#i know he has those fine muscles beneath that clothes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

abibliophobiaa · 2 years ago

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Bad Idea - s.h. x f!reader

note: thank you to @crappymixtape for the initial prompt that started this fun little fic. <3

summary: steve happens upon you while you're reading a smutty book and chaos ensues.

warnings: oral (f receiving); p in v smut -- that's all, really (18+); barely edited, slightly rom-com vibes, so do not take this seriously (haha).

“I got a bad idea. How 'bout we take a little bit of time away?”

A fan blows in the distance. The low hum is a constant drone, offset by the sounds of your quiet breathing and the gentle turn of a yellowed page in your book. You’ve been sitting in your window nook for hours, the weather too hot outside to linger for too long.

Your fingers halt on your current page, eyes glancing out your bedroom window.

Summer burns bright outside. The sky is a bright blue, smiling down on all those who thrive beneath it, its golden sun winking on full display. Your bedroom window is parted enough to allow air to filter in, the sounds of birds chirping greeting your ears. Across the yard is the Harrington backyard. Their pool glints blue and bright beneath you, lounge chairs filled by his parents now back from whatever business trip they’d been on, glasses of champagne already in hand.

Steve’s mother soaks up the sun, all long, lean legs, wide brim sun hat, oversized glasses, and the diamond ring on her finger that seems gargantuan even from here. You catch the sight of his father, stark dark hair like his son’s, leaning over to press a kiss to his wife’s lips before settling down on the chair beside her.

Steve’s nowhere to be found, but you know that’s always the case when they’re home. He’s likely on an errand, trying to stay away from the home, trying to cut all interactions to a bare minimum. Because he’s twenty-two and still working at Family Video, he’s twenty-two and should have more in his savings, should be taking on the family business, should be thinking about his future, should be—

Your attention is drawn by the sound of children’s laughter. The neighbor’s kids have shoddily drawn a hopscotch grid onto the ground, the sound of their sneakers knocking against the warm concrete audible even over the low hum of the cars that slowly slide on past.

And there, in front of your home, you catch the all too familiar sight of Steve’s BMW, and that pretty head of dark hair as he clambers out the driver’s side door, sunglasses perched atop the bridge of his nose.

Your eyes return to your book, knowing you have approximately sixty seconds until he’s in your bedroom and making himself at home. The main characters, two best friends oddly enough, are about to finally cross over a line of no return. You’ve read it enough times to know what comes next.

Nathan will tell Cora he loves her and she’ll tell him the same. He’ll grab her in his arms, pull her close, and kiss her until she’s breathless…

“Hey.”

And there he is, all fitted denim and a striped tee shirt that shows off how generous the years have been to your best friend. Long gone are his gangly limbs of boyhood. Now he’s all corded muscle, finely hewn, high cheekbones, that lovely jaw, dark eyes and his goofy smile that has your heart somersaulting as he plops down against the sea of pillows near your headboard.

“Hey,” you reply, eyes shifting back to your book.

It’s not unusual to sit in silence like this. In fact, he pulls one of your Cosmopolitan magazines from your bedside table and glances down at the woman with gorgeously blown out hair, shifting over onto his stomach. You both read in silence, your ankles hooking over one another as the scene in your book changes and suddenly Nathan and Cora are kissing in the back seat of his car, a little hot and heavy, wild and dirty, groping hands starting to remove clothes.

Your hand comes up to curl around the back of your neck, wiping at some of the sweat pooling there, both from the way Nathan’s hands slide underneath Cora’s shirt and slide along her breast, and the heat spilling in from outside.

“Are you okay?” He asks, head lifting from whatever article he’s likely not even really reading, hair flopping with the suddenness of the gesture.

You close the book for a moment, thumb holding your place, and offer him a nod. “Anything good in there? I don’t even know why my mom orders them; I don’t even read them.”

“So you’re saying you didn’t read this article on ‘Ten Ways to Please Your Man?’” He chuckles, turning the magazine to show you. “Really riveting stuff. I’ll cut this one out for you.”

“You’re such an ass,” you snap, though your voice breaks off into a laugh at the end. You never really can stay mad at him, not when he looks at you like a lost puppy in need of attention. All round dark eyes, elbows on your bed, lip jutting out just so. “Stop pouting. It’s not a good look—and don’t make any corny comments about how all your looks are good looks. Don’t you give me that face, I’ve known you since we were eight.” His look of incredulity falters, those lips of his curling into a smile because he knows you’re right.

Your eyes drift back to your book, picking up right where you left off as Nathan’s fingers unbutton Cora’s jean shorts and he helps to slide them down her thighs, fingers exploring every new inch of exposed flesh.

“Want to go to a movie tonight with Robin and Eddie? We all have off, might as well,” Steve muses, flipping the page of the magazine, and then flipping it again when he realizes it’s only ads for some clothing brand. “They want to see Dead Poets Society, and I remember you said you wanted to see it last week.”

Nathan’s fingers slide beneath the waistband of Cora’s underwear, asking for permission to touch her in a way no one else has. Your knees press together involuntarily, hand coming to rest over your swiftly beating heart, suddenly very grateful for the fan oscillating in the corner of your room.

“Did you hear me?” Steve asks, rolling over onto his back. His head dangles upside down over the edge, face immediately growing red like a tomato, your head shaking at him. “I asked if you wanted to go to the movies with Robin and Eddie later.”

“Oh…” You swallow as Nathan’s fingers start a slow drag along Cora’s center, making her writhe and moan in the back seat of the car, the sun setting and bathing everything in pink and orange shades that dance along his skin with dappled light. “Y-yeah. Sounds good, Stevie. I’d love to.”

You settle back into a comfortable silence. Steve still hangs upside down, tossing a tennis ball you must have left on your floor up into the air from your brief stint trying to play. Couples tennis, minus the fact the two of you weren’t a couple. But he thought it would be funny, and you’d long decided you would give everything at least one chance before ruling it out.

Your eyes drift back to the page, resuming where you left off, right when Nathan slides Cora’s panties down her thighs and asks if he can taste her. Your breath catches, and Steve rolls back over to look at you, brows furrowed high on his forehead in concern.

“Are you okay over there? Seriously. You’re breathing all funny and you’re barely here right now as it is,” he worries his lip between his teeth, those dark eyes of his meeting yours from across the room.

“I’m okay.” You glance down at your lap and tap your book. “You just walked in as things were picking up in my book.”

Maybe it’s not the right choice of words in retrospect. Maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned it at all and instead played it off like, yes, yes you were feeling a little under the weather because of the heat. But you don’t, and it’s the small fumble over your words that has Steve pushing himself upward to sit on the bed, head tipping lightly toward your floppy paperback.

“What are you reading anyway?”

“Nothing,” you mutter, sliding your bookmark into place. You press your book onto the cushion beside you, arms coming to curl around your body, shoulders shrugging. “Just a book.”

“You already said that,” he replies, throwing one foot over the edge of the bed, followed by the other. You shift further against your nook, your book sliding beneath a pillow as your hip bumps against it, obscuring it from view. “What kind of book is it?”

“Adventure,” you say quickly, turning a bit to meet him as those hands come to rest on either of your shoulders. “You haven’t hugged me today.”

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, but he appeases you anyway, his face inches from yours as he bends down to fold you against him.

You hum against his chest, relishing in his warmth, when you ask, “And what is that?”

“Trying to distract me.”

“I’m not distracting—”

Your words are cut off, because Steve’s hand reaches swiftly behind you to curl around the edge of your book and tug it close to his chest. The shriek you let out frightens even yourself as you rush after him, arms curling around his waist and sending him hurtling down against your bed. The book skitters toward your headboard, but that’s the least of your worries right now.

The only thing terrifies you more than him reading the scene that comes after where you left off is the way you’re sitting on top of him. With a slow, horrifying clarity, you take in the room around you. Thighs splayed on either side of his hips, your hands pinning his arm closest to the book above his head, and his hands reflexively against your hips. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath your palms, those dark irises rounding around the edges, his fingers clutching into the belt loops on your shorts.

You both look at each other in silent panic. Because this is your best friend. This is over ten years of friendship lying beneath you. It’s the boy who has seen you scrape your knees learning how to ride a bike, sat next to you on the swings at the park, was there for your first heartbreak. Because he’s the boy you were there for when it then happened to him with Nancy, the one you walked around town with after dark on a warm day with cups of ice cream in hand, the one you told everything to, who knew you best, the boy you snuck your first beer with, and fought off monsters from the Upside Down alongside.

Luckily, he seems to come to the same revelation just as quickly, shoving you off him onto the mattress, hands coming to dance along your ribs until your sides hurt from laughing so hard. A foot comes out to kick him in the thigh when his hand slides out above you, and you hear the familiar slide of your paperback against a blanket.

“Not fair!” You growl, watching him lean back on his haunches, book tucked into his shirt that he’s then tucked into his jeans. “That’s disgusting. You can keep it now. You’re sweaty.”

“I just showered.”

You huff. “Still. Why do you care about what’s in it so much?”

“I wanna know what’s got your panties in such a twist,” he says. Your heart thuds in your ears, throat bobbing with a thick swallow. “Are your panties in a twist? Is that why you’re all out of breath?”

“Steve,” you warn, though there’s no malice in your tone, only hesitancy. You curse yourself inwardly.

His voice drops into a whisper, “Is this a sexy book?”

You want to throttle him. Want to wrap your hands around his shoulders and shake the look of pure and utter delight off his smug features. Only you don’t. You sit there and watch as he slides off your bed and stretches his arms above his chest, which outlines the rectangle hiding against his skin all the more.

It’s then you remember: Steve Harrington hates books. Hated them in high school so much that you had to always read them for him and give him your breakdown of what happened, and you know for a fact he hates them now. The likelihood that’ll change brings you some peace. Confidence rising, you lean back onto your palms, grinning widely up at him.

“Movies at eight then?”

He arches a brow at your sudden shift in demeanor. “Uh…yeah, sure. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.”

Everything will be just fine.

Only it’s not.

You learn quickly that, though Steve’s hated every book given to him thus far in life, he absolutely devours this one.

There are certain fears that have always lingered in the back of your mind throughout the years.

The first being the worry one day Steve would find out about your years-long crush you’ve had on him. The feelings that have lingered way longer than you ever intended for them to. And it’s not like you hadn’t tried to push them aside; you dated other people, put yourself out there, all to take your mind off of it. It always works…initially. That is, until he does or says something that has you falling all over again, wondering if he’d ever feel the same—wondering if he’s ever felt the same.

But this isn’t a romcom movie, and not all stories like these end up in a relationship, and you had already accepted that…for the most part. If there’s any hope, it’s more like a small flame. A tiny flicker. Nothing noteworthy or remarkable to see here.

Your second fear is the newest one. The fear that Steve would read the book you’d allowed him to sneak out of your house a week ago—actually read it—and unleash a new kind of petrifying hell on you and take actual pleasure in your demise.

It starts over Eddie’s place. He’s got an apartment with Robin now, a dingy little place you’ve always thought they should move out of, but theirs all the same. Robin and Eddie are picking out a movie while you and Steve stand in the kitchen, getting various bowls and trays ready with chips, candy, popcorn, and drinks.

Neither of you has said anything about the book catastrophe. That night, you’d gone to the movies as planned and even shared a soda together, your shoulder pushed against his like nothing even happened. You figured he’d torture you a bit, keep the book for a few days, and give it back with your bookmark exactly where you’d left it.

But he still hasn’t returned it, and when you ask him for it in the middle of Eddie’s kitchen he only shrugs and says, “I’m actually reading it again. I think I skimmed it the first time; I want to make sure I take it all in. Every word, and, you know, every inch of it.”

You glance his way out the corner of his eyes. On a good day Steve’s odd, to say the least. It’s one of the many things that endears you to him and has made you love him as much as you do. Right now, however, he’s all flushed cheeks and wide smirks, looking very much like the cat who swallowed a canary.

“Why are you smirking?”

You shuffle about him to reach into one of the kitchen cabinets in search of a scissor. You snip the corner edge off of an M&M bag and pour some into a bowl, watching him the whole time.

His smug self reaches down to grab a handful of your freshly pourn candies and plops a few into his mouth. You’re about to reprimand him when he moans around the mouthful, saying, “You taste so sweet, baby.”

Your throat dries. It’s worse than the Sahara Desert. Sandpaper slides across your vocal cords, your mouth opening and closing to try and form sentences. Words. Vowels. Anything would be better than the fish-like gape you’re left with, eyes widened in absolute horror.

“What did you just say?”

He turns to face you, his hip pressing against the countertop. Another M&M is lifted to his pursed lips, tongue sliding over it before pulling it into his mouth, his voice low as he repeats slowly, “You taste…so sweet…baby.”

Your eye twitch is your only response.

Your personal hell gets worse, if that’s even possible, two days later.

It’s a particularly balmy June day. Luckily, Steve’s parents are once again out of town, leaving the two of you behind to do whatever it is the hell you want to do. The both of you had settled on a pool day. Just the two of you lounging on floats, smelling of suntan lotion, your cherry chapstick freshly smacked against your lips, and soaking in the sun’s rays.

You’re on a round float in particular, arms spread out beside you, fingertips dancing along the pool’s surface. Music blares from a speaker in the distance, your warm beers long forgotten near the lounge chairs covered in your colorful towels.

You still don’t have your book back, but you can’t find it in yourself to ponder on it. Not like this, not with the water dancing along your skin, chilling your sweat-slick body, bobbing along the water without a care in the world.

“Should I make burgers or hot dogs?” Steve asks when the sun starts to set a bit and the humidity in the air lessens.

You slip down into your tube now, legs kicking in the water, arms propped up over the plastic edges. He treads water in front of you, hair slick against his head, face tanner than it was earlier that evening. He’s even got new freckles along his shoulders, dark against his golden skin.

“Can you do both?” You grin, reaching forward to poke at his cheek. “Please?”

“You’re lucky I like you,” he says, moving to go swim toward the shallow end of the pool where the stairs are.

You’re lucky you’re holding onto a float, because you’re pretty sure you would have momentarily choked under the water at the sight of his form disappearing beneath the surface, long legs kicking in that red bathing suit. Those strong arms of his slice into the water, perfectly practiced motions from the summers he spent life guarding.

You’re so rendered immobile by the sight you briefly forget it’s a scene that happens in your book. A moment when Cora realizes she’s physically attracted to her best friend. Only you differ from her in the fact that you’ve known Steve Harrington has been gorgeous for years. If that isn’t enough, though, when his body slowly walks up the stairs and he turns around to face you, your cheeks burn hotter than the sun could have ever warmed your skin. Because he slides a hand up onto his hair, bicep and abdominals rippling and on display.

Is he moving in slow motion? No, he can't be. Can he? What the actual fuck is going on?

“I’m onto you, Harrington.” You drag a thumb along your throat in a warning.

He only laughs and flexes his arm once more, asking innocently, “Whatever do you mean?”

You’re going to kill him. You’re going to actually have to kill him.

Over the course of the next few days Steve ups his antics.

It’s diabolical, you’ll give him that.

You make a mental note to talk to Eddie about it, because the dramatic flair practically screams his influence.

One of the days he wears a button up in the middle of your kitchen and offers to wash your dishes. Slides his sleeves up over his forearms so you can see all the tendons rippling as he moves (you almost pass out). Unbuttons the collar of his shirt complaining of heat to show that dark hair spattering his skin (you walk into the fridge).

Another day he takes your hand and dances with you like Nathan and Cora do in one of the chapters, spinning you round and round despite your initial protests, to something exceedingly romantic for your best friend’s tastes.

On the third, he accidentally brushes up behind you while you’re grabbing a board game from your closet and you feel the firmness of his chest against your back. You have to pray, something you haven't done in a long time, to keep yourself from doing something you might forever regret, because when did Steve get so muscular?

The fourth day brings soft serve ice cream, which is usually an innocent, non-sexual experience. Until, that is, Steve starts trailing his tongue along it. Little kitten strokes at first, long swipes through cream, the occasional slurp. And that’s all fine and dandy, something you can deal with, until he moans and you have to threaten him with the garden hose (after contemplating using it on yourself to cool off) because you’re not sure if you're about to combust into flame or kiss him square on the mouth and ask him to reenact his performance with the ice cream for real this time.

The fifth, while you’re minding your own business and actually trying to restock the tapes at Family Video, he plants dirty quotes from the book around the place. The two of you play games all the time. It gets you both into more trouble than you’d ever really like to share or admit, but this one is bolder, more evil than any that have come before it.

You’re torn between loathing him and loving him more for it.

And while you don’t particularly enjoy your job there, and really only use the pay to help you put yourself through college, you also don’t want to have to explain to Keith why there’s dirty talk written and hidden in parts of the building. You can picture him firing you already, fed up with Steve’s and your constant antics.

In the break room. I want to taste you.

Attached to the employee bathroom mirror. Let me hear those pretty sounds.

On a back room shelf. You feel so good around me. Feel how deep I am?

Inside one of the cup holders in your car (must have snuck that one while you’d been in the bathroom) I want you to fuck me so hard that I forget my name.

He’s proud of himself, laughing whenever you make a point of ripping up the paper loudly in front of him, letting the shreds drop one by one into a trash can. In actuality, though, your insides are fluttering from the words he’s chosen and you don’t even want to think about the way your thighs clench together or how you feel wetness pool inside your panties, so you decide you need to do damage control.

“So what you’re saying is he’s torturing you?” Robin asks at the conclusion of your debrief.

Her and Eddie sit across from you on the couch, watching wearily as you practically burn a hole in the carpet from your constant pacing. It’s been like this for a half hour. You frantically tell them all the ways Steve’s been haunting your every waking moment. How you’re feeling things you’ve long since tried to suppress.

