.

“A nun?!” He gasped out.

“Yes! A nun!” You shouted back at him.

He looked you over, sitting at the other end of the couch, dolled up more than usual and staring at him as if he had offended yuo great grandmother by existing. Then it seemed to click in his mind. “Oh,” was all he said.

Two months? Had it been that long? He knew very well that he had been resisting his urges, but he had managed for two entire months? He had been so busy with the new album, he had been staying late at the studio every day and waking up rushing back to the studio to put the new ideas he got during the night into reality. Two months without sex, and a pissed off girlfriend because of it.

“I’m sorry?”

You looked at him like he was an equation, mouth open just a bit as you stared at him in shock. “You’re sorry? What the fuck does that mean?” He was so clueless, you thought as you watched the dumb face he was making. (You still wanted that stupid handsome face of his to eat you out until you cried, but that was besides the point.)

Jihoon knew he had fucked up, you were pissed off and picking a fight, and he hadn’t made it better by not even knowing that he hadn’t slept with you in two whole months.

“Do you even care? Because you don’t seem to care one bit about it since you didn’t even know! Do you not like me anymore? Are you not attracted to me anymore? Are you in love with someone else? Why the fuck would you go and cheat on me?!”

He stared at you in complete surprise. Cheating? “Hold up- hold up! What are you talking about?!” He said, flabbergasted at the way you seemed to have drawn the most far-fetched conclusions to this problem you could’ve possibly thought of. “I’ve been busy with the comeback! Please, baby, why are you acting crazy?”

He shouldn’t have said that, he knew it the second the word left his perfectly plump lips.

“Crazy? Did you just call me crazy? You haven’t seen crazy, you fucking asshole!” You shouted as you stormed out of the room. You were packing your bags, if he didn’t want to be with you anymore you wouldn’t be the one to stop him from moving on and sleeping with whoever else he wanted. Because it sure as hell wouldn’t be you after he had just called you crazy for noticing that he wasn’t interested in you anymore.

“What are you doing?? Why are you messing up the apartment? Are you leaving?” he shouted, seemingly surprised that you didn’t feel like staying in an apartment that he was hellbent on making a girlfriend-free zone.

“Yeah, I’m fucking leaving,” you grunt, shoving some shirts into your bag. You wouldn’t be able to grab it all but at least you could make it with the stuff you were throwing into it for a while. Y9ou could always borrow your friends’ stuff until you could get back all your clothes. “You’re pissing me off and I don’t wanna hate you.”

Jihoon was by the bedroom door now, hands pushing his hair out of his face as he watched you angrily packing your bags. How had he fucked up so badly that his girlfriend wanted to leave him like this?

“Hate me? Baby, I really don’t know what I did to mess up this bad…”

Of course, he didn’t understand, because apparently, your boyfriend was a freaking master at staying “pure”. He hadn’t even spent a single thought on you and what he could do with you. He only cared about his music. And you wouldn’t be the one to stand in his way if thats how he truly felt.

“You don’t know?! Look at me Jihoon!” You threw the t-shirt off your body in an angry fit, making your boyfriend’s eyes widen. “I’ve been waiting for you to notice me, to care even a bit about me- about us- for months!! And tonight, I just can’t do this anymore. I’m losing my mind because you won’t fuck me, how stupid is that?” You nearly sobbed as you made it clear that you were frustrated in more than one way. You were so mad at him, and still, you couldn’t help but admire the way he looked so hot even now, his long black hair falling in pretty curls around his face and his lips shiny and pink. He looked so kissable it was like he was teasing you just by existing.

“You got me all addicted to your cock and then you fucking left me to go through some kind of twisted withdrawal.”

He gulped, his adam's apple moving in his throat, you didn’t even care to look at him anymore, you were angrily throwing your shit into the bag on the bed yet again, bent over and flaunting the tiny piece of fabric that tried it’s best to cover your ass. “You don’t even care,” you rumbled as you stuffed more things into the bag. He took in the way the lace set hugged your curves deliciously, he had been so busy with everything he hadn’t even noticed his own cravings. He had ignored it all for so long.

“Shut up.”

His voice was deep, and commanding. Your breath caught in your throat, surprise and need mixing in an arousing blend that went straight to your head. “Excuse me?” Your movements paused completely. When you heard his footsteps approaching you hastily you looked at him, his gaze was darkened, and your core clenched around nothing as he pulled the bag from your grasp. Throwing it on the ground before he pushed your barely clothed body into the bed.

“You think I don’t fucking care anymore just because you haven’t gotten dick in a couple weeks? Are you that desperate to be stretched like a little whore?” He growled in your ear, his bulge evident in the way he pressed against your ass. “I care, and I see you. So shut up.”

You gasped at his harsh movements, neediness soaking your panties in record time. God, you were pathetic.

“I haven’t eaten, I haven’t slept, and I sure as hell haven’t let myself even think about this sweet pussy of yours. I’ve been denying myself it all. But you’re right…” his hand pressed against your throat where you laid face down on the bed, “I’ve been neglecting you. You wanna know why? It’s because I knew that if I so much as looked at you, or held you in my arms while you slept so innocently, I wouldn’t be able to help myself. I wouldn’t have been able to do anything but fuck your tight little pussy all day and night.” His growling voice set off all kinds of sparks in your core. You needed him, now.

You pushed your ass up against him, eating a groan from your boyfriend. “Such a little slut,” he mumbled, letting go of your throat and pulling himself back from you completely. You were dizzy from the hold around your throat, his perfect hands remembering just the way you liked to feel them around you. You were about to whine when his touch left your body when you heard the familiar shuffling of his clothes falling off his body. You wanted to see it, take his form in properly after all these weeks. But he was faster, pushing you back down against the bed before you got up.

His erection pressed against your heat, making you moan as he prodded against the soaked fabric covering your entrance.

“Jihoon, please,” you mewled, wiggling underneath his firm body.

“Wanna shut up and let me fuck you then since you’re so fucking needy?”

“Please, yes! Anything! Please fuck me!” You almost cried as you pleaded with him.

“Sobbing over cock, you really are such a dirty girl for me.” He groaned as he let his pretty hands smooth over one of your asscheeks, smacking down hard and leaving a burning sting after him. Even that felt good. You needed him more than you had ever needed anything in your life.

You felt him pull the sticky fabric from your core, pushing it aside in favor of pushing the head of his hard cock against your messy pussy. “I’m about to drown in you later tonight, just you wait.” He whispered before pushing past your entrance, slipping inside, your walls lubing his cock up as he entered. He ignored the way you were so tight it almost hurt to push all the way inside, your moaned pleas for him to go deeper, and the way you were gripping the sheets while he pushed all of himself inside of your dripping heat enough of a reason to push through. It had been so long since he had felt your walls gripping around him that he could’ve spilled his seed into you right then and there.

He pulled himself together soon enough, thrusting into you at a brutal pace. Your ass which you had pushed up to meet his hips at first had been completely overpowered by the sheer force he was fucking you into the mattress with. You were coming for the first time within minutes. Screaming and sobbing as you finally came around him. He continued, repeating to you what a good toy you were, and how good of a girl you had been for holding out for him this long.

When you were moaning again, closing in on a second orgasm he told you to come again. Lifting your ass up to balance you on your knees and chest, one of his arms wrapping around your hip to reach your clit, pressing down on it while he let his cock slip in and out effortlessly. Your arousal dripped down your thighs. You came undone and sobbed as he continued to overstimulate your abused cunt.

He continued fucking you until he couldn’t take it anymore, his own orgasm crashing into him with such force it knocked the breath from his lungs.

“That was one hell of an apology,” you said, breathless and still leaking cum, exhausted after having all your pent-up frustrations released all at once like this.