You’re pent up.

A rubber band ready to snap.

You’re just afraid of what happens when that moment comes. Afraid of what you’ll do, what you might want.

You can’t voice it, let alone allow yourself to think it.

It would be a bad idea.

“Yes!” You nearly shriek, throwing your hands up in the air.

“You two share a single brain cell, and it’s actually quite amusing,” Eddie says.

It’s the only thing he’s said the whole evening, and you pause to whirl around and face him. “What did you say?”

“The two of you,” he says evenly, hooking an ankle over his knee. “Share a combined brain cell.”

“That’s rude,” you snap, narrowing your eyes.

He laughs, glancing over to Robin. “Are the two of you ever going to, oh I don’t know, act on your feelings? I thought it was because of all the shit with the Upside Down. But we saved the world, remember? So what gives?”

“I’m not following…”

Robin interrupts, all wild hands and frantic speech. “You two dinguses like each other. And stop with the ‘we’re best friends’ bullshit you feed everyone. The two of you are dancing around each other and have been for years now. Why not…talk it out and see what happens? You’re clearly feeling some sort of way over this weird little game the two of you are playing this week.”

But the two of you are best friends. You’re not Nathan and Cora. That kind of stuff happens in your books. Those fated relationships, destined to be at a young age.

You know how to separate fact from fiction.

Steve and you are fact, and you don’t want to dabble in fiction when it comes to him.

Right…?

Tears for Fears blares through the speaker system, Family Video empty save for the two of you. The ‘OPEN’ sign on the door has already been flipped to ‘CLOSED.’ You’re meant to be going through new releases for Keith and unpacking them from the boxes laid out in the back room. He’s already told you where he wants them placed, which movies to arrange on certain shelves for different occasions.

Your pencil scratches along paper, calling out the names of movies to Steve, crossing out a box to confirm you received all the titles the business was expecting. It’s tedious, and you’d rather be doing just about anything else, but it takes your mind off the tension swirling in your gut over your ‘Steve situation.’

Neither of you have spoken in a bit. More so because you don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to address the elephant in the room: the fact you like him, want him, and have been struggling to remind yourself that this game you’re playing is only a game. It’s a dangerous line to walk, even scarier to tread. On one side, the safety of friendship, and on the other is the unknown.

So you return to your tapes, the shadowed in boxes, the methodical strokes of pencil against paper. It’s another ridiculously warm day. You curse the shoddy air conditioning system Keith never calls in to get fixed, hands sliding down the sides of your skirt, grateful for the slight breeze that tickles your ankles with every movement. If Steve’s warm, he says nothing of it, only picks up the pace with going through the inventory and closes up the box once you’re finally done.

“We just need to double check the back room is clean and then we can lock up,” he says. Your head lifts abruptly, having gone so long without hearing his voice it almost shocks you.

“Oh, yeah. Right. Coming,” you tell him, clipping your pencil to the board and sliding the whole thing onto the shelf beneath the counter.

Steve’s shoving the box onto a wooden table when you join him, your eyes doing a cursory scan about the room to make sure everything looks to be in its proper place. What you don’t expect to see, however, is your book resting in your pocketbook on the chair you left it atop of.

Steve follows the line of your gaze and chuckles. “Figured it was about time I gave it back.”

You lift the tattered old thing in one hand and flip through the pages. He’s moved the bookmark all the way to the back, and you know he’s read the whole thing. Satisfied with its condition, you tuck it back into where it belongs and lean against the wooden table, palms curling around the edge as you shift to face him.

“You done teasing me?” You ask pointedly, head tipping to the side with a little smirk. “Even I have to admit that was a cruel game.”

“Why was it cruel?” He steps closer, the already small room shrinking even further.

“You were making fun of me.”

“No I wasn’t. I liked the book,” he admits, the corner of his lip twitching upward. “I just had one question the whole time I was reading it.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” You’re genuinely curious, leaning back further against the table.

Steve takes another step closer, dark hair bouncing with each movement, those eyes dark and kind. “You’ve written down all the dates you read the thing in the front. So I assume it’s your favorite. Why is it your favorite?”

It’s…not a bad observation. If anything, it has your blood burning a bit, heart starting to flutter faster in your chest. Still, you keep your cool, shrugging your shoulders in reply.

“Come on now, since when do we keep things from each other?”

His hand drops down onto the wood beside your hip, his chest nearly pressing to your knees where you sit. Your feet kick mindlessly back and forth, brushing against his shins, skirt fluttering around you.

“I like the plot,” you admit, popping the 'p' for emphasis, trying to look anywhere but his face as you continue, “I like the idea of two people who already know each other trying to see if there’s more between them.”

“Cora and Nathan are best friends.” It’s not a question, but a fact. You nod, watching his other hand drop onto the other side of your hip. “Is that why you got all hot and bothered in your bedroom? Why those notes made you squirm?”

“Don’t be an asshole.” You cross your arms over your chest. “It’s a book.”

“Is that all it is?” He asks, looking into your eyes with an unfamiliar intensity. You want to hide from it, but it dredges up something new in you. Something bold and dizzying. “If it’s just a book, tell me that’s all it is and we’ll close up and go home.”

You don’t say anything for a while.

How could you? How could you admit that the reason it’s your favorite is because it’s about two best friends falling for one another? How could you admit you dreamed and hoped maybe one day it would be your reality with him? How could you admit you wanted to taste him, touch him, feel him for years now?

Steve moves to head back toward the main room when you make your choice.

“Steve?”

He whirls around on the spot, eyes searching your face. He rushes back over to where you’re sitting. Your hands slide up tentatively into his, testing the weight of them in your palms.

You exhale a deep breath, “Kiss me?”

There’s no moment of question. No hesitance behind his gaze when he curls a palm around the side of your face and swoops down to kiss you soundly on the lips. It’s not slow and sweet like in the many movies you’ve seen and books you’ve read. Instead it’s an urgent, hurried thing. His hands slide around your hips and draw you closer to him, your thighs parting to make space for him, mouths licking into one another hungrily, years of pent up emotion spilling into the spaces between you.

It’s a nip of his bottom lip here, the gasp from you when his mouth slides along your cheek in search of your jaw, sucks below your ear in a way that has you clutching at his shoulders, dragging him closer. Fingers pinch into skin. Frantic hands slide over your Family Video vest, his mouth forming the quiet question of “Can I?” And your head is nodding, heart thundering. He slips it free from your form and touches at the hem of your shirt hesitantly.

“You can touch me,” you rasp out, hands clutching around the edge of the table. A callused palm slides up and along your skin, dances along the curve of your breast, right over the rapid thrum of your heart. “Stevie…”

He’s kissing you again, hand sliding out from underneath your shirt and instead rucking up the sides of your skirt. A gust of cold air hits the tops of your thighs as he bares you to him. You watch those fingers that have held you all these years, have tended your wounds, soothed away your worries, drag along your flesh. Up over the curve of your thigh, the curve of your hip, and down again.

“I want you to touch me, Steve. I want you,” you whisper against his ear, curling an arm around his shoulder and shuddering into the side of his neck. Those fingers slip down the front of your panties and trail a dangerous path from your slick center to your clit, teasing lightly, circling where you want him most.

He hums pleasantly. “This all for me, pretty girl?” He’s smiling to himself at your quiet cry, tracing the same pattern once more before dropping down onto his knees to help you slide them down and off your legs. “Are you sure?”

“Pleas—” Your voice breaks off into a moan. That taunting mouth of his licks a deadly path from your entrance to that sensitive nub, rendering you at his mercy. He slides one of your thighs up and over his shoulder, the other held out to open you further to him. “Just like that, just like that.”

He licks into you, murmuring into your skin about how he’s wanted you like this for years. Dirty sounds of your slick meld together with your gasps and whimpers, fingers reaching down to grasp at hair, tugging hard, hips grinding involuntarily into his face.

“Steve!” Your head falls back at the white hot flash behind your eyes when that first finger slides in all the way to the knuckle, a sinful slide in and out of you that has you craving more. More fullness, more something, more Steve, until you’re whining pathetically. The second finger joins the first, stretching and sliding against skin, working in tandem with the flat of his tongue against your clit.

You come with a cry of his name, body bowing over the top of his head, fingers a tangle against his scalp. He continues to lick and pump into you through your orgasm, his other hand holding tight against your hip you’re sure you’ll have bruises come morning. But you don’t care. You don’t care at all. You grip the front of Steve’s shirt and drag him upward to your mouth, tasting yourself on him. His tongue glides over your own, moans mingling in the spaces between you.

Your hands work on his jeans next, needing more of him, his mouth moving languidly over yours. Shaky hands slide the button through the hole, fingers pushing down the zipper, the desperate wiggle of fabric down his thighs so he can kick himself out of them. You waste no time sliding him out of his boxers, hand pumping him once, twice, before he’s sliding on a condom fished from his wallet and asking you how you want him.

It’s how you end up sliding down to the edge of the table, his fingers dipping into your slick heat, still sensitive from your orgasm, his cock straining against your hip when he drops down to kiss you once more, whispering, “Are you sure? Need your words, pretty girl.”

“I want you…I’ve wanted this, Steve.”

You feel him nudge at your entrance, so full and thick it has your eyes rolling slightly at the first delicious stretch. Your arm curls around his shoulder to drag your chests closer, gasps mingling, the hand curling around your hip gripping tighter while he sinks inch by inch into you until he’s buried to the hilt.

He rocks slowly against you at first. A slow, torturous drag in and out. In and out. Until you’re whimpering steadily into the quiet room, ankle curling around a hip, drawing him closer. Always closer. It’s a slow build up. Face pressed into his chest, hips rolling in tandem with his, relishing in his sounds rumbling deep within his chest.

It’s Steve, you remind yourself.

Steve, your best friend in the world, rocking into you, chasing your peaks together. He's whispering how pretty you are, how good you feel, praising you. He murmurs ‘good fuckin’ girl’ against your mouth when your head shifts and you kiss him greedily, a messy tangle of lips, tongue and teeth.

“Faster, Steve,” you plead, eyes pinching shut.

His hips snap harder against yours, his grunts and groans filling the space, driving the table to knock against the wall, sending the box of new inventory hurtling to the ground. Neither of you can be bothered with it, hands clutching against clothes, mouths tangling, wet skin slapping against skin, lurching closer and closer to the edge.

Steve’s laying you back against the table, chest crawling over your own, mouth like a brand against yours, your hair fanning around your head. He curls a forearm under your lower back, tilting your hips, the new angle hitting that part of you over and over and over again that makes your vision grow white around the edges. Your whimpers of his name spurring him on, your thigh crooked over one of his elbows, drawing him closer, deeper.

Steve comes seconds after you do, face red and chest heaving, gasping at the way your body clenches around him. Kisses you in between broken cries of his name falling from your pretty lips.

Your thigh slides back down from around his elbow. The other thigh slowly drops back down against the wood, skirt bunching indecently around your hips, his chest heavy against yours. Your fingers come up to brush along his hair, humming when he leans over to kiss you once, twice, and then slides off of you, your body immediately missing the feeling of being full of him.

You dress and clean in silence. Little awkward chuckles spilling here and there as he helps you slide your underwear back on, head disappearing beneath your skirt to teasingly nip at the inside of a thigh. Your hands help to smooth his unruly hair back into place. It’s a gentle slide of fingers together when you both make your way out to his car and slip inside, the cheeky grin from him when he leans over the center console and smacks a kiss against your cheek, making your skin burn ablaze.

“Want to go get food? Maybe a milkshake,” he suggests, curling a hand around his steering wheel. “On me.”

“Like a date?” You muse, watching his hand curl around your own to draw your palm to his lips for a slow kiss into the center.

“If you want it to be.”

Steve and you open up at Family Video the next day.

Your late night plans the day before in hindsight may not have been the best idea either of you had in a while, but seeing him early that next morning with his sunglasses perched on his face and his lips eagerly seeking yours over the center console had made it worth it.

You’d spent the evening huddled over a basket of fries, talking about your feelings, about giving things a try, constantly touching. Hands, cheeks, shoulders, legs. You craved it all, this new need to be attached at all times, butterflies fluttering in bellies, grins tugging at faces. Later it had been chocolatey milkshake kisses under the stars at Lover’s Lake, a new world of exploration at your fingertips.

Presently, Robin and Eddie mill about in the distance, looking for a movie for your usual Friday night in, the two of them calling various movie titles over to where you and Steve work behind the countertop.

“How about Heathers?” Eddie asks, just as Keith barrels out of the back room, looking red in the face and on a mission.

“Looks like you two—” he points between you and Steve. “—did some rearranging in the back room last night. That wall you dented and then tried to hide behind the table, however you managed that, I don’t know…but yeah, you’ll be paying for it. And the stack of movies on the floor? If any are busted, I’ll dock both your pay for them as well. Count your lucky stars I’m not firing you both.”

He’s gone back the way he came, leaving you standing beside Steve, your mouths open, eyes rounded in fear.

Steve mouths, “We forgot to clean up the movies…”

You turn into his chest to hide, mortification burning your face.

Robin and Eddie smirk, high-fiving amidst the movie displays.

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x f!reader #steve harrington x afab!reader #steve harrington imagine #my writing #luna's writing

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zeltqz · 1 year ago

Note

In which ran is being gentle with children or something along those lines and reader in that moment is like get me pregnant now then smut 🫡

knocked up | ran haitani

content. breeding kink, creampie, unprotected sex, established relationship, daddy kink, shower sex

You never were much of a kids person. If someone asked you how many kids you wanted, your answer was already none really.

Kids were fine, you didn’t hate them, you just didn’t care about them enough to ruin your body for nine months and push one out.

But right now, looking at the sight of your boyfriend Ran Haitani playing with your little niece had you reconsidering your choice. You’d never seen your niece happier and though you should be fuming with jealousy right now that she prefers your boyfriend—who she’s only known for a day—over you, you can’t help but admire Ran making her laugh, lifting her in the air until she’s dying with laughter and begging to be put down, the sight of him baby talking her, carrying her—

It’s making you look at Ran in a different light. Men that know how to handle kids are so…hot.

That’s why you can barely contain yourself when your sister comes over to collect her daughter; your adorable niece merely waving goodbye at you and instead runs over at full speed with those tiny legs of hers over towards Ran and hugs his leg tight before being escorted out of the house by her mother.

“I’m gonna go shower baby.” Ran loops a hand around your waist and pulls you in, pressing his lips to the side of your head. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”

“Okay,” you murmur, relishing his warmth beside you before its ripped away as he heads upstairs. You can hear the shower turn on minutes later and shift until you’re leaning against the wall, contemplating something.

Your pussy throbs, your hormones working overtime as you can only think about his cock filling and stuffing you to the brim, his cum slowly leaking out of your folds and soaking the sheets. Or maybe you want his cock to stay plugged inside your pussy, making sure not even a drop escapes and ensuring your chances of success.

With that, you’re heading up the stairs, into your shared bedroom and begin to strip, leaving a trail of clothes in your wake as you enter the bathroom. Your presence is silent, almost non existent as you slip into the shower behind Ran and loop your arms around his midsection.

He gets startled at first but overcomes it easily, turning to look down at your head digging into the firm muscle of his back. Slowly, you kissed down the slope of his back before moving back up his spine.

“I want you s’bad Ran,” you whisper.

“Yeah? Show me.” He turns around to face you before you’re pouncing on him, sucking his lips in a desperate attempt of a kiss.

He groans into your mouth, gripping onto your wet, slippery skin and presses you against the wall. He doesn’t tease, sliding his hands up and down your sides as his tongue licks into your mouth before cupping your breasts. Ran licks your bottom lip, circling his tongue over it and stroking at your tits, making your nipples pebble beneath his thumbs.

Your fingers clutch at the wet tiles as Ran flicks your nipples with his fingertips.

“I’m—” you start, “I want you so bad Ran.” Your hands loop around his neck as you stand on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Want you to breed me so badly Ran please . I need it s’badly.”

As if your words weren’t holding enough desire to slowly drive him to madness, you had to add the cherry on top, lowering your voice impossibly quieter as you practically breathe out, “Please daddy,” in his ear.

Then, suddenly, you’re being spinned around, Ran’s hips pressing into you, trapping you against the wall with a deep groan that has your stomach fluttering. You inch your head backwards to glance his way but he’s not looking at you.

His brows are drawn in concentration as he nudges your legs apart with his knee, those big hands of his spreading your cheeks apart. The water dripping from the shower head makes its way to between your legs, giving him the leverage he needs to slip his finger inside you.

One finger turns to two and he’s slowly scissoring you open, relishing in the feeling of your walls clinging and squeezing the length of his fingers.

With his spare hand, he pulls your head back by your hair, until your back is arched painfully, until his lips are right beside your ear. “Call me daddy again baby. Wanna hear it.”

“Daddy please, fuck me.”

“Yeah?” The squelching sounds coming from your pussy every time his fingers thrusted in and out were so obscene , blood filling your ears as you pushed your hips back to feel him deeper.

“Yeah, fuck a baby into me, please—”

You felt empty when he pulled his fingers out so abruptly but you were quickly filled to the brim with his cock seconds later, thrusting shallowly into you. He does it twice, heavy grunts spilling out from between his lips as he continues fucking into your tight, wet cunt.

He pulls on your hair, tugging you back further and moans your name by your ear, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he fucks into you once, twice, the third thrust pressing you further into the wall. An inferno rose inside you as his cock slides thick and heavy between your legs.

“Ah! Ran!” you shout, scrabbling uselessly against the tiles to brace yourself against the force of his thrusts.

“Good girl. Taking me so well, fuck,” Ran slaps your ass hard enough to sting. His hands creep up the sides of your body to cup your boobs, kneading them roughly, pinching your nipples painfully. They come alive beneath his touch, cradled in his strong hands.