Jihoon chuckled, a sound you had missed these past weeks as well. He really had been unusually absent in your life. It wasn’t just about the sex, you had missed him a lot. “I’m sorry for not being around as much,” he said, dragging a gentle hand over your back. You hadn’t had the energy to move a once from the position he had dropped your hips from once he had pulled out.

“I just missed you, I’m sorry for lashing out.”

“Don’t worry about it, just… next time you should just ask me to fuck you instead of threatening to leave me.”

You were embarrassed now, you had acted like a complete maniac, but my god - if that’s how he fucked a maniac, you wanted to stay crazy for the rest of eternity.

Reblogging and commenting is highly appreciated!! Hearing what you thought is what makes writing and being here overall so much fun! Ty and ily 💕

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#woozi smut #seventeen smut #kwritersworldnet #jihoon smut #woozi svt smut #seventeen #svt smut #svt #woozi #jihoon x reader #x reader #fem reader #x reader smut

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misc-obeyme · 1 year ago

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Okay and here are the headcanons for Kinktober!

It's a pretty well known fact (I think??) that Mary Shelley had sex on her mother's grave. (This is also the Mary Shelley who wrote Frankenstein and carried her dead husband's heart around.) It just seemed like such a perfect spooky Halloween situation, I wanted to write some headcanons about it lol.

So this is MC getting it on with our characters in a graveyard on Halloween in the middle of the night. In the case of the brothers, MC just summoned them. For the dateables, some creativity was required.

I didn't do the undateables this time because I wanted to do only one post and I didn't want it to be longer than it already is lol!

Happy Halloween!

KINKTOBER 2023

GN!MC x the demon brothers & dateables (minus Luke obvs)

NSFW MDNI

Warnings: penetration (reader receiving), oral (both reader receiving and characters receiving), fingering (reader receiving), tailfucking (uhhh do I have to say reader receiving well here it is just in case), semi-public, outdoors, mention of corpses and the like but this is mostly kinky jokes so nothing too gruesome

Lucifer

Why have you brought him here, MC? What could you possibly want to do in a graveyard? You had better have a real good explanation for why you summoned him to a graveyard in the middle of the night. You should know that he has better things to do than go ghost hunting with you.

The minute you kiss him, he understands. There's something desperate and needy about your lips on his. Already your tongue has entangled with his and heat has risen up between you.

He has no problem with making you lose yourself in a graveyard, but are you acting like this because it's Halloween? You're seeking some kind of trick? He won't bother to ask you because his lips are too busy sucking on your neck. Your hand is in his pants, freeing his cock, already hard and leaking. He's pulling you along with him so he can brace against whatever he comes across first, hoisting you up so he can enter you.

It's really too bad that your human world friends wouldn't believe you if you told them you were railed by Lucifer behind a mausoleum in the graveyard on Halloween night. You really wanted to tell someone because those are some epic bragging rights. Instead, you kept the memory to yourself, a little thrill pulsing between your legs whenever you thought of it.

Mammon

Terrified. Why are you in a graveyard? Why is he in a graveyard? And on Halloween of all nights! You try to distract him with kisses, but he keeps pulling away and asking you if you saw a ghost.

This seems like it's not going to work. Even when he tries not to be afraid, he's definitely too afraid. You're able to make him forget some of that fear by going to your knees and putting his cock in your mouth. Now he's scared and horny.

S-seriously, MC! What’re ya doin? He’s trying to protest but he isn’t very convincing because he keeps moaning. You pause to tell him the most ghostly thing in the graveyard tonight are his moans. He gets flustered and starts to argue but you shut him up pretty quickly.

After he comes in your mouth, he wants to return the favor, but he insists you have to leave the graveyard. He won’t be able to focus when he’s scared. Once he gets you somewhere else, he pays you back by making you scream his name.