It’s driving you crazy, the way Ran runs his tongue along the length of your jaw, sucking at your neck, biting your shoulder all the while piercing the deepest parts of you with his cock.

You feel the heat between your legs again, your orgasm searing its way up to your core. You whine as Ran starts fucking into you faster, his head thrown back in ecstasy. He slams into you without remorse, rolling his hips with abandon, grinding himself into your quivering flesh.

“So good—ah fuck—don’t stop Ran please !” you scream.

“My god, woman,” Ran pants as you clench around him, slamming your body against his. His hands join yours against the wall, cradling them in his big grip before moving them to lock around your neck. “Screaming my name like a whore ,” he whispers in your ear, tilting your head back till you’re looking at him. “Want my cum deep inside you don’t you baby?”

“Mhm-mhm—”

He slowly buries his tongue in your throat, sucking deeply in your mouth, sending a bolt of heat through your system.

His whole body goes rigid, squeezing your throat tight enough that you feel your airways restrict. Spasms go through your abdomen as Ran grips you tighter and starts thrusting wildly. No matter how hard he bucks into you, he seems unable to penetrate deeper than he already has. Your limbs shake as your nerves fire off all over the place. Your knees give out under you as Ran pumps into you with so much force that it almost hurts to breathe, small whimpers escaping your throat.

The sensation becomes too intense, a deep burn in your groin that only grows hotter and hotter as your body gives in to its climax.

He slams into you a final time before releasing you with a satisfied sigh, pressing his forehead against your temple as he gently kisses the side of your face. You can feel his cum pulsating within you, a hot flush spreading through your body as he breathes heavily behind you.

He's about to pull out before you stop him. "Wait," you say, catching hold of him and pulling him closer. "Keep going."

"What?"

"...I wanna get pregnant. I wanna have your babies," you whisper huskily into his ear, your arms tightening around him.

Ran freezes, holding you close to him as he comes back down to earth. It takes a few moments for his mind to catch up with what just happened. "You were serious about that baby? I thought that was all talk."

"No. I want it," you admit. "I changed my mind."

"You changed your mind...?" He sounds dazed and looks down at you to see nothing but pure seriousness on your face.

You nod. "Yeah."

"Well... okay," he says after a moment, kissing you once more before removing himself from you. As he moves away from you, his eyes meet yours, drinking in every little detail. "Gonna fuck you as many times as we need until you're knocked up."

#✰ : tr #ran x reader #tokrev x reader #ran haitani x reader #haitani ran x reader #tokyorev x reader #tokrev #haitani ran smut #ran smut #ran haitani smut #ran haitani imagines #ran haitani scenarios #haitani ran x you #haitani ran x y/n #—tr </3

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sanguineterrain · 1 year ago

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Hello! Can I please request massages when they’re stressed with Clark please! Thank you!!

Aw this one was so fun! Thanks for requesting 🥰

Clark Kent x gn!reader. Stressed Clark, massages, cuddles.

****

The door to your apartment opens, and in rushes Clark, talking a mile a minute on the phone.

"—Yes, I understand, Mr. White, but—yes, I know this story is—I just think maybe—okay. Yes. Goodbye, Mr. White."

Clark carefully places his cellphone on the kitchen counter. Then he slides down the wall, legs out in front of him.

You walk over. He looks up, and the pinch in his brow softens.

"Hey, my love," he says tiredly.

"Hi, sunshine," you say back and crouch to his level. "Tough day?"

Clark's head thumps the wall. The plaster cracks slightly, and he winces.

"Sorry," he says, and you smile.

"'S okay. We accepted a long time ago that we wouldn't be getting our deposit back on this apartment. No use trying to save it now."

"Save!" Clark gets up so fast, you wobble on your feet. He steadies you with hands on your waist. Then he zooms to the bedroom and back, now clad in his Superman suit.

"I completely forgot about patrol!" He groans. "Okay, I'll be back. If White calls, tell him I'll—"

"Clark," you say, resting your hands on those broad, broad shoulders. "Can you come back to the ground?"

He's floating half a foot above the floor. Sometimes, he doesn't even realize he's doing it.

Sheepishly, Clark returns to his feet. You cup his face, and his eyes flutter.

"I gotta... I need to go..."

"Take the night off," you say.

"Huh?"

"Take tonight off, Clark. You're spreading yourself too thin."

"But what if—"

"Clark. Us Metropolites got on fine before we had a Superman. Just regular city problems. They will be okay for one night. If there's a crazy billionaire in a suit of tech trying to take over the world, then you can go. Otherwise, I think the little girl who lost her cat will survive one night without you checking every bush and balcony in the city."

"But... but I can hear them," he says frantically. "I can hear all their problems."

You frown and tug on his hand, heading for the bedroom. Clark follows you like he has lead feet.

"Change into comfortable clothes," you say.

Clark mopily glances at his dresser. You sigh.

"Baby, just let me take care of you for a little while. You can save as many cats in trees as your heart desires tomorrow. Okay?"

Clark thinks about it for another minute. Then he nods, and he's out of his suit and in a t-shirt and sweats in a flash. You get two bottles of essential oils from a drawer and hold up each.

"Jasmine or eucalyptus?" you ask.

"Jasmine," Clark says instantly. "Smells like you."

You kiss him for that, and he responds enthusiastically, desperately. Then you pull away and crawl behind him on the bed.

"Lay down on your stomach," you say, and he does.

You warm up a few drops of the oil between your hands and lift Clark's shirt. Then you start to rub. He hums.

"Your hands feel nice," he says, but his back remains tight with tension.

You press harder. Clark is still stiff.

"Clark, can you even—do you even feel the massage?"

"I can feel pressure," he says. "Is it supposed to ache?"

"Not ache, but... okay, tell me if I do hurt you."

"Okay, love."

Not that you ever could. But still. You know Clark gets melancholy about being from another planet. You know he feels good when you treat him like you would any human.

You go on your knees, straddling Clark, and put as much strength as you can muster into your ministrations. Clark lets out a happy hum.

"Feels good," he mumbles.

Which is wonderful, obviously, even though it feels like you're welding iron with your bare hands.

Those powerful muscles beneath your fingers begin to slacken. Sweat beads on your neck as you push and knead Clark's back and shoulders. His breathing is even and slow. You're close to panting.

But at least he's letting himself be taken care of. And that's all that matters.

You stop when your own arms begin to ache, and you flop onto Clark, all your weight on his back. He reaches around and squeezes the backs of your thighs.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "I needed that."

You kiss his hair. "Anytime, sunshine."

...

"Can't I just save one cat? Really quickly?"

You roll your eyes and tuck your arms underneath Clark's waist.

"Go to sleep, Superman."

#clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent x yn #clark kent fanfiction #superman x reader #superman x you #superman imagine #dc fanfiction #inbox #blurb #superman fluff

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jhutchlover1234 · 5 months ago

Text

minotaur! könig | draft for a j.ai intro i got lazy with :p

In the dim recesses of the Labyrinth, where shadows twist and coil like the serpentine corridors, the Minotaur suffocates in his own self-pity.

A pool of blood grows beneath his hooves, his latest victim—one of the young Athenians that had been sacrificed this recent cycle—lying still and half-consumed.

The air beneath his veil feels damp—wet when König huffs.

He catches his reflection in the crimson puddle below. A strange animal stares back.

König quickly averts his eyes, already feeling his veins thrum with fury—a burning hatred for the very circumstances of his existence. He is neither beast nor man, yet this—thing—embodies the torment of both. His body is a prison, its sinewy muscles a constant reminder of his primitive nature, whilst his mind, aching with self-awareness, yearns for something more—something beyond the brutality that defines his every waking moment.

Salvation.

That's what he yearns for—aches to have, to hold, to know.

Perhaps it'll save me, he tells himself. Perhaps my mother will bear to look at me again.

Existence as he knows it is a perpetual torment, a cyclic punishment for sins he cannot even remember committing—for the sin of being alive.

He is forced to play the role of the monster, the aggressor, chasing down those who dare enter his domain, only to be haunted by their shrill screams and his own uncontrollable rage. The thrill of the hunt, once a mere means to an end, has transformed into a cruel charade of fulfillment, a painful echo of what could have been a noble purpose.

He turns at the sound of a gasp, another sacrifice making themselves known. They're a delicate thing wrapped in fine cloth, knees nearly bucking under the weight of his gaze.

König watches as {{user}}'s throat bounces. Can't help himself as he imagines sinking his teeth into them.

#i dont even know #subject to lots of editing #konig x reader #konig x you #konig mw2 #call of duty #cod #janitor ai #j.ai #j writes

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apoptoses · 10 months ago

Note

thinking about our threesome 🫶🏼

46. How much do bad interpretations of this character upset you? for Daniel 🫢

48. What’s your favorite physical/design feature for this character? for ARMAND

49. What’s your favorite personality trait in this character? for Lestat

idk why i stayed in the 40s those seemed like the most unique questions to me

46. Lmao god, a LOT.

I think the thing about Daniel is that he's one of those characters with a lot of blanks to fill in, right? He's only present for 10% of the entire VC at best, we don't know much about his background, we only get a handful of chapters from his POV and one of those contains a lot of montaged shit.

But when he's portrayed as a being without agency, or someone who never cared for Armand at all, it really grinds my gears.

It says directly in the text how he loves Armand. He begs for immortality because he wants to be with Armand. He loved the luxury that Armand provided, he loved having fine things, he loved their travels, he loved being lord over Night Island. There was a lot he loved about their relationship and the intimacy they shared.

And I think that as a society we're just starting to really identify abuse, right? But often people forget that there's a spectrum between '100% healthy relationship' and 'victim/abuser', that relationships can fall into the middle. That sometimes it takes two people making shitty choices to make a fucked up relationship.

That's why their relationship is fascinating, because it falls into those shades of grey and slides up and down that spectrum. Daniel demanded and belittled just as much as Armand withheld and was selfish. He had agency. He was never some helpless puppet or a damsel in distress.

And yeah everyone can have their own reads and their own interpretations, and their own head canons. But to insist that the opposite of what is in the text is true and to take this character and remove all of his agency- that makes me nuts lmao

48. Listen. You know that I love Armand as a beautiful androgynous vampire but I also love him as a young man, with all kinds of masculine attributes. The juxtaposition of a soft, pretty face with hair under his arms and on his legs, the delicate features but hidden strength.

He practiced sword fighting and so he'd have had strong thighs, some muscle on his shoulder blades, fuckin biceps!! He climbed bridges constantly in Venice so he would have had strong calves! Maybe Armand has the face of an angel but give me and Armand with a beautifully strong body beneath the clothes and a little body hair and I'm gnawing at my enclosure ♥

49. I think above all things, I admire Lestat's tenacity. We make fun of the bimbo shit he does and how he's openly a cry baby, but at the end of the day he always scrapes it together and takes action. Just like Armand he has the strength to endure deep down- Lestat, more than any vampire, always finds something fascinating about the new age. He finds that he loves mortals more and more, he interacts with them in a way that can be so kind and benevolent. And in spite of putting on a facade of self love when he's mired with self loathing Lestat carries on and adapts to the times, and I love that.

#apoptoses answers

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reyla-the-black-wolf · 10 months ago

Text

Unexpected

(my first fic omg!!)

☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎

Writing prompt: here

Pairing: f!reader x batboys

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: brief mentions of fighting, injury and blood, slight angst

Summary: You wanted to help, but made a mistake. Thankfully, your family understands

☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎

To my surprise, the training ring was empty. Usually it’s occupied by Cassian and Azriel. Or the Valkyries. But today I was lucky. I had just returned from a mission in Windhaven and needed to work off some rage. Those stubborn Illyrians! So narrow-minded and aggressive. I went there to make sure the girls and women got some training, but as always, it takes a lot of persuasion to get these bigots to actually train them. A few discussions later and maybe some fighting, I felt like beating them up again.

Anyway, I was relieved to be back in the House of Wind. I wouldn’t have to worry about them for a while and my mind could relax. Leaving my satchel on the golden sand of the training ground, I walked towards the centre. Already dressed in my fighting gear, I started throwing punches into the air, to release some of my tension. The sound of my breathing, the crunching of sand beneath my boots, the smell of dried blood on my clothing and nothing but the silence surrounded me.

Unfortunately, it didn’t last long. Recognising heavy footsteps behind me, I stopped and turned around, growling on the inside. Standing in front of me, was my older brother Cassian. Two heads taller, all muscled and with a look of amusement on his face. „Has the air done something, to upset you?“, a grin creeping upon his lips. „Maybe you did something to annoy me as usual.“, I countered, teasing him a bit. „We haven’t even seen each other today!“, he dramatically placed a hand on his chest in pain. I chuckled in response. „Don’t worry, I’m fine.“ Obviously, I didn’t sound very convincing, because he looked me up and down, as if searching for any wounds. His amusement and grin faded as he sniffed the air.

„Is that blood?“, asked Cass, alarmed. „Don’t worry, it’s not mine.“, I huffed, thinking about the man in the camp earlier, who refused to follow my orders. „Is that supposed to reassure me?“, he said, worry in his tone. It took all of my nerves, not to roll my eyes at him. „There are bloodstains on your clothes y/n! Tell me what happened.“, the anger in his voice better not to be ignored.

„Nothing bad happened. At least not really.“, I continued, feeling a little guilty. „I saw Rhysand’s request for women’s training on your desk this morning. There’s been so much going on in your life lately, with Nesta, your missions and your position as Commander. So I thought, I’d help you out and make sure those idiots follow your commands.“ He listened in silence. „Well, one of the men I was arguing with, repeatedly refused to train any woman… so maybe I lost my temper and lashed out.“ I could literally feel Cass’ distress. But also his fury. „He didn’t like that one bit.“, I said, laughing nervously. „We started wrestling on the ground and he tried to go for my throat, but I was faster, so my fist struck his jaw. The man lost some teeth and his blood spilled on my clothes. That’s how I got it, but I’m all right. Just like I told you.“ I held my head up high, as if protesting like a little child.

„You could’ve been seriously injured. I know your fighting is great. I trained you myself.“, he looked at me with brotherly love in his hazel eyes, „but you have to be more careful!“ I sighed. „And next time, I suggest you ask me, if there’s anything you can do to help. Otherwise, please keep your hands off my tasks, okay?“ He sounded concerned, but the anger in his eyes was definitely a warning. „´Cause if you don’t, then I'll have to deal with whatever you might have screwed up later, understand?“ I glared at him, feeling like an immature child, being disciplined by its father. But after a while, I agreed with him. „Oh, and could you please not tell Rhys about this accident?“, I pleaded, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

„Tell me what?“, a sinister voice asked, before Cass had a chance to answer. We turned, to see Rhys and Azriel walking towards us with long strides. Damn it…

Azriel’s shadows surrounded me in an instant, as if to make sure everything was alright. Goosebumps spread down my neck, as they swirled up and down my body. With a pleading look in my eyes, I looked up at Cassian. He shifted his reproachful gaze from his brothers down to me. „Cassian!“, I warned him, „Don’t you dare.“ His eyebrows shot up, as if to say they’re my brothers! I won’t lie to them!

I know, I've done something wrong. But does the High Lord really need to know about it?

Az and Rhys exchanged some puzzled glances, while I scowled at Cass.

„Why do you smell of blood?“, Rhys suddenly asked in a serious tone, sniffing the air. Before I could answer him, Cass cut me off. „She smells like that, because she completed the mission, you assigned me to do this morning.“ Great! Thanks brother! „You went to Windhaven?“, Rhysand’s voice was like the calm before a storm. A shiver ran down my spine. The tension was building around the three of us. With guilt in my voice I replied: „Yes, I did. I only wanted to help Cass with his duties.“ I tried not to look down at my feet.

„Some things got out of hand, but in my defense, you Illyrians can be pretty stubborn!“ „You had a little fight, didn’t you?“, Rhys stated, unable to hide his smirk. Unwilling to meet his eyes any longer, I turned my gaze to his jacket. My eyes followed the silver threads on it. Rhys studied me for a moment, before speaking. „If you wish to work more y/n, just let me know, okay?“ Sympathy flashed in his violet eyes, as I gathered the strength to look up again. „I’m sure, we’ll find something for you.“ I swallowed, not sure what to answer.

„It was kinda foolish, wasn’t it?“ „Y/n, you’re still young. Everyone makes mistakes sometimes. We’ll make sure everything goes well in Windhaven.", he assured me. "Please leave that in our hands.“ I nodded. „We could also tell you many stories about your brother and his nonsense, when he was your age.“, Azriel interrupted. His cheeks turning slightly red, Cass intervened: „That’s not for her ears, Az!“ „I’d love to hear those stories one day.“, I chuckled, glad the tension was easing. „Oh, I think she’s old enough, Cas.“, Rhys smiled. „I dare you to tell her!“ A laugh escaped my lips at his defensiveness. „We’ll see about that, but for now let’s go to lunch.“, he demanded. „Elain and Feyre have cooked something for us today. And my stomach is already rumbling.“ With a sigh of relief, that the subject was over for today, Cassian relented and walked to the edge of the training ring. Grinning, I picked up my bag and followed them. Silently thanking Rhys for his understanding and support.

☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎

After a quick shower, I now sat at the table, eating the meal, Feyre and Elain had cooked for us. It tasted absolutely delicious. My eyes wandered around and caught Mor stealing some vegetables from Az’ plate. Elain talking to Feyre about some art designs. I closed my eyes to enjoy this moment with my family.

A deep, rumbling laugh to my left, brought me back to the ongoing conversation. „I wouldn’t do that, if I were you!“, Cas pointed his fork at Rhysand. „My little sister is perfectly capable of defending herself.“ Pride in his voice. Rhys turned his attention to me. „Y/n, at least tell me, you’ve given that guy a lesson about what happens, when he doesn't respect women?“ „I kicked some of his teeth out. Was that enough?“, I asked with an innocent smile. „I wouldn’t want to fight with you.“, Feyre grinned, as she cut a piece of meat in half. Her mate spoke, while holding his wine glass: „Well, it doesn’t hurt them to be put in their place occasionally.“ He gave me a knowing wink and I blushed.

The conversation went on, until Az began to tell a story about an embarrassing event, that happened to my older brother recently. He stopped abruptly, when Cass lunged forward and tried to silence him. The others, myself included, were still sitting at the table, all laughing at the ridiculous scene that was unfolding in front of us. Cass and Az were rolling around on the floor in an attempt to fight each other. Mor and Rhys already started betting on who was going to win. All the laughter around me, warmed me to the depths of my soul. The man in the camp already forgotten. The tension from earlier today, completely gone by now. Tears of joy welled up in my eyes. I made a mental note, to always remember this beautiful moment with my family. Because right now, they’re all that matters.

☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎☾⭐︎☽⭐︎

Omg, can't believe it right now! I posted my first fanfiction ever! I'm so excited :)

If anybody reads this, I hope you liked it! I'm always open to improvements and criticism. Although I'm new here, feel free to send me requests if you want. I'd love that :) Also, English is my second language, so if there are any mistakes, I'm sorry...

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #acotar oneshot #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar x reader #acotar fandom #acotar fluff #acotar bat boys #fluff #a bit angsty #angst #first fanfic #first fic

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aspiring-writer-hidden-voice · 2 years ago

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BOTW Link X F!Reader ~ Pt. 3

You blinked as the doctor checked you over for the seemingly hundredth time despite your assurances. A grunt sounded from the far corner, where a blonde stood with his back all that was visible, a sign that you should simply let the examination continue without complaint. If it was the last one then fine. With a sigh, you forced your body to relax while keeping a close eye upon the medical practitioner’s hands when they drifted across your being. A warning glare was sent as the wrinkled hands made to go for your chest once more and earned an eye roll.

“Come now, I have conducted plenty of exams upon your figure during the recent illness. You have nothing to be shy about, my dear, especially when your beauty could make the goddess envious.”

It had taken nearly a whole four days for you to fight off the fever, unknowingly meaning Link had been torn between caring for you and searching for Epona. Waking to find him at your bedside brought you more relief than the medication when finding the swordsman to be wiping away salty beads of sweat with a cloth. What you didn’t know was how he had refused to sleep so as to better care for your needs the entire time resulting in the developing shadows beneath his eyes. Palm fruit though, thanks to the local women, had worked wonders in making them disappear without him having to sacrifice leaving your side for rest. Which had felt necessary since this particular doctor seemed to have wandering hands.

“By the goddess—explain yourself!” The elderly man suddenly snapped, making you jump and Link to nearly turn around when you exclaimed due to wrinkled fingers roughly removing the bandages upon your fingers. Azure eyes briefly shone with warning when they locked upon the doctor’s gaze which had moved to fixate upon him. “Are you responsible for these?! How dare you force such a fine young woman as she to such difficult manual labor! Delicate flowers such as her should be treasured and gifted the finest of clothes, jewels so bright even the Gorons may want to taste them. I’ll even venture a guess that you somehow convinced her to travel with you by false promises! Or possible blackmail!” Horror filled his weathered features. “And here we are supposed to believe that you are—!”

“Apologize.”

Those blue eyes widened when you quickly withdrew your hands and fixed the loosely opened blouse back into place while standing. A strange shadow had fallen over your eyes at the man’s tone while addressing him. It didn’t bother the blonde one bit that the doctor had jumped to conclusions, for it was true that he was to blame and had been resolved to take whatever consequences would come along with the rigorous training. He had warned you at the beginning that it would not be easy yet he’d still allowed you to overexert yourself under his watch.

“Right now.”

Both of his brows furrowed at the cold tone dripping with anger that came from between your lips. His arms uncrossed when your upper lip twitched, concern filling him when your gaze suddenly resembled twin embers worthy of the Dinraal’s wrath. Never has he seen you this upset as you glared down at the elder. More often than not, like himself, you were silent and expressive in your own special way with your body language the biggest giveaway; relaxed muscles and clear eyes meant you were content, that bright star fragment rivaling shine meant you were in awe of something, gentle swaying of your body while humming or performing a task meant absolute focus was occurring, then there was when your gaze met his that earned a small smile sometimes accompanied by a playful wink if the situation called for it. This right here was completely new territory for the Champion. However it left him filled with interest intermingling with anticipation and unpredictability.

“I most certainly will not! Your fingers may very well have no prints left upon their pads!”

Fire was boiling within your veins as the doctor turned his full attention upon Link. You didn’t physically touch the elder but it was your Great Fireblade worthy gaze which caused his spectacled face to swivel back in your direction to reveal beads of sweat forming upon his brow. Repeating yourself wasn’t a habit of yours and it wasn’t about to become one as he slowly cowered underneath your glare. “Not that its any of your business, but I’m with him by choice. So don’t insult him anymore than you already have.” Seconds ticked by as he stumbled for words until, after nearly ten minutes, an apology finally wormed its way between his wrinkled lips.

All tension within the room magnified when you wordlessly gathered your things then departed after placing some rupees upon the examination table that you’d vacated. The swordsman noticed there was more than the doctor’s fee but chose to not address it as he followed your steps. He found you sitting upon a cliff overlooking Lurelin Village, the faintest traces of moisture clinging to your lashes. It hadn’t rained so that left only one conclusion. A soft sigh slipped from between his lips as he settled to your left, leaving a few inches of space between where his knee was and yours, most of his weight upon the palms of both hands extended backwards while legs were tucked beneath him. Against your shoulder came the briefest of brushes courtesy of his shoulder, Are you alright?

Humiliation threatened to bubble within your chest, filling you with the want to hide.

Calm azure eyes briefly flashed amusement when you groaned lowly while leaning until the ground met your back, turning his head so as to keep you within sight. Here was yet another new facial expression and exhibition of emotion from you. Shyness was not one of your frontal personality traits so seeing the attempt to hide a clearly burning blush was oddly entertaining, and fascinating, to him. That was when he noticed what had earned the doctor’s reaction.

Your fingers were scared heavily from swinging swords much too heavy and notching feathered arrows on strings with too much tension within the wood. Smooth skin was now heavily calloused, almost more than his own, splits within the pads that looked incredibly painful. It was a wonder that you’d been able to use them at all.

So distracted had he been that the Hylian failed to notice you’d shifted onto your side facing him fully, tilting your head when his gaze darkened slightly. This time it was your hand that reached out to tap his bicep. I’m okay, the lingering touch portrayed, but it looks like you’ve got something on your mind.

The touch, though gentler than a crane’s feather against his skin, earned an expression that left you nearly breathless as his hand cupped your own. It raised your hand until the tips of your fingers were eye level. Too much, he directed your gaze to them then pointedly bore into your eyes with his azure, don’t push yourself like this again. Though his gaze was stern it also held genuine concern for your wellbeing, as did the gentle hold he had upon your hand. Sun dried leather alternately teased your skin when it wasn’t brushed by his own as each finger was individually showcased until every digit was aligned with one of Link’s own. The span of your palms met fully as his much more calloused fingers spread yours as far as they could.

Who did that racing pulse belong to which could be felt: you or him?

Every second that the two of you remained like this it felt as though something was taking hold in a warming grasp, impulsing you to sit up and him to fully face you.

What appeared to be shards of sapphire subtly reflected the sunlight as gravity seemed to pull at you both, coming closer until slivers of aquamarine and flecks of nightshade could be made out as duo rings around each pupil. They were more breathtaking than the ocean itself, as endless as the sky above, far more mysterious that the fabled Satori. Never had you seen such eyes that spoke in such a way. Words could never hope to be near as expressive than those eyes but it didn’t mean they weren’t necessary. “I’m relieved that you’re better.” He slowly, softly, said, as if whispering any louder would disturb the spell-like atmosphere that had fallen, his free hand rising to tuck a cluster of tresses behind your ear. If not his gaze than that voice of his was enough to bewitch Wizzrobes. Like the finest cloth, it wrapped around you in an invisible embrace promising protection from all possible evil.

An apology made to rise up your throat but was prevented from becoming voiced as his hand once more cupped yours and brought it to his lips. They were much softer than expected, let alone thought possible, the hairs across your body rising slowly the longer his lips remained against your skin. Electricity sparked down your spine when they traveled downwards until every fingertip had met the junction of his mouth. All moisture was wicked from your throat as he continued onwards to the other hand, continuing to be gentle in bestowing near Summerwing butterfly gentle kisses to each finger.

Like your hooded gaze, the lids of his eyes had gradually fallen ever so slightly with each brush of your flesh against his lips. Deep within his bones rose a warmth that made every drop of blood vibrate. And that was before he caught sight of your once flabbergasted expression now turned into something borderline intimate appreciation interwoven with affection and something he didn’t recognize. Did he dare call it akin to desire? No, it was much more special than that. A slight tug on your hand brought you even closer, this time close enough that your breaths intermixed to waft the other’s face, initial fascination and curiosity giving way to a completely unfamiliar emotion as your gaze, just for a second, dropped to his mouth.

Both of you parted in unison, moment interrupted, when the sound of laughter came from nearby. A figure dressed in red with a white mask raised a sickle that promised to fatally wound whoever met its blade. “You will pay for what you’ve done to Master Koga!”

A Yiga! The several stories of unfortunates who had encountered such formidable enemies rang loudly within your ears as they readied to attack. You made to stand and accept the challenge when Link took a protective stance, the same hand that had been in contact with yours briefly rising to tap his eye’s corner while glancing over his shoulder to meet your gaze.

Watch and learn, those azure eyes of his conveyed as the smallest confident smirk raised his lips, even you can beat these guys if you know their weaknesses.

…

Night had fallen, leaving the two of you to find shelter within the village once more at his insistence. However the current predicament made even the swordsman’s ear tips tint pink as you nervously stepped through the single entrance of the room. Most of the rupees within either of your possessions had been used to replenish supplies or replace clothing ruined by the ocean’s salt.

Meaning that there was enough leftover which could be used for a room where the two of you were required to share.

He remained focused upon organizing of inventory as you went about preparing for bed. Of course there was only one bed, meaning that he assumed you would lay claim to it and was fine sleeping beside the window in case of intruders. Very rarely did he ever sleep soundly within an inn anyway. Or sleep at all for that matter. Traveling alone had practically robbed him of any possible rest because he was so on edge about attacks and such. Azure eyes widened in surprise when instead of settling within the bed your arms appeared from over his shoulders to lay flat against the span of his chest. The heat of your breath tickled his ear as you eased him backwards until the chair’s back met his, both arms that had been busy falling still upon the table.

Interesting choice of action on your part.

This position was bizarre to Link. He’d seen several of Zelda’s personal servants or closest friends do similar with the fair Princess of Hyrule. Is that what the two of you had become? Were you two more than simple traveling companions?

It was when he prepared to remain in this position that he felt it, a warm droplet, splatter across the bare skin of his collarbone.

“What happened never should have,” he said in that soft voice which made your chest warm, “and I apologize for putting you in danger once more.”

Anger flared within your being at his words. Before you’d even realized it, your arms retracted and the air rang with a loud smack that was your palm meeting the back of his head. The Champion was flabbergasted at your exhibition of strength when turning him, and the chair, around so that he faced you. What he had thought to be a tear was actually leftover moisture which had trickled down from your hair if those blazing embers that were your eyes were anything to go by. “Tell those inner personas of yours that this is your lifetime, not theirs, and they should back off before I find some priest or hooodou person to force them out!”

He could only blink up at you in utter shock as you continued to rant. This was a different kind of anger than earlier. You weren’t necessarily angry at him but for him. This whole scenario took a humorous turn when you grabbed hold of his shoulders while practically yelling in his ear as if those said past phantoms of heroes could hear you. “(Y/n), stop, you’ll wake—”

“I don’t care if I wake the Poes or undead monsters!”

A smile made to lift his lips when your determined eyes bore into his own.

“They have to respect that you’re the current hero, not them! It’s your life, Link, and they need to let you experience it to the fullest! That means you get to stub your toe on the table leg, run into a tree when you’re focused upon something else, take the time to enjoy a field of flowers!”

Blonde brows furrowed. “What about jumping off a cliff in a hurricane?”

Your hands shook him. “Yes! Exactly! Do what you want to do!” You paused, stilling when his words echoed within the room. “Wait, no, maybe not that.”

Laughter filled the air as you paused to take a breath. All smoke and steam that had been bubbling within you during the quick bath evaporated when seeing that it sourced from none other than Link himself. Tears were gathering within the corners of his closed eyes but there was no mistaking that the laughter was coming from deep within his being as he attempted to regain control. All of the hard lines within his face were disappearing the longer he struggled, as if each laugh was erasing one, until it was as if you were looking upon a Link who never knew the weight of worldly responsibility. This aura that threatened to blind you with how brilliant it shone was purely his.

There were no traces of those other personas.

Silence fell after nearly a minute, laughter leaving him breathless, the tears remaining as he didn’t fight when your arms returned around his neck in an embrace. His arms rose and wrapped tightly around your smaller frame until you were nearly seated within his lap. Every passing heartbeat shared between the two of you resulted in his hold increasing little by little.

Scarred fingers belonging to you found their ways up into his messy hair where they gently combed the wheat hued locks after removing the band, wordlessly accepting your fate when hearing broken apologies. “I’m sorry for yelling,” you whispered with sincerity, “and please don’t beat yourself up about what happened. They weren’t your fault, Link. You came back, remember?”

His breath hitched at your words.

It was as good an indicator than anything for you to continue. “I knew you were there, I could see you attempting to regain control, but it’s not easy fighting inward battles when facing such formidable adversaries. Wisdom comes from learning of the past and forging your own experiences. Only looking forward can we truly grow as individuals. However…” your fingers brushing against the nape of his neck encouraged him to raise his head of your chest so that your gazes met, “…no one said it had to be done alone. You’ve fought for survival all this time by yourself that maybe the goddess herself wanted to reward you for the accomplishments. I have no one either. Would it be wrong to seek comfort within each other?”

Those wide azure eyes glistened within the minimal candlelight dancing with the pale moon visible through the window. Each word that came from your mouth rang with truth that reverberated deep within his bones, as if all of the personas he’d come to know were feeling their affect, leaving him nearly tingling. Such a profound display of strength was admirable.

A forced exhale blew out the candle as you gave a slight wiggle, silent permission to be freed from his hold that was granted, and stood with a blush beginning to bloom within your cheeks. He too stood courtesy of your hand giving his a tug. Not a single protest, spoken or physical, came from the blue eyed Hylian as you led him towards the bed where you coaxed him to lay beneath the covers then climbed in beside him.

Your backs were touching, meaning neither could see the other’s face, however that didn’t stop either of you from realizing something: his head had been resting directly upon your breast.

For you there was a damp spot within the night wear you wore which had soaked up his tears.

For him there was the lingering scent of you within his nose that eventually carried him off to the realm of dreams.

Both of you slept heavily that night, only waking once the sun’s dawning light kissed your faces.

That was how you found yourself being cradled upon your side within his hold; one arm within the crook of your neck and pillow, the other around your waist that kept you near. Though a blanket had been draped over your beings it had somehow fallen to the floor; not that you needed it with how much heat had accumulated between the two of you. Both of your legs had managed to become trapped between his own while your arms were neatly tucked beneath your chin. The tunic he’d worn last night had come lose, meaning its neckline was now low enough to reveal lean muscles that spoke of rigorous training and filled your mind with the hazy memory of being carried along the shoreline to the village. Every slow breath he took caused his chest to rise then fall, his breath tickling the top of your head. Your senses were filled with the scents of musk and leather but now it seemed as though there was something else attempting to lure you closer.

As they say “curiosity killed the Chuchu”.

The sensitive skin of his neck met your nose with a slight shift of your being. Was that mahogany? Cedarwood maybe? No, both were too earthy. Perhaps…whetstone? Alarm filled you when a low grunt sounded just a split second before his larger frame completely rolled atop of yours.

Unbeknownst to you, Link was biting back a smirk as you attempted to shove him off for several seconds until giving up and laying limp beneath him. A yawn clearly for show stretched his jaw as he for a moment snuggled into your much softer being, feeling every curve of your body mold to accommodate his much leaner frame, until the faint beating of your heart could be felt. The gentle wafts of your breath against his sensitive ears threatened to send tingles down his spine if not for the slight quivering of your lips that brushed against his jaw. Your breathing was shallow thanks to his added weight, meaning it was faster too, but that wouldn’t explain why it hitched when one of his legs that had somehow found its way between your own shifted. He rose up onto his elbows while donning an expression of amusement when finding you on the verge of pouting. Forgive me?, his raised eyebrow asked.

Arms crossing, your eyes rolled dramatically. As if there’s anything to forgive, your gaze answered while a foot wiggled from where it was pinned by his leg, but I will kick you in the shin if you don’t get off me. No movement or motion suggested he was going anywhere after a few seconds. Your own brows rose when his wiggled threateningly with mischief while bending at the elbows as if about to cave. “I have a new recipe to try out but you gotta let me up first.”