Leviathan

Woah, MC! This graveyard reminds him of the manga I Was a Lonely Florist That Got Hit By a Bus and Now I’m a Ghost Living in a Graveyard While I Try to Solve My Own Murder! There’s a medium that tries to help the ghost florist and- you’re gonna have to cut him off unless you wanna be there for hours.

The minute Levi figures out that you brought him here because you want to have sex with him, he becomes a blushing mess. What if someone came to visit their grandma and sees you? Tell him it's Halloween, nobody is going to come visit their grandma.

He won’t protest for long once you start kissing him though. In fact, he gets hard so fast you’re pretty sure he’s just as turned on by this location as you. You have him sit down on low decorative wall so you can straddle him. He does his best to bite back his moans as you ride him, his hands tight on your hips.

Don't ever remind him of that experience. It's too embarrassing! But he does lend you all fifty three volumes of the ghost florist manga. Despite his embarrassment, the two of you read them together.

Satan

At first he’s a little confused. Why would you summon him to a graveyard like this? Then you start to kiss him and he figures it out. Actually makes you stop to ask if you know about Mary Shelley. He’s impressed when he finds out that was your inspiration.

Now he’s fully into it. Can’t resist adding to the Halloween vibe by shifting into demon form. Curls his tail around your waist as he pushes you back against a tree. Cushions the back of your head with his hand as you wrap your legs around his waist.

He’s thrusting into you at a steady pace but he’s also rambling quietly in your ear. It’s all poetry about darkness and fear, adding a satisfying thrill to the sweetness of him inside you. Your moans only encourage him.

Always after that, he will randomly recite a specific line of poetry to you, one that mentions a graveyard, one that he whispered in your ear while he was fucking you against that tree. It sends a shiver down your spine every time - a spooky little secret between the two of you.

Asmodeus

He shows up looking absolutely fabulous, fully decked out in Halloween themed makeup, clothes, and accessories. He looks around in confusion before asking why you summoned him to a graveyard. The look you give him is enough to reveal all.

MC! You want to do that here? In the dirt? Next to a bunch of corpses? He appreciates your dedication to the vibe but it’s kiiiinda gross! No matter, he's not here to kink shame. As long as he doesn't get dirty.

You decided to kiss him until his lipstick is smeared all over your lips. Seeing it makes him lose his mind and it isn’t long before he’s got your back pressed up against his chest, his cock buried inside you while he smears more lipstick across your neck. He doesn't care about being quiet and moans continually in your ear.

He may have to reapply his makeup look later, but it was worth it. Anytime he wants to send you a subtle message, he wears that particular shade of lipstick.

Beelzebub

Confusion. What’s going on, MC? Why did you summon him to a graveyard? Are you in danger? He’s looking around in the dark, ready to defend you from any ghouls that might show up.

It won’t take much for him to realize what you actually want. Oh. Oh. Once he’s figured it out, he’s more than happy to take care of you right here if that’s what you want. Wastes no time boosting you up against a mausoleum wall so he can put his head between your thighs.

You end up begging him to shift to demon form just so you can hold onto his horns. You're pulling harder than usual trying to keep your noises down and you don’t want to pull out his hair. Beel doesn’t mind, but he does what you ask.

Innocently asks if this is some kind of human tradition. Go ahead and tell him it’s an ancient Halloween ritual. It isn’t like that’s too far off from the truth anyway. Every year after he asks when you want to go back to the graveyard.

Belphegor

Ha ha, MC. He may be sleepy, but that doesn’t mean he wants to hang out with the dead. Honestly thinks you summoned him to the graveyard as a prank. Offended at first but okay he has to admit that it’s kinda funny.

That is until you start kissing him. Now he’s confused. Your hand on his cock clears things up for him. He’s going to smirk and bend you over, already moving your clothes and putting his fingers inside you. He teases you for a while, bringing you close only to pull you back.

Eventually you beg to feel his cock inside you and he finally does as you ask. You have to find something to brace yourself on. Maybe it’s a nearby tree or maybe it’s a nearby tombstone. Either way, Belphie’s prepared to make your legs shake.