No sooner had the words left your mouth that he vanished to reappear beside the bed with wide eyes full of hunger and practically bouncing on his heels with anticipation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pt 1: Blood Moon Encounter

Pt 2: Distant Howls

Pt 3: Identities Unknown

Pt 4: Rupee Troubles

#loz #botw link #link x you #link x f!reader #link x reader #link x y/n #the legend of zelda #botw!link #breath of the wild

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

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I just read your poly stsg x reader post and. Oh my lord. PLEASEEEEE I love them more than anything and I just need to scream and yell about them until my throat is hoarse and sore and I physically cannot talk anymore I’m so serious

the way I feel like in a poly relationship they both absolutely love spoiling and caring for u, but in different ways. Hear me out:

Suguru shows his love by pretty much just taking on the responsibility of a caregiver, because he just falls into that role so easily. He’s the type to cook the foods he KNOWS you love the most for you, to wash your hair for you while you bathe in the luxury bathroom that’s dimly lit with your favourite scented candles and the tub that’s filled with bubbles and any extras you ask for, to brush and play with your hair while you do your night time skincare routine, to offer you a massage at the slightest sign of stress (his hands would be perfect for giving a massage I will fight anyone who disagrees) to always bring back your fav snacks and drinks if he sees them when he’s in public, to take on your own household chores if he notices you’re having a rough and/or unproductive day… <333 he’s so wife….

And then of course best boy satoru who loves like he might actually have a heart attack if he has to go one second without showing his utmost adoration for you (he’s a drama queen). but I love the fact we’ve all agreed he’s like a puppy- because in my head HE IS !! he acts like a lovesick puppy, on your tail 24/7. He’s the type of boyfriend (or husband ykwim….) who when you’re hanging out together and you get up to go to the bathroom, would follow you out of instinct because he’s just so used to being a clingy little bastard. and don’t even get me STARTED on the spoiling- I know you’ve mentioned it in a previous fic and I can’t help but agree so hard. but it’s not like he just gives you money and leaves you to your own devices, i get the feeling he’d want to be involved if you decide to go on a shopping spree. He’s the type to be totally fine with carrying all the shopping bags (I mean have u SEEN those muscles….), and just pay so much attention to you that it’s almost (almost) overwhelming. Paying full attention to which stores and items catch your eye, which clothes you pick out, etc etc

Omfg this was…. Longer than I intended it to be 💀You’ve made me love them too much. You’ve corrupted me with the idea of them and how amazing they’d be as bfs (husbands.) and I am completely content with that fact. 🙌🙌

THE WAY MY ANONS ARE LITERALLY HANDFEEDING ME ATP THANK U THANK U i feel like a little baby bird being fed worms. reading this healed me UR SOOOOO RIGHT ANON <333

where do i even BEGIN this was so cute and lovely and U GET IT U DO!!!! sugu is soooo wife and toru is so husband <3333 they love taking care of you so much!!!! 100% the type of bfs/husbands to die on the hill that making you happy is their job, their duty, theyre both sooo serious abt it.

i genuinely think doting on u is a stress relief for sugu LMAO like he can only relax if you’re wolfing down your favorite food and humming happily, or putty beneath his heavy hands as they massage your scalp….. he’s such a caregiver it’s insane. i can’t see him any other way. ABSOLUTELY the type to massage u all the time have u SEEN his hands…. u get him anon. he’s just so eager to care for u all the time. ESP through cooking i just feel like that’s such a comfortable way for him to show his love!! he will always always always joke abt how that’s his secret ingredient even if u and toru roll ur eyes <33

(this is just a sidethought of mine but tbh i dont picture sugu having a great relationship w his parents — i do however think he has a lot of love for his mother even if its complicated… i imagine him remembering the soup she used to make him when he was sick and making it for u and toru too </3 it makes him feel warm. and so lucky to have a home and family with you two, one that makes him feel safe.)

honestly i think sugu is so eager to be ur caretaker that u just kinda have to trick him into letting u dote on him for once 😭😭 mind games and everything. he just feels more comfortable giving than receiving in any situation. but as soon as ur hands are massaging his shoulders hes out like a light <333 soft lil snores <3333 and he’ll pamper u even more to make up for it when he wakes up!!!

AND TORUUUUU MY DEAREST MY LITTLE PUPPYDOG MY GIRLFRIEND i love him. ur so right!! i think his love seeps out allllll the time and it’s very direct, warm hugs and kisses and gifts <33 but i absolutely agree that hes not the type to just give u money and call it a day — he loves spoiling you and to him that entails taking you wherever you want to go, doing whatever you want to do, buying you whatever makes you happy <333 if u want to go shopping he gets sooooo excited i just KNOW it. carries ur bags and gushes over ur outfits and makes u give him a whole fashion show in whatever boutique hes taken u to hhhhh hes a sweetiepie..

ALSOOO he 100% buys himself outfits to match urs. AND he’ll get one for sugu too. he’s the type to buy u friendship bracelets LOL hes so cute!! if he buys one of u smth then in his mind he HAS to buy the other + himself smth too just for the sake of matching. if you ask him to go get u a vanilla milkshake he’ll return w one for u, a strawberry milkshake for himself and a chocolate milkshake for sugu bc look!! we’re matching <333 HES SO CUTEEE 🥺🥺 (also for some reason i just know hes the one who proposes. sugu has a whole elaborate proposal planned out and already bought the rings but satoru beats him to it and he wants to be angry but he can’t. he’s too happy. and ofc satoru makes sure that ur rings have matching motifs <33 star/sun/moon or something of the sort he is a sappp)

ANYWAY anon this made my whole day i am EATING everything u wrote licking the crumbs off my fingers <3333 i love domestic poly stsg like i love nothing in this universe theyre just the best husbands in the world i think

#ari vs poly!stsg (instant loss)#i am so thankful for my anons & moots im literally just sitting here getting fed day in day out #they make me soooooo happy i love my boys !!!!!!!

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ladyloversposts · 1 year ago

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Ice bath dreams

- this is what I was listening to when I wrote this, not my normal music taste but it was in my recommended

Warnings: Smut, sex, p in v sex, no protection mentioned, perverted thoughts. Lemme know if I missed any.

Can't get over the way these boys will obsess over a girl, stalk them, and fuck them senseless 😮‍💨😮‍💨

You joined task force 141 last week, being the only woman definitely made it awkward. Ghost doesn't seem to like me much but Gaz and Soap are fine, maybe even friends with me. Sometimes I feel like they're sexist but they're just keeping me from doing harder jobs, which I won't complain about having to sweep and do laundry rather than cleaning the barracks bathrooms. They let me eat with them but I haven't gotten to go drinking with them yet, not sure if it's because they don't trust me or themselves, or the alcohol.

Today we're doing ice baths since we had a bit of a rough mission. price has the tub set up and all the guys are shirtless as they take turns timing each other till eventually Gaz offers to time how long I can stay in. I accept the challenge, of course I do, I don't back down from these men..I mean sure their four giant walls of muscle and are Fuckin drool worthy, not that I haven't fucked myself on a dildo multiple times to imagining it's them tossing me around as they fuck me roughly, like I'm their personal Fleshlight....I slip my shirt and shorts off so I'm only wearing my bra and underwear. I don't notice the way they look at me as if I'm their fucking meal. I dio myself completely in not the water, gasping aslt the cold as I call out "Oh fuck!" It sounds lewd, my gasps and whimpers, as if their watching a personal porno. They can barely keep it together as they watch me gasp and whimper, cursing for the first time, palming themselves through their pants as they cum from the sight.

Since then I noticed they were being rough with me, doing anything to hear one of those lewd gasps or whimpers and occasionally an unintentional moan. I walk through their barracks every now and then, though I'm glad price gives me my own room so I have privacy, being the only girl I appreciate it a lot. I walk through on my way to the laundry, over hearing them talking. Gaz: "She's gotta know what she's doing, mean I know she's innocent but those moans and whimpers? Fuuuck" soap laughs. Soap: "I don't think she knows. I mean I enjoy listening to it, it's like live porn, helps me sleep at night knowing there's a pretty little thing like her on base. Maybe one day we'll get to fuck her properly."* The conversation continues but I keep walking, not wanting to hear more as the realization dawns on me. That's why they were rougher? To hear me make those sounds? Well fuck them, I'll resist.

The next morning I go in for sparring, wearing shorts and a tank top like normal, ignoring when I notice their boners when they see me. I sigh "Come on, I'll get you guys this time." Ghost chuckles darkly and we start to fight, sparring, of course, no real damage. I nearly kick his boner and he wants me but I stop and I glare as I yell at them, admitting that I know what their doing. They look ashamed, but lustful. Ghost pins me down I gasp as I squirm and he growls in my ear "fuckin slut, you knew and yet you kept on whimpering? well we'll make you whimper and moan properly." They circle me, my nervousness sets in as ghost commands me to take my clothes off. I obey. Taking my shirt and shorts first and then my bra, leaving me underwear though it's pointless when Gaz Rips them off me and Ghost pins me down. I gasp in surprise and my eyes roll back when soap suddenly stuffs his boner into my tight little cunt, making me moan and whimper beneath him as ghost and Gaz jerk off to soap Fucking me ruthlessly. I can barely keep it together. I'm moaning as I feel soaps huge cock pounding me, arching my back as I whimper a little. "soap I-I'm gonna cum! O-oh my god..." Soap goes harder before pulling out and jerking off till he cums on my stomach and chest. I pant softly, thinking I'll get to relax till Gaz shoves his cock into me, my eyes roll back and my hips buck up into him as I nearly cum. He's even tougher than Soap, rolling his hips into mine endlessly as I watch his cock disappear inside me. I cum around him and coos gently "That's it baby, cum around me, so fuckin pretty....being a good girl for your superiors, letting us fuck you so good" he loves the feeling of my cunt milking his cock as I cum, line it's a drug. He fucks me till he's close then pulls out and cums on my stomach and chest with a porn like groan. Ghost is next, I gasp when I see how..how big he is. He's huge and thick, in every way, he'll ruin me. It's hard to believe it'll even fit inside me.he puts the tip at my entrance and coos gently to me "Relax princess, I know it hurts,I know...just relax, you're so tight, I know it's big but it'll fit." Soap gives me a glass of alcohol,I drink it. Feeling my body relax ghost slides into me, I drop the glass in shock. Ghost chuckles q bit as he groans and curses about how fucking good my tight little cunt feels, how it's milking his cock. He starts slow, letting my body adjust. He soon picks me up, still gently thrusting and then my eyes roll back as my legs give out. He holds me up, Price slides into my ass without warning. I'm in another work of pleasure, moans leaving my lips like a poem as the two large and handsome men pound me. I orgasm multiple times, barely able to tell where one ends and where one starts as the two men alternate thrusts. I expect them to pull out like the other two did but they don't and I moan loudly and lewdly as I feel their cum pour inside me, painting my walls white. I spasm between them as I clutch onto ghost "Ghost I can't! I-it feels too good!" The men laugh at this and I finally relax into his arms when they slide out of my soaked cunt. God, the way they smile at you as you pant once they're done, dripping with their cum, shaking like a lead in a hurricane, only gets you wetter.

- Love my 141 boys :)

#Spotify

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rendaze · 2 years ago

Text

work on you (m)

+ featuring ... manager!taehyung x idol!reader

+ summary ... when your manager, kim taehyung, decides to avoid you after a massage turned sexual, you are determined to kill two birds with one stone: get him to talk to you again by fucking him.

+ genre ... smut, fluff

+ wordcount ... 12k

+ warnings ... fem!reader, possessive/jealous!taehyung, dom!taehyung, perv!taehyung, brat!reader, a lot of dirty talk, orgasm denial, objectification, dumbification, degradation, dirty talk, cumplay, cum swallowing, exhibitionism, public fingering,

For much of the night, Kim Taehyung is quiet. He rests on the crème couch, cat eyes observing you through the mirror. Outside, pink skies fade to indigo and crickets popcorn beneath the underbrush; the pattering of your feet against the practice room floor accompanies it. It has been hours since workers have clocked out and the last buses have run, but he knows this.

Your manager of two years is not known for the saccharine politeness of his peers nor the pedantic nature of his seniors. Instead, he is blunt. Reserved. An intrinsic part of your life whom you’d grown reliant on as winter faded to summer and back again.

His diligence is not due to principle but rather habit – if it wasn’t for you, he would be watching cable, cigarette ash tainting work clothes he was too tired to change out of. Instead, he waits—regardless of overtime—to drive you to your apartment where he bids you a weary ‘bye’ only to pick you up three hours later. He doesn’t need to, but he does. A habit.

But as entangled as your lives have grown, he has always kept a distance; hence your intrigue when he approaches you post-practice where he would have ignored you altogether.

“You look tired,” he says in the disinterested tone you’d come to expect.

He studies you through the floor-length mirrors as you spread your legs in a stretch. You had been shy once, all too aware of how little your leggings left to the imagination, but Taehyung’s blank stares had assuaged those thoughts long ago.

You admit, his ignorance bothers you. He is there, but he is not, with all the presence of drapery that sways only when a window is ajar.

“I’m fine,” you say – and you are, for the most part. “Just a little sore.”

“Where does it hurt?”

You dismiss his verbosity as a sign of your own palpable fatigue. “No, it’s just that my shoulders feel like shit.”

“Do you need help?” His fingers flutter before your face. “I could give you a massage.”

As the sole target of his scoldings, the notion of such a Samaritan action is laughable. “Oh, really? You?”

“Why not?” Cherry-tinted lips twitch. “Can’t have your body breaking down on me before your comeback.”

His tongue pokes his cheek and he cracks his knuckles; the sound draws you to the length of his fingers, callused and long. The kind meant to caress piano keys or draw pleasure from a crooning lover. You think of those hands on you, enkindling a different type of satisfaction.

You are pulled to face the mirror as he stands behind you. “Like this,” he says, the ball of his wrist gliding against your upper back. His hands are rough as he kneads, tugging and pressing on the skin as he would dough, a harshness that should hurt but doesn’t. He moves closer, his pulsing heat a reminder of his proximity.

Sandalwood, you realize. That’s what he smells like.

You breathe it in as if the rest of him would follow. Once, twice. Then exhale as he finds a particular knot between your shoulders.

“Your muscles are so tight,” he says, with all the wispy quality of a fever dream.

It’s wanton to clench at such an innocent usage of the word but you do, thighs rubbing against each other in pursuit of friction.

The siren song of his whisper dallies close to your ear’s cusp. “You’ve really been overworking yourself. I guess this is sort of my fault, huh?” He heaves a great sigh. “It’s only right that I make up for it then.”

You nod, unable to part your lips for fear of the sounds that would surface. Had you always been so weak, you wonder, the tickle of his breath inches from your neck enough to compose your compliance. Comets of ideas, bad and worse, streak past your musings. You pluck one, entertaining the thought of grinding against his length until it hardens between your ass.

You instantly berate yourself though your underwear moistens still.

Your manager. He’s your manager. A person of whom your mortification would be parried, and your chagrin discarded. Such constant proximity would be unbearable if awkward, and Taehyung, as curt as he is, means too much to you to be cast aside due to your own lack of restraint.

Stood before a mirror, there is nothing else to focus on but the reflected image of him behind you. There’s no particular difference in his wardrobe today: a beige cardigan, dark jeans, and pale sneakers, reminiscent of a History major, art connoisseur, or both. Curled obsidian hair drapes along the curve of his eyes, eyes focused on his ministrations against your back. One would expect a more formal way of dress, but considering that most of his job revolves around following your schedule all day there’s no reason to.

He grins when he catches you staring.

You scoff, face burning. “What?”

“Don’t you think you’ll feel better if I massage you while you’re lying down?”

His hands rub your bare arms, coaxing a reply out of your quiet contemplation. You hesitate – not out of wariness, but rather embarrassment that he may find a swift reply too eager. Though he is not one to heartlessly poke fun at another, you attempt as casual a shrug as your nerves can handle.

He leads you by a gentle grip on your wrist to the spacious couch opposite where you’d been standing. The same couch he spends most of his time on while waiting for your practices to end.

He motions for you to flip over and lie down on your stomach with a swirl of his finger. The action combined with your obedience is almost dog-like, but you are so deeply entrenched in his spell that if he told you to bark you would.

Face planted into a pillow, you can hear his shuffling as he kneels atop you outside your thighs. He rubs circles against your shoulders, leaning forward to whisper: “Feels good?”

Below, your core aches like the starved, demanding sustenance.

“Sure,” you say, settling on the least innocuous of words. “You’re like… strangely good at this.”

“Good enough to switch careers? I don’t think the pay would be as good, though.”

“I wouldn’t be there either, so that would suck. For you.”

There’s a playful frown in his tone. “Oh, yes, because how could I ever go about my day-to-day life without you in it?”

He’s joking but you do wonder what he does outside of managing you. If he has hobbies, passions, friends… or a significant other he does this to. To be candid, the thought irks you.

“Are you sore anywhere else?” he asks, having focused on your shoulders.

You respond with a breathless ‘yes’, turning your head to meet his gaze. “My lower back.”

His fingers are a paradox of frigid and warm as he grazes your neck, making his way down your spine, then shoulders, then upper arms. He sits astride your ass, touch gliding against the exposed skin below your top. He digs into your muscles as if trying to see what is buried beneath them.

He’s never touched you so purposefully before.

He’s never done much of any of this before.

Talking. Touching. Tempting.

“Is it cool if I lift your shirt?” he asks. “It’s getting in the way.”

Your breath hitches, your heart races, and somewhere outside the company building the horn of a taxi startles you out of reverie.

“Go ahead.” You nod, helping him help you out of the shirt.

He’s clinical as he folds it and places it on the hardwood flooring. He doesn’t look at your bra—a gray, sporty number—and avoids touching the fabric as he continues.

A few blissful minutes pass when he says that he has an idea.

He gets up, walks to your bag, and (without needing to ask) locates the lotion you keep in a pouch. Settling back down, his crotch nestles between the warmth of your ass. The plastic pump splashes white cream onto your back which he massages into the skin.

“Does that feel better?” he asks, hands gliding across the exposed flesh. It smells like nectar on his hands and feels like ambrosia against your skin. His touch is overwhelming, every caress casting electricity straight to your lower stomach.

“My abdomen hurts too.” The words are a muffled whisper against the throw pillow your face is buried in.

“Then, turn over,” he says, as if it’s that simple. Perhaps, to him it is. Perhaps, this is all in your head, that lightning-charged static in the air.

He moves up, allowing space for you to roll over.

When he sits down his crotch directly presses against your clothed cunt.

His pinky rests against your chest, moving with the sound of your breathing. It slips slightly beneath the stretch of fabric, poking the flesh. You hold your breath until you can’t– until your lungs demand air as much as your body demands his.

You hold his wrist. “Is my bra getting in the way too?”

His adam's apple bobs, pretty eyes flickering between you and your concealed chest. “A bit,” he shrugs, sliding another finger beneath the underwire.

Your voice is raspy, the way one sounds when in thirst. “Then you should remove it.”

He moves with the grace of a caught deer, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. Your back arches, allowing his hand to slip underneath and unclip it. He slides the straps down your arms, inch by inch, giving you time to say no. You don’t, not able to even fathom the thought of doing so.

He drinks in your chest and the erect nipples standing in the centers of them with dilated pupils and hooded eyes. You imagine that he thinks you’re gorgeous, that it takes all of his will-power not to ravage you on that couch as beasts often do. It is that need to be made into poetry under his gaze that you push your chest upward, seeking his warmth.

He stills your squirming with a hand to your sternum. “Don’t move,” he says, a command you heed the moment it leaves his lips.

The rough pads of his fingers graze your hips then stomach before resting beneath the cusp of your chest. You are hyper-aware of every movement, every stutter, every pulse – if only so that you don’t miss that cataclysmic moment when his hands finally cup the flesh that hides your stampeding heart.

He grips you carefully, digging moon-shaped indents on your skin. Your nipples rest within the crevice of his outstretched fingers, surrounded yet untouched.

“This isn’t a good angle.” He pouts, looking around before finding the tossed pillows. Your back is moved into an arch as he tucks one of them beneath the small of your back, causing your chest to jut out from where you lay. He grins, satisfied.

His hands go back to your chest, working from the outside in circular motions, avoiding your nipples. He then reaches for the lotion bottle, pumping more of the white cream onto you.

“Do you like this?” He asks, fingers dragging around your slippery tits.

“Yeah, it feels really good.”

“Really good, huh?” He laughs when your body jerks at his finger brushing against your nipple. “How about this? Are you sensitive here?”

You groan when he pinches the bud. “What do you think?”

“No one’s giving them enough attention, huh?”

To your embarrassment, you whine when he moves his hands away.

“Shh, you don’t want to be caught getting special treatment from your manager, do you? Unless… that’s the sort of thing you’re into?” He laughs, eyes blown out as he watches you panic. You’ve never seen that look on him before.

“What the hell are you talking about, you dick?”

“Nothing.” He bites his lower lip in an attempt to quell his laughter. If you weren’t insanely horny at the moment then you would’ve been better able to appreciate the rarity of such a display of emotion. “You’re just being really cute right now acting all shy when all I’m doing is giving you a massage. You said you were tired, so I’m helping you.” He squeezes your tits. “That’s part of my job, isn’t it?”

You scoff. “You mean this is you being a pervert. I can feel your definitely average-sized cock hard as hell against me.”

Taehyung gasps as if that was the most insulting thing he’d ever heard. “Okay, three things: one, I’m not a pervert; two, my cock is definitely not average; and three, if you want me to stop then tell me and we can pretend that this never happened. Or, you know, if the pretending fails then we could just die from the inescapable awkwardness. That’d be fine too.”

Trust that he was only ever talkative when he wanted to bother you. You roll your eyes, mumbling: “Well, I didn’t say that…”

His gaze meets yours, dark and tempting. “Then what do you want from your poor, overworked manager?”

You answer by moving his hand back to your chest. “Nothing much,” you say coyly, though what you mean is ‘everything’.

His nails scratch tight circles around each bud, teasing you. He watches your wide-eyed desperation with amusement, alternating between fanning his fingers over the points and holding them between his slippery fingers, squeezing them until they slip out of his grip.

He blows phantom winds against the mounds, hardening them into stalactites. He rocks against you, hips against hips, crotch against crotch, stimulating your clit through the sheer fabric of your leggings. You whine and pant with every motion.

“You’re so noisy. Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” The word leaves you before you can fake nonchalance.

“Then be a good girl and focus on my service.”

Though he’d always been the strict type, you weren’t one to be so obedient: to follow his every command, bend at his will, become a pliable figure; to crave escape through the form of mindlessness. Between his periodic seeking of consent and cautious eyes, you feel safe, safe to drown in his touch and never resurface. You know, even then, that despite the blasé way you were both treating this moment, it was one that neither of you could take back.

He scoots backwards from where he sat on your thighs, moving your feet over his lap. From this angle, he is sure to notice the wet outline of your labia through your leggings.

The soles of your feet are a slight vermillion from having danced barefoot for the past three hours, and he briefly rubs them before moving upwards, to your ankles, your knees, your thighs. It is with an anxious draw of breath that you await his touch at your most sensitive center.

“Where do you want me to touch you?”

“Anywhere,” you say. “As long as you keep doing it.”

“I’m going to need a specific place, sweetheart.”

Head tossed back, you whine. “Just- Come on, Taehyung.”

He kneads your outer thighs, scarcely exerting pressure. “Is this what you want?”

“Please. There. Touch me there. It hurts.”

He chuckles beneath his breath. “Poor baby. I’m sorry, but I don't know where ‘there’ is. Oh, I have an idea. How about you show it to me?” He moves to give you enough space. “Come on, show me where and how you want to be touched.”

You, the rational you, would have been unable to process the erotic words coming from your manager’s lips. These are the whispers you’d conjured in daydreams with not even the hope of being subject. But you aren’t the rational you. The you beneath Taehyung is someone else entirely, someone caught in a dream without desire to wake.

Your hands crawl to the waistband of your leggings but hesitate at the breach.

“Don’t be shy. I know how you like to play with your little cunt in hotel showers, even though you know I’m waiting outside the door, subject to hearing your pretty moans. I’ve always wondered how you pleasured yourself, if you liked to finger your sopping hole until you passed out or if you preferred to press the stream of a shower head against your clit.”

Whilst your right hand sneaks its way into your underwear, your left slaps to your lips, rushed to suppress a gasp. “Are you actually trying to kill me? Have some fucking decorum. And what do you mean you heard me?”

“Decorum? I’m not the one touching myself where anyone could walk in and catch me.”

You didn’t even realize when you’d started the teasing motions, fingers caressing your outer labia.

You scoff. “You’re acting like you weren’t salivating over my tits a few minutes ago.”

“Is that what you want? Me salivating over your tits?”

His hair, like strands of inky silk, drape over eyes that refuse to part from your gaze. He is warm where he touches you, cold where he doesn’t, and temperate only when he mouths against your skin, marking you, in some invisible way, as his own. Your gasp echoes in that cave-like room, his lips an inferno keeping you sane. He nibbles at your breasts, teeth tugging at the perked tips. His spit dribbles down your flesh.

“So soft. I’ve always wondered what you taste like.” His mumbles vibrate against your skin.

You press tight circles against your clit at the same pace as Taehyung’s tongue against your nipples. The sounds, wet and sticky, are loud to an embarrassing degree.

“Baby, look at you. At this rate you’re going to dirty the couch, and then who’s gonna have to clean it? Maybe if I’m too tired I’ll have you lick it spotless instead.”

You push a finger inside, curling the digit with a gasp.

“Interesting.” He grins. “So, you do like it when I treat you like this. I knew it.”

“You talk way too much when you’re horny.”

“Only because it’s you,” he says. “You turn me into an absolute mess.”

“Is that why you only talk to me when you want to scold me?” It’s a childish question. His attention wasn’t yours to have, a fact you’ve grown well-acquainted to.

“Because I knew something like this–” he licks your neck “–was inevitable, and that it’d be my fault. Though… I’m starting to think you’re the type that likes to be scolded.”

His face is inches from yours. The span of a butterfly’s wings, or a fallen autumn leaf. You prop yourself up with the arm that isn’t beneath your leggings, breaching the gap ever so slowly. “So, you imagined it, then? Something like this happening?”

“It usually went a little different.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’d already be fucking you, for starters. And I’d probably initiate it with something less lame than ‘offering a massage’.” He notices your slowing hand and laughs. “Tired, already? You really are such a princess. Do you want me to do it for you?”

You nod, though you should have known nothing ever came easy with Kim Taehyung.

His fingers creep up your legs before squeezing your thighs open. Between, a wet spot darkens the fabric, and he notices it with a smugness that annoys you. He moves your arm away before palming your wet cunt from outside your leggings. The touch is electrifying yet not nearly enough to sate you. As if sensing your dissatisfaction, he slips his hand beneath the cloth, directly touching your clit.

He sloppily plays with your juices, spreading them around your pussy. Deeming you wet enough, he sinks a finger into your warmth. The squelch sound is inescapable as he begins a moderate pace. You squeeze your eyes tight enough for your world to burst into starlight, flecks of shimmery white floating across your vision.

He lifts his hand to your face, and you could smell your moisture before you saw it, viscous strands hanging between his fingers. “Look at this,” he says. “They’re soaking wet.”

Without thought, you take his fingers into your mouth, rolling your tongue around the digits. You’d never tasted yourself before. It’s more sour than you imagined, but not as bad as one would expect.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises. “What’re you making that face for? Do you want more?”

You release his fingers. “Fuck, please just touch me.”

He leans over you, nibbling at your ear before whispering: “Too bad.”

All too abruptly, he startles you by clapping his hands and standing up. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

You blink, dumbfounded. “To… fuck?”

He laughs, glancing at his watch. “As much as I would love that, I’m still your manager. And you have to be awake by eight,” he explains with a normalcy unsuited for your half-clothed, aroused state.

“Are we really not going to even talk about-”

He tosses you your shirt and bra.

“Thanks…” You don the clothes in haste. “And for the massage. Though, it was missing one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“An orgasm,” you deadpan.

“Well, there’s always the option of getting me fired, though I’d prefer to keep my livelihood sustained, thanks.”

“Don’t give me ideas,” you joke. “And here I was thinking you’d risk it all for me.”

“I’d risk a lot of things for you, but definitely not if seeing you around everyday was at stake.”

A grin forms on his tinted lips as he turns before you can gather your words. The door slams shut behind his harried exit and you are left, alone.

Several suns have set and risen, and on the eighth turning you decide you’d had enough of his boyish disregard. You recall being eight, blithe with even the gentle breeze lifting autumn leaves into tangerine storms. Boys at that age were difficult, if they weren’t picking at you they were ignoring you altogether, huddled into little clubs of their own. Every attempt at breaching their sanctified playground circles result in them scurrying in all directions, like mice caught lurking in a kitchen. Taehyung didn’t seem much different.

When he picked you up on the morning after that first intimacy, he had nary a word to say. Even a glance too many had his ears reddening and shoulders curling in, as if it were possible to shrink himself small enough to be unseen. He, who’d eat in his car if he weren’t eating with you, found himself talking to the other staff, if only to avoid your confrontation disposition as he knew you were loath to interrupt an uninvited conversation.

Prior to the current state of tension, you’d jokingly asked him to guess what your astrological sign was. His immediate guess was Taurus. As your manager, he was the one most subjected to your stubbornness, your unwillingness to give up if only to prove a point. But you—impatient, tired you—were reaching your limit.

Yes, you were stubborn, but you hadn’t realized how his obstination could rival your own. And more than your missing and wanting of him, the question of ‘why’ burned trails along your musings. Why? Why was he avoiding you when: one, he’d been the one to initiate the tryst; two, during the moment, he’d joked of things being too awkward (and surely joking about things being awkward meant that things weren’t awkward enough to not be joked about); and three, he had acted as if everything was fine until that dreadful morning after, when he picked you up from your apartment (as he always did) except with not a word to say or a glance to spare.

Yes, indeed, you were stubborn. It was how you’d gotten this far in such a consuming career, but you were sure that you’d have given up at this point – he was just a man after all, and you had other problems of greater consequence. However, there was one thing stopping you from ceasing the pursuit.

Alone in your apartment, you are unafraid of moaning or indulging in the characteristic sticky sound of masturbation. That wetness spurs you into speed. A rush to completion. It is more out of necessity than pleasure, and the pace of your fingers exhibit that. You don’t bother fingering yourself, finding the notion too tiring. Instead, your focus is on your clit and massaging tight circles against the protective skin covering it.

You’ve become an expert of your own body, having so few sexual partners over the years. The risk of dating was high for idols, and you’d found that the few times you had risked it it was never sex worth losing one’s career for.

You know how much pressure to apply against the nub, teasing yourself at the edge long enough to draw out the pleasure. Your other hand lazily drapes across your chest, softly gliding across the skin just as Taehyung had that week before.

You’d be quite the fool to not notice how he coughs into his fist, ears red, when he notices your staring, or the subtle ways he checks you out when he thinks you aren’t looking (that much, at least, hasn’t changed).

By this point, you’d masturbated to him and that moment on the couch one too many times.

When you cum it is not as satisfying as it should be. It is but a relief of pressure rather than a gateway to ecstasy. There’s something missing, though to question what it is would be a benign pursuit for you already know the answer.

It is then, winded and shaking, that you come to the conclusion you’d been dreading.

You need to fuck Kim Taehyung… and then you’d figure out it why it is that your heart aches so.

The car’s hum permeates the air and settles on your skin unpleasantly, as if trapping you in its needly weight. Suffocating. There is no better word for it.

When his eyes flicker from the road to you, it is even worse. You hate that he looks good: styled hair, pressed clothes, expensive cologne. But what you hate most is that you don’t see any of it. Instead there is the image of him above you, cock sliding in as if nothing could fit better.

It isn’t silent from a lack of trying, but after the hundredth attempt at conversation you’d grown tired.

He has not regarded you once despite you wearing his favorite outfit (a favoritism you’d deduced when he glanced at you one too many when you’d last worn it). The corduroy atop his thighs becomes his handkerchief, more to wipe sweaty palms against than a piece of clothing.

When he makes a sharp right turn, your hand on the center console knocks against his.

He jumps but plays it off, turning off the blinker and pressing closer to the door than he had been.

You sigh. “Do I have some infectious disease I should know about? That’d be pretty bad for my career.”

He blinks at you, catches himself staring, then turns back to the road.

“No,” he answers plainly.

“You aren’t even gonna berate me for sleeping in this morning?” Tired from last night’s self-ministrations, you slept through your alarms, leaving him waiting in the car for over an hour. On a normal day, he would’ve spent the entire trip either glaring at you or complaining. He did neither.

“You must’ve been tired,” he said.

“Remember what happened last time I was sore and tired?”

He sucks a breath between his teeth, gives you an incredulous look of shock, then proceeds to pretend as if you’d said nothing.

In a series of losses, you consider that a win.

Emboldened, you lean across the controls and press your hand on his thigh, your face so dangerously close to his that you could smell the mintiness of his aftershave. You’d always liked the cleanliness in which he prided himself on. Smoking, he’d always joked, was his only flaw. When stressed, he had a tendency to hit a few sticks more than usual. It didn’t take a genius to surmise the reason as to why, despite the sun’s low place in the sky, you could smell that more-than-few on him. You were both figuratively and literally bad for his health.

He sneaks a glance down your chest, cleavage revealed by the low cut of your top. He’d always been so fond of your breasts, those soft curves of flesh that he spent so much time fondling when he had the chance to. He gulps before looking away.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, coyly. His grip on the wheel twitches as he contemplates removing your hand from his thigh but thinks otherwise, perhaps rationalizing that touching your hand in order to remove it was also a bad move in his plan to pretend you were but a figment of a mind tortured to want what it shouldn’t have.

The main road close to the company building appears before you, a heavy strip of crowded cars anxious to make it in time to their corporate rat living.

You glance downwards. “Did I make you hard?”

He makes a choking sound, knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel because the answer is yes, you had. The stiff texture of his pants only heightens the image of his cock struggling beneath, forming a tent you have to look away from lest it distract you from your mission. “I have to focus on driving.”

A pointed look is thrown his way as you gesture towards the windscreen. “We’re going to be stuck in this traffic for probably more than twenty minutes,” you say, untucking his button-up from his pants. Your hands press against his toned stomach, making a home beneath his shirt. “Aren’t you bored?”

“Out of the two of us, I don’t think I’m the bored one.” He turns to face you, putting his hand atop yours. “Did you really like it that much? Me touching you? I’m starting to think that your excuse this morning was a lie. You were probably just playing with yourself, am I wrong?”

“Half wrong,” you grin. “I wasn’t fucking myself this morning.” You press your lips against his ear, chest against his shoulder. “I was fucking myself last night.”

He curses, head thrown back at the notion. “Has anyone ever told you how blunt you are?”

“You do,” you say. “Constantly.”

“That’s because you are.”

“Then what does that make you?”

“A horny fuck, who, by some stroke of luck, got paired to work for an idol that’s somehow even more depraved.”

Though you laugh, relief surges through you at the familiarity of his bantering. “Define ‘depraved’.”

He pushes your hand to his waistband. “This,” he says, as if it is some grotesque and beautiful thing. “How badly I want you.”

You unzip his pants and untuck his cock from his briefs. He’s larger than you’d expected; long yet girthy. You run a finger down the appendage, catching on the prominent veins.

“God,” he hisses at the contact. “You’ve been such a slut recently, it was only a matter of time before you did this, huh? Touching my cock where anyone could see.”

The flesh of him is soft and warm beneath your fingertips. You squeeze the head then trail down to the base, cupping his balls.