He’s secretly turned on by this whole scenario. Brings it up to you occasionally just to watch you blush. You sometimes dream about that night and every time you do, he can’t keep his eyes off of you the next day.

Diavolo

You can’t summon him so you have to get creative if you want to fuck this demon in a graveyard. He’ll know if you lie to him and tell him it’s a human world custom. But it’s also Diavolo’s birthday, so you tell him you’ve got a gift for him which isn’t actually a lie.

He shows up at the graveyard as you request and he’s already in demon form. He’s hoping any humans who see him will think it’s a costume. It’s Halloween after all!

There is something about seeing the demon prince standing in a graveyard in the night with his horns and his wings and his exposed chest… he catches on quite quickly to your intentions because you can't keep your hands to yourself. As expected, he laughs, finding your idea delightful. He catches your hands and kisses you. You've already freed his cock so it's only a matter of moving your clothes out of the way before he's inside you.

What a thoughtful gift you gave him this year, MC! You can't quite tell if he's teasing you because he seems so genuine. The truth is that your boldness really turned him on, so he was being honest.

Barbatos

There really is no way to get him there without just asking him to meet you. As soon as you do, he's onto you. He finds it unlikely that you would ask him to meet you in a human world graveyard on Halloween in the middle of the night unless you were up to something. But he's curious, so he portals himself there at the appointed time.

Your sweet blush gives you away. Now that he's there, looking poised in the moonlight among the tombstones, you're a little embarrassed. But you aren't going to let this opportunity pass you by. And he can already tell what you want anyway.

My, my, MC. You really are a naughty little thing, aren't you? Don't worry, he's happy to indulge you. Before you even have a chance to try seducing him, the tip of a tail is creeping beneath your clothes. Barbatos fucks you with his tail so good you're seeing stars, clinging onto him and moaning his name.

He's not satisfied with this, though. Keeps you close as he portals you back to his own room in the Devildom. He keeps you there all night and now you've got a whole new Halloween tradition.

Simeon

At first you aren't sure how to get him to the graveyard. But you tell him that there's a place in the human world you want to show him. He seems happy enough to meet you there, but he is confused about the late hour. You tell him it's relevant to what you want to show him.

When he gets there, you waste no time and cut right to the chase, kissing him and putting your hand down his pants. Simeon, to your complete surprise, responds in kind.

Oh, MC. If this is what you wanted, you should have just told him. He's moved without you realizing and you feel something hard behind you. You look up and almost laugh - you're being pressed against the base of an enormous angel statue. You're not distracted for long though because Simeon is already moving aside your clothes. He bites down a little as he enters you, making you gasp. You wondered momentarily if the dead in that graveyard experienced heaven the way you were at that moment.

He'll never tell a soul about what the two of you did, but you know when he's thinking about it. He gets a particular look on his face, a light blush and a sparkle in his eyes. You're not even surprised when it happens in one of his future novels.

Solomon

Sure, he's happy to go with you to whatever graveyard you like, even if it's the middle of the night on Halloween. He gets it. It's spooky season, after all. You don't have to trick him into it, he's ready to go wherever you suggest.

When you get there, he waits for your direction, perhaps thinking you're on the lookout for ghosts or something. Figures out what you want immediately when you start to kiss him. And now he's turned on. Takes you into a nearby mausoleum and you find yourself bent over, hands braced against the wall. He's losing himself in you and praise tumbles out of him as your moans echo through the stone room.

You're both breathing heavily as he takes care of the clean up and fixes your clothes for you. Then he grins wickedly. Would this be considered a graveyard smash, MC? You threaten him with bodily harm for saying that, but he only laughs at you.

For a while afterward, he'll start humming Monster Mash near you, just to get a reaction out of you. You get to decide if you kiss him or hit him, but either way he's pleased about it.

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