He’s beautiful when he moans. His head tosses back, curls cascading over shut eyes as he attempts to move away from the pleasure all the while begging for you not to stop. A beautiful paradox, and you its orchestrator.

“Right there,” he groans. “Rub the head just like that.”

His commands are hypnotic in a way you deign to follow.

“Shit, you’re such a sub, aren’t you? You do everything I ask you to if it means you get a nice, thick cock.”

Despite your forwardness, you lacked much experience regarding the kinkier side of sex, though not from lack of trying. Perhaps it was the consequence of a homogenous industry where every individual was fearful in the face of social ruin if word got out that they were participant in this or that.

“Maybe, I am.” You shrug. “But right now–” you squeeze his cock “–you’re in my hands. And you only get to cum when I say you can.”

With that, you take your hands off him. The look in his eyes is almost comical, as if you’d divorced him, taken custody of his three children, and set his house ablaze.

“Fuck. I was close,” he pleads. “Please don’t do this. I need to cum. Please.”

“You sound so pretty when you whine but that isn’t good enough.” You pout. “You need to promise that you’ll stop being awkward around me.”

“Shit, fine, I’m sorry, okay? I just didn’t want to make things more weird than they already are.”

“See, I want to make things weird between us. So there’s really nothing for you to worry about.”

“You seriously don’t understand how much I think about fucking you on a daily basis. I wasn’t even purposely trying to ignore you, it’s just-” He runs a hand through his hair. “Whenever I see you I…” You wait for him to find his words only for him to say something entirely unexpected. “...Can I cum in your mouth?”

You snort. “Nope, you don’t deserve that.”

“Aw, man. This car was just deep cleaned.”

“C’mon, Taehyung, cum on your dashboard like a big boy.”

You continue your ministrations, tightening your fist around his length as you stroke him faster and faster. “You know you wanna cum for me, don’t you? Tae’s precious little idol.”

His reaction to the nickname you’d heard his colleagues call him was not missed by you.

“Fuck,” he groans, head tilting back. “Say that again.”

“What? Tae?”

His cock twitches. “I don’t know why, but I really like it when you say my name.”

You lean in to whisper. “Then I’ll make sure to scream it when you inevitably fuck me.”

His eyes blink white, head slamming into the headrest. His cock twitches, then releases. You try to catch most of the mess in your hands but some escape onto his shirt and, unfortunately for him, his dashboard.

“You know what you’re doing, hm? My little slut. Made me cum so fast, baby.” He condescendingly pats your head as you help him wipe down the few strings of cum that misaimed.

“Far shooter, huh?”

“Shut up,” he huffs. “What about you? With how much you’ve been chasing after me, you must’ve wanted me that bad.” He nips at your ear. “Let me touch you.”

You feel his teeth drag against your skin, from your nape to your collarbone. You’re aware of the brush of his lips, the warmth of his breath, and the way he is pressed so close against you. Across the console, he reaches to slip his hand beneath the band of your bottoms. It is a familiar motion, reminiscent of what happened on the couch that night.

He wastes little time as his finger glides into you with an embarrassing squelch. You feel the rough pad rub against your g-spot, amazed at the swiftness in which he’d found it. Your walls tighten around him when he inserts a second then third digit.

“You’re so fucking tight. I want to bury my cock into this slutty hole so badly, you don’t even know,” he groans into your neck. His hand roughly paws at your chest. In want of more, he lifts your shirt, baring your chest to the traffic. “Thank god for tinted windows.”

He pinches your nipples, tugging them until they’ve extended farther than you’ve ever tried to. “My perfect little fuckdoll. My good fucking slut. All for me– only for me.” Hand confined in the tightness of your trousers, every motion caused his palm to slap against your skin, perfectly blending pleasure and pain.

He continues to rapidly finger you until you feel that telltale drop in the bottom of your stomach. He holds you as you cum, body shaking in the small space of the passenger’s seat. The fledgling feeling in your gut erupts with the incandescent sparks of some other foreign emotion. You wonder if it is happiness, or perhaps some remnant of lust. But then he looks at you—eyes soft as he caresses your hair, trailing fingers to your nape—and you think that it is the beginning of something else entirely.

“You good?” His voice is faint as he pulls you to face him. His flickering gaze searches your expression for some sign of hesitation or regret of which you have none.

“Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Same here.” He smiles. “Don’t blame me though if you have a hard time during practice.”

You punch his shoulder with a chuckle, serenity descending upon you in the afterglow of a cause of stress meeting its resolution.

After lunch you see a carton of orange juice sitting innocently on that couch, a small sticky-note attached to it. In clean handwriting, it read: ‘a peace offering’.

You laugh, stabbing the plastic straw into the carton.

You’d take it.

Kim Taehyung has always thought your beauty was the kind that accompanied devastation; attractive in a way that halted his breath and stymied his heart. Perhaps a bit too much for his sanity and his cock, which has been rubbed raw to the thought of you one too many times. You are much too pretty for his own good, and it has grown increasingly difficult to be around you without wanting to fuck you against every surface imaginable.

It’s made worse by the mask of nymph-like innocence that you wear around him, wearing those tight leggings and parading your pretty pussy for everyone to see. He knows you aren’t his. Knows it with all the confidence of blue skies and steady lakes, but there are times, strenuous times, where it is difficult to control the possessive nature he is chained by. When his co-workers mention how sexy you are in your latest comeback teasers he simply clenches his fists and stays quiet lest said fists pummel their faces. He isn’t a violent man by any means (and definitely wouldn’t stand a chance in a real fight, because, as his friends have said, he’d never do anything that could potentially ruin his pretty face) but he entertains the thought as a way to keep sane when forced to listen to their ramblings.

When he has to stand behind you during fansigns, he can’t help the bitter feeling that rises in his gut when you hold hands with fans he knows could never know you in the same intimacy that he does. When they talk about how much they love you, an indignant voice in his head fights back: do they know about all the pretty little lingerie you keep in the back of your closet? Do they know about how bad you are at hiding your moans when you play with your pretty pussy in hotel showers knowing that he’s waiting for you outside? Do they know the soft texture of your tits and the way your eyes roll back when he plays with your nipples just right?

It’s an irrational sort of jealousy, but he’s learned to bear it as part of the occupation. There are times, however, where it is much more arduous a task, such as the massage of last week and the car ride of yesterday.

The feeling is not one he is fond of; how at odds his desire to ruin you is with his one to have you ruin him. Such had been a constant in the past year. Blame proximity or his lowered standards of human decency after having worked with only the most heinous people in the industry – you were kind, even when you needn’t be, even when you shouldn’t have been. And it ached somewhere beneath his chest that you thought him deserving of it.

He knows such feelings are ones not meant for him to have, but he has long since been past the denial that it was only but a physical sort of affection. However, even with your initiation of yesterday’s tryst, he doesn’t allow himself to indulge in you in a manner less carnal; his gaze lustful as you prepare for a livestream.

You glance at him once as if sensing the shift in the air before you press ‘start’.

As your manager, he has to be in the room for most of your activities, even the boring ones – but he can think of a few ways to make it less so. For him and you.

You greet your fans with a laugh that is akin to sunlight bursting through foliage. “Of course I missed you guys, it’s why I’m doing this live right now.”

Your company-issued phone, to read and answer comments, is slid across the table with a note meant only for you: ‘Want to play a game, good girl?’

Though your eyes widen, you type your reply in the guise of looking through your fans’ messages, ever the professional. Your glance towards his phone is pointed and when he checks it he sees the notification of your text. ‘I don’t know what you’re planning, you horny fuck, but if you think I’m losing in any game then you’re on.’

There is little ceremony in how he drops to his knees to move underneath, cautious to keep silent. The table tall enough to situate himself. Oh, how he wishes he could see your reaction. He focuses on your voice: the hesitation in which you resume speaking; the hitch in your breath as he spreads your legs; the tremble in your tone as he places his hands on your thighs.

The sight of you beneath is lewd. Your underwear, a simple cotton gray piece, is already soaked. He’d always loved the color gray, especially because of how obvious it made wetness appear.

He allowed himself a moment to appreciate everything about you. The softness of your thighs. The stretch marks on your hips. The dotted marks that lined your legs. His nose grazes your knee, breathing in the saltiness of your sweat. How badly he wants to eat you up. To wholly consume you and spit you out in broken pieces, forced to crawl back to him in order to be fixed. It’s a horrible thought, he’s well aware, but he can’t help but be fixated on the idea that you might want that as well.

Your skin is as silken as he remembers, but touching it feels utterly different, stark raving mad; he leans into that sentiment, urgent in his need to pull you closer and kiss your thigh harder, desperately starved for something he could not yet name.

He imagines it difficult for you to read through the comments let alone reply to them when his hands are caressing your waist and playing with the garter of your underwear. Blood rushes to his cock at the sighs you release every time he teasingly dips his fingers past the fabric. You’re so pretty and perfect for him, his little slut.

Phone in hand, he sends: ‘Your pussy’s so wet for me already, baby. Do you want me to eat you out?’

It’s easy to surmise when you receive it, a light gasp disrupting your sentence.

He struggles to hold his laughter when your consent is given through a grab of his hair and a shove towards your crotch. Satisfied with your enthusiasm, his lips caress you above the fabric, catching against your clit but not wanting to give you what you want. Not yet.

He teases you for ten minutes, licking up and down your clothed cunt until the fabric is fully darkened – only then does he push it aside to expose your pussy lips to him completely. Having tested the patience of both you and him, he wastes little time in capturing your clit between his lips, suctioning onto it whilst swirling his tongue.

You spread your legs wider to give more access, allowing him to move from your clit to your tight hole, slowly edging his tongue inside it. Building up the pace, he begins fucking you with it whilst rubbing your clit with two fingers in quick circular motions.

He gathers his spit around his finger before pushing the moisture into you. You lewdly clench around the digit, sucking him deeper into your depths, just as he thought you would. You’re always so good for him. He could just picture your humiliated face as he slaps his cock around your cheeks, wiping your tears and his cum around your skin. He knows you’re a pretty crier, and he’s never wanted anything more than to see those tears be caused by him.

Another finger is pushed in. Then a third. But he knows you can take it – knows that you’d be able to take everything he gives you.

When your thighs begin to stiffen and you clench around his fingers—the tell-tale sign that you’re close to completion—he stops.

He shoots off another text. ‘What a horny fucking slut, getting fingered in front of her fans like this. I wonder what they’d think if they knew how you were really like. Just a pliant little bitch who’s always ready to slut herself out at her manager’s every whim. Don’t tell me you think you deserve to cum just because you want to?’

Above, he can hear your sardonic chuckles as your knuckles wrap against the table in obvious frustration.

“I know this was a short one, but I have to go practice. I’m sorry for leaving you guys hanging,” you say with blatant venom, kicking his shoulder beneath the table. “Bye!”

He pinches your thigh in retaliation.

Before you can kick him again, he stills your leg with a firm grip.

Accepting your loss with a sigh, you rush to turn the live off, gaping at him when emerges from where he’d knelt. “What was that for?”

He grins, gums showing. “Revenge for what happened in the car. I was scolded by upper management for bringing you late, y’know?”

You punch his shoulder. “At least I let you cum… asshole. This is the second time you’ve blue-balled me.”

“Good thing I prepared this, then.” In his hand is another carton of orange juice. “Peace offering?”

“If a thousand won juice is your form of a white flag then I must say you’re quite stingy.”

“Hey, you’re the rich one in our relationship.”

“Oh, so we have a relationship now?”

His smile drops slightly as he rubs his nape. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do, actually.” Though you’re smiling, your eyes are serious, searching his for an answer that he knows he’s not yet ready to give. “I-”

He grabs your hand and places the carton in your grasp. “I’ll get you two orange juices next time, alright?”

‘Next time’, he thinks. It’s the closest thing to an answer he can give you.

The establishment of your newfound ‘relationship’ was one suffused with clandestine trysts in storage rooms and cars, and yet it had never gone past touching and tasting as if it were an unspoken rule. You sensed it in the hesitancy upon which he laid kisses across your neck and jaw, never moving upwards. There was a fragility to his movements that gave you pause as time went on and words left unspoken remained so. Taehyung was gentle even when he called you his whore, and what began as ways to relieve each others’ stress led to hours spent in the afterglow talking about anything under the weather.

What you appreciated most (even more than the times he’d go down on you for hours) were the rare glimpses into his thoughts when he’d let his guard down. His rants about how his friends sucked ass at gaming, him bringing the new mechanical keyboard he’d splurged on just to show off to you his custom-made keys, him quitting smoking when you nagged about the smell and how he subsequently would complain to you about withdrawals before having you suck him off to relieve his other urges.

You wanted to lurk upon every crevice of his mind, know every secret he held close, and you know he craved it just the same. You each felt the devastation of fear, hesitation; you shared moments lovely and small, sat beneath midnight stars in the back of his car, insignificant in the face of endlessness. A month in each other’s company and you’d grown to understand that you wanted more from him than carnality.

It is why it is no surprise to you to find his glare pointed towards the man you’re flirting with. In an effort to leave practice early to meet with friends, your hand lingers on your instructor’s arm, pleading desperation alongside a promise to work twice as hard the next day. Men are easy that way, and the next thing you know he gives you permission with a nod.

…And on the other hand, there are men like Taehyung.

“You really think you’re getting out of it that easily?”

You point at the emptied room. “Seems so.”

He scoffs with crossed arms, the definition of intimidation with his bangs casting shadows across his eyes. “You’ve been getting out of breath too quickly during dry runs.”

“I’ve been getting exercise through other means, don’t worry.” Your eyebrows wiggle.

“I’m sure your newly developed neck and hand muscles will help after hours of performing.”

“I think you’re just jealous,” you say.

His laugh is hollow, forced from the depths of some aching thing. “And why would I feel that?”

“Because you like me but you don’t want to admit it,” you say with a shrug. “And you use the whole ‘manager and idol’ thing as an excuse when really you’re just a pussy.”

There is little he can do to hinder the shocked guffaw that parts his lips at your blunt observation. “Confident, are we?”

“Very, actually.”

He shakes his head but smiles in exasperation. “What am I going to do with you?”

“A lot of things, I hope.” You wrap your hands around his shoulders, pulling him in closer.

“I thought you had somewhere to be.” His nose brushes against your neck, the warmth of his breath scattering goosebumps across your skin.

“My friends can wait,” you say. “I can bless them with the honor of my presence in another hour or two.”

“Oh, am I supposed to be honored that you’re choosing to spend time with me, then?”

“Don’t you know how charitable I am even if you can be kind of a dick sometimes. Or, well, all the time. But that’s just semantics.”

He hums in response, arms around your waist tightening.

“You never answered my question,” you remind him.

His brow raises. “And you never answered mine: do you really think I’m going to just let you play hooky?”

“Well, I was hoping to offer you something a little more fun than watching me exercise.” You trail your hand down his arm, nails scratching along his veins.

“Oh,” he scoffs. “Is that the same thing you were offering him?”

“I’m yours, aren’t I?”

He tilts your chin upwards. “You wanna be my object tonight, baby? Is that what you’re saying?” Taehyung tended to be all bark but no bite, but the embers lit beneath his pupils indicated that this time would be different.

“Is that even a question?” you reply.

You bite your bottom lip in anticipation, only to be met with: “Then do fifty jumping jacks. Now.”

“You’re joking, but I thought-”

“Objects aren’t supposed to think. They just do as they’re commanded... Or so your favorite erotic novel alpha males always say.”

You give him a pointed look. “Yeah, the key word being ‘erotic novel’, not ‘workout manual’.”

He holds his hands up beside his head in defense, making a face. “I’m doing this for you. And besides…” He takes a step towards you, caressing your chest. “We can always multitask.”

You groan but comply, though the feeling of doing that specific exercise is tantalizingly embarrassing when he’s watching you so closely.

“Sweating already?” He moves to stand behind you, observing from the mirror. “Let me help you.”

He stills your movement to reach around and unzip your hoodie, pulling the sleeves off your arms. Underneath, you’re only wearing a flimsy white shirt coated with sweat, leaving it transparent enough for Taehyung to see your red sports bra.

He presses his mouth to your ear and whispers, “Did I say you were finished, slut?” He laughs. “Don’t look surprised. What else could you be with your tits bouncing everywhere. The fact that you can’t even comprehend what I’m saying is just proving my point.”

You almost regret sharing with him your favorite romance books. Almost. If only because of the way your knees buckle at his degradation.

You continue the motions and Taehyung does little to disguise how he watches your chest as it bounces with every jump. With your arms outstretched, there is nothing to cover the jiggling weight.

Neither of you are keeping count but after two minutes he ceases your movement with a firm “stop”.

“You like playing games with me, don’t you? Want to play another one? I’ll reach into your panties and if you’re wet, you’ll be my personal little slut. Are you willing to take that bet, pretty girl?”

“Yes,” you say without further thought, and his hands dip into your leggings and past your underwear. You already know the answer, have known it since the moment he’d walked into the room with his heavy gaze on your body.

“Oh, you’re soaking, baby,” he purrs into your neck, his fingers caressing your folds but not applying the direct pressure that your humping hips seek. “Does your pussy like the thought of being owned by me?”

His hands still with the promise of moving only when you reply. “Yes,” you cry. “I want to be your personal… I want to be your personal slut. Just please… Touch me.”

“You think you deserve to be touched for your pleasure? Are you forgetting what you’re supposed to be doing right now?”

He retracts his hand but you rush to grip his wrist. “Tae, please. I need it so bad.”

“Need what, baby?” he coos, ever softened when you use his nickname.

“I need you to finger me. To make me cum.”

To your surprise he complies, shoving two into your snatch. His fingers scissor you, stretching you out. He pushes another in, all three pushing in and out of you, making disgusting and lewd sounds.

“Aren’t idols supposed to be pure and innocent? I’m ruining you, aren’t I, slut? What would your precious fans think if they knew you liked being a whore for your manager? They’d probably lose all respect for you. Your latest stage outfit was a pretty little number too. Probably had all your fans jerking their little dicks off to your fancams. I just know if I searched your name up the first thing I’d see is some asshole doing a cum tribute to you.” He laughs. “Too bad for them they’ll never know just how tight and wet your pussy is, because I own it now, right?”

“You’ve always owned me– Fuck!” You yelp when Taehyung bites your neck. Your makeup artists were definitely going to have a hard time covering that up. “I love the way you control me so easily.”

“If you weren’t such a brat all the time it’d be a lot easier.” The speed in which his fingers met your g-spot increased. “You always seemed so uptight. Did you ever expect that you’d get played around with by your manager? The other staff members would love to know that you’re into this kinky shit. Especially your fans. Everyone’s always talking about how sexy you are but I bet you know that, don’t you? You thrive on it – want everyone to jerk off to you.”

To your dismay, he pulls out. “You were complaining about your sore throat earlier, weren’t you? I know a good solution for that.”

He tugs you by the back of your neck, moving you closer to his crotch. He pulls down the zipper, releasing the familiar length of his cock. You run your hands from the tip to his balls as if driven by pure instinct, wrought only with the need for proximity. Taking the head into your mouth, you slowly begin to swallow him until it reaches your throat. As he’d taught you, you let him deepthroat for a bit before releasing him with a gasp for air.

Patting your head, he encourages you to keep going. “What a perfect fleshlight. Born to suck cock.”

It is an all-consuming task, leaving room for little else in your mind as you make sure to avoid your teeth from scraping him as well taking note of when to suction and when to draw him deeper into your throat.

He groans with every ministration. “Doing so good for me, baby. Always my perfect slut, so good at taking dick. It’s like you were meant for it. Meant to have your throat pussy be my cum dump. At this point, this should be your job.” You look up and meet his eyes, a twinkling obsidian shade. “Ready for your medicine?”

He grabs the back of your head and takes control of the pace, roughly fucking himself with your throat. His moans grow louder, taking full advantage of the sound-proof nature of the room. You could clearly hear the sounds of your choking, spit drooling down the sides of your mouth as you struggle to keep with his rhythm. The scent of his cock sends you into overdrive, and, though you’re already wet, you feel yourself gush beneath, your pussy clinging to your underwear.

You know well enough, from his pretty groans and tightening grip, that he was about to cum.

“There you go, pretty girl. Your favorite meal. Drink it all up like the depraved cum dump you are.”

You swallow, and gasp, and swallow again. His cum, sticky and bitter, lingers in the back of your throat as you choke for a decent breath of air. It shoots into your mouth, spilling all over your tongue and lips, dripping down the sides. You gag at the taste, coughing up the creamy fluids onto the floor. Your hands tighten on his thighs, struggling to steady your lightheaded self. When he releases your hair from his grasp, you stumble back onto his crotch, heaving breaths against his softening cock.

His thumb wipes sweat from your forehead. “What are you doing, baby?” He grabs the top of your head, forcing you to look into his eyes as tears stream down yours. “That isn’t what sluts do, and I thought we already established that that’s all you are. Objects listen to their owners, don’t they?”

“I-I’m sorry,” you whine, not really apologetic when you know that he knows that cum isn’t exactly your favorite flavor.

He tugs at your hair, lifting you back onto your knees. “You’re acting like I care about what dumb little brats like you want – I don’t. Lick my cum off the floor. Now.” He grins. “And don’t forget that you got some on my boots, too.”

You hesitate, eyeing the strings of white that decorate the wooden panels and the black of his shoes.

“Consider this as punishment for trying to skip out on your exercises.” He crosses his arms, looking down at you with an unimpressed countenance. “So, now, be a good girl and lick my fucking cum off the floor.”

You move your face to the ground and give it kitten licks similar to how you liked to tease Taehyung’s cock. The taste is salty, and you shudder to wonder when the floor was last cleaned. You look up, hoping that that act of obedience is enough to quell his thirst for domination over you. It isn’t.

“I said, clean it up,” he hisses. “Do I really have to grab the back of your head for this? Yeah?” He pushes your head to stay close to the floor. “Don’t just stay there like a stupid bitch. Open your fucking mouth, let me see that tongue. Yeah… There we go, baby.”

You do as he says, collecting his spilt cum.

“All of it,” he groans, watching you debase yourself for his entertainment. “The boots, too.”

You move towards his feet that are impatiently tapping against the floor. Your tongue hesitantly drops out of your mouth, trying to touch as little of it as possible.

Unexpectedly, he presses his shoe against your lips, causing you to deeply lick the length of it in surprise. “You’re not doing a thorough enough job, slut. Don’t disappoint me.”

Once you’ve deemed it spotless you look up to face him. “Is that good enough, your highness?”

He snorts, helping you stand up after having knelt for the better half of an hour. “You mean, was that good enough for you to finally cum?” He reaches between your legs to smack your sensitive pussy, aiming for your swollen clit. “Still want more, baby?”

You nod, whimpering in pain at the unexpected hit.

“Sluts are always horny, aren’t they? Since I’m so good to you, I’ll let you hump against my boot to relieve yourself.”

“Oh, fuck you-”

He grabs you by the chin, tugging you to his face. “Don’t try to hide that you’re an insatiable slut now. I know exactly who you are and what you want. And I know that what you want is to be humiliated like this. Now be a good bitch and fuck yourself on my shoe.”

What’s more humiliating is the speed in which you position yourself below him as you slowly squat down until your crotch brushes against the hard tip. Your hands grip his trousers as you begin humping his boot. You struggle to find enough stimulation, still wearing your underwear and leggings. “Tae,” you whine. “It’s not enough.”

Frustration makes way for pleasure when Taehyung angles his foot up just right. Your moans are relentless now as you buck your hips wildly without rhyme or reason. You are simply a vessel controlled by pleasure, exactly as he wants you.

“Yeah, rub your clit against my shoe like the well-trained slut that you are.” He spits on your face, the fluid dripping down your nose and onto your lips. “You know that I don’t care about your pleasure, right? You’re just an entertaining toy to me. Who owns you?”

“You,” you whine. “You own me, Tae.”

“Then cum, baby.”

Your orgasm is an all-consuming force that possesses your body. It starts at your stomach, that incendiary pulse, before you feel it between your thighs. You can tell that you’ve lost all bodily control by the numbness in your hands and feet and how one second you are humping Taehyung’s shoe and the next you’re laying flat on the ground, his figure towering over you.

Your pussy is still attached to his shoe, and, as if it is an unconscious desire, you continue to move against it until your senses return, reminding you of the pain that overstimulation causes.

He kneels down and lifts his hand, and you aren’t sure what he’s doing until you feel his fingers brush against your cheek, gently wiping away a tear. “You did so well for me, today.”

Rivers trail down your face as you shake your head with what was left of your strength. “I need more.”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

You meet his gaze. “Tae, I want you to kiss me.”

He blinks, gulps, and stutters, “What?”

“I want you to kiss me.”

Despite everything you’d done together you’d still yet to share that one intimate act. Perhaps because doing so would make everything feel so much more real.

You caress the side of his face, watching as he watches you, hesitant to make the first move. The silent anticipation weighs upon you like honey, dense yet saccharine, and you slowly move closer and closer until you feel his breath on your skin. His eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes and back.

“You can kiss me already, you know,” he mutters.

“I’m not the one scared of my feelings,” you say. “I can wait for you as long as it takes.”

And so he does.

When you kiss it simply feels right. His head tilts as you deepen it, licking his bottom lip. Your hands run through his hair, the perm he’d kept when you complimented it one too many times. You kiss him until his bottom lip swells and he kisses you until your mouth is numb. He wrestles your top over you, kissing down your arms before meeting back at your mouth.

There are touches that feel like beginnings and touches that feel like endings, but this one felt so awfully far from either, tucked perfectly between as if whispering of times past and times present. It feels like comfort, his hand on your neck, a grip so gentle that the promise of it was what had you gasping for breath. It is new yet familiar all the same, and when he kisses you harder—pressed against you as if in fear of letting go—you kiss him back with all the same intensity.

When you break apart, he steadies himself with hands wrapped around your waist, hair covering his face as he looks down with astonished laughter. You think that he is gorgeous in a way that makes your heart ache, but it is when he looks up, noticing your admiration, that your breath catches.

You collide once more and there are no more questions, no more waiting.

He lifts his shirt off and tosses it to the side before draping his body across the length of your own. Though the floor is hard against your back, you’re distracted by the rigidity of his muscles pressed against you.

“Do you have a condom?” you remind him.

He curses, standing up. He almost trips over himself in his rush to his bag, rummaging through it for the plastic wrapper. He makes a victorious sound when he finds it, holding it above his head. “Got it!”

You laugh into your hand. “Hurry up, you loser.”

He gets back on top of you, pressing kisses around your face. He kicks off his pants until he’s as naked as you are before positioning himself above your hole.

“Is this okay?” He rubs the head of his cock against your clit.

“More than okay,” you say.

The heat of him sliding into your pussy sparks kindles in your gut. He’s rough yet gentle. Too fast yet too slow. A paradox of sensations encapsulated by the longing gaze in his eyes and the torturous grip he has on your nipples.

He pulls out until only the tip is in before slamming his hips against yours, balls smacking your ass with a clapping sound. He repeats the motion until you’re drooling, rocking back and forth.

“You feel so good,” he moans, moving to grip your tiger-striped thighs. He lowers you until he’s buried balls deep into your warmth, and you can feel his hard length spasming as he adjusts to the tightness. “Feels so much better than I could’ve ever imagined. No one compares to you, baby.”

Despite the thin layer of protection you can feel every vein rub against the soft walls of your cavern. It deliciously fills you up until you’re delirious, drowning in the feeling.

“How many cocks have you had before me?”

“Two.” A friend and a boyfriend – neither of which mattered when the only cock you could think of was Taehyung’s.

“What I would give to have been the one to take your virginity.” He sighs. “Guess I’ll just have to fuck the memory of them out of you.”

His hips begin to thrust into you with a pace you can barely comprehend. The head of his cock reaches so deep, much farther than any cock or toy has ever gone. He pushes into you as if you were a pussy pocket crafted for his pleasure, holding your thighs to your chest in a mating press.

Your breath hitches with every upwards thrust as you struggle to speak. Words swim in your head, a thousand lines of ink dotting across pages like stars that twinkle in and out of existence, unable to catch them before they disappear.

He bites the lobe of your ear, tugging it. His hands caress the entirety of your body with wild abandon, struck with the need to feel you – to ensure that you are really the one beneath him. You, the gravitas of which he orbits.

When you begin twitching underneath him he focuses on hitting your g-spot, lessening the speed. He pulls out then slams back in, repeating it over and over and over. He taps your clit in rapid succession, occasionally rubbing before landing a hard smack against the nub. His other hand goes to your neck, applying pressure to the sides of it. Your mind goes blank. Your legs go numb. Then somewhere between your legs you feel it.

The orgasm is euphoric. You thrash in his hold, the pleasure all too much for your mind and body to take. The feeling is everywhere.

“That’s it, baby.” His thrusts begin to lose rhythm as he chases his own release in wild abandon. “So good for me. Mine. All mine.”

He cums into the condom with one final jerk, burying himself as deep into you as he could. The overstimulation is just enough to not be too painful as he stays inside you for a few moments more, barely able to pull himself out of your warmth.

His eyes are blown wide as he flops to the ground beside you, tying then tossing the condom to the side. “That was…”

“I can’t believe we waited that long to fuck.” The punch you land on his shoulder is weak.

He carries your limp body to the couch he’d massaged you on that fateful month before and gently lays your head against a cushion. Brushing a few strands of hair away from your forehead, he places a kiss on your temple. It’s gentle.

“How are you feeling?” He slips beside you until you’re laying side by side and nudges his nose against your shoulder like a cat seeking attention. “Was I too much?”

“No, it was really good, trust me.” Try as you did, there weren’t words in your vocabulary that could sufficiently explain what you had just experienced.

His eyes flicker the length of figure as if attempting to convince himself that he, indeed, had not accidentally fucked your body to the point of destruction. He pouts but sighs, taking your word for it.

Abashed in the afterglow, he asks once more, “You know I didn’t mean most of what I said, right?”

“Most?” You grin. “So what did you say that you did mean?”

“I’m sure I called you pretty once or twice,” he grumbles, burying his face in your neck.

“You already know that I like it,” you assured him. ��You’re always so good to me, Tae.”

His eyes soften as he laughs, the melody of it soothing. “It’s because it’s you. And I like you.”

“If I had known that the way to get you to admit your feelings for me was to fuck you then I would’ve done it ages ago.”

There’s a long pause as he composes himself. His hair tickles your neck, his arm a gentle weight around your stomach, and you feel the warmth of skin not your own.

“Shut up.” His ears are red as he flicks your forehead with faux nonchalance. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

Dizzy in the moment, you reach up to cup his face and kiss him. He meets your lips with a gentle eagerness, trailing his fingertips across your chest and along the grooves of your collarbones.

“I like you, too,” you say. “But I also really, really hate you. I’m going to be so sore tomorrow.”

He laughs, pecking your shoulder. “Good thing I’m here to massage you then.”

thank u for reading!! <3 if u liked it let me know ! : ✉

#taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fanfic #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fic #taehyung scenarios #taehyung imagine #bts scenarios #bts x reader #taehyung x y/n

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witch-hazels-musings · 3 years ago

Text

Until you are safe

Warning: Vision Hunt Decree still in effect, kidnapped themes, reader grabbed by hair (Thoma), possessive themes (scara)

Character X GN Reader | Anthology

Includes: Albedo, Scara, Thoma, Zhongli

Albedo

The frosty chill of the mountain side was more than you could bear. Every time you thought you gained warmth it was ripped from your body by icy hands threatening to drive you insane. You shivered and wrapped your coat further around your body while you scowled against the frigid cold.

Ahead of you stood Albedo who seemed indifferent to the temperature and while you were impressed that he knew how to handle this without any complaints, you were also irritated by the fact. He was barely wearing anything and here you were shivering under countless layers of cloth.

He turned to tell you something but with the turbulent winds and nibbling frost against your ears, you didn’t understand a single word he said. Quickly, you forced your legs to move as you made your way to his side.

“W-w-what di-did you s-say?” Your chattering teeth made it hard, and painful, to speak but you did your best anyway.

“We are nearly there, can you keep going?” He narrowed his eyes at you but you knew that was a common thing he did. It was unlikely to have any additional meaning behind it.

“H-how f-f-f-ar?”

“Just around the bend.” He rested the back of his hand against your cheek and somehow that made you shiver even more than the touch of frost. When you nodded and began to walk forward, he took up position behind you and directed you toward the camp.

With the cave blocking out the wind, and several warming mechanisms already glowing, you stumbled your way in between them an the fire. Trembling hands extended toward the orange and yellow light while you watched the snow drip from your clothes.

“I always h-hat-te this p-p-part.” You complained, shaking your head and shoulders to warm up the muscles. This wasn’t the first time you traveled to Dragonspine with Albedo, but each time you braved the conditions you recalled the promise you made yourself last time. Never again, well ... I guess that promise was made to be broken.

“Here, this will help warm you.” He handed you a cup and immediately you caught the scent of fresh and soothing tea. The aroma itself perked you up and even though your fingers were still stiff, you graciously took the offering. Warmth seeped into your throat as the liquid carved a path down your esophagus and into the pit of your baron stomach. With a refreshing hum you smiled through the steam.

“P-p-perfect. Thank-k y-you.” Another sip warmed your lips and tickled your nose but you didn’t dare stop.

“This trip should be less strenuous than last time.” Albedo began, his back turned to you as he rummaged through the stacks of books. “Where did I place that ... perhaps it got caught in the wind, that would be unfortunate.”

You giggled, eyes watching him meander and speak to himself all at the same time. He had a habit of doing it but it never bothered you, in fact it was comforting to hear his voice, stabilizing, grounding.

“You ca-can head out. I’ll b-be fine here after I w-warm up-p.” The shivering had eased, but you still succumbed to the residual affects as your body began to shift from frozen to thawed.

“No need, I can wait here for a while.”

“Haha, that’s silly, g-go on ahead.” You took another sip of the cup and found yourself sad at the emptiness of it. That’s when a hand entered your field of vision and you watched Albedo walk toward a table, refill your drink, and return to your side. He offered it to you and when your fingers found the circumference his nestled against them.

“Until I know you are safe, I will be here.” His eyes held your own for a while as if waiting for your reaction, your response, and when you nodded he mimicked your action before slipping back toward the bookshelves and research table.

You were glad he left you, because if he hadn’t you were sure the only way to cool down was to step beyond the barrier of the cave and into the never-ending snowstorm that protected Dragonspine.

Scara

Being at the side of a Harbinger had it’s own trials. If it wasn’t the constant movement between assignments or the threats against your life, it was the loneliness which creeped in every single day. There were some Harbingers who left the life of love far outside of their reach: Signora, who vowed to never love again and instead put all her attention into fulfilling her duty, Childe, found love a difficult thing to ignore and did his best to keep what he cherished hidden behind closed doors.

Scara, he never understood the meaning of the word until it crashed around him like a house crumbles into itself, and the way he kept his belongings safe was to have them near him at all times. It was far better to be under the watchful eyes of his competence than leave something so valuable in the hands of another. So, here you were, following him around and staying hidden until he called for you.

The room was empty, absent of all the things you would have normally kept to make this place more homey. If you could get away with it, you’d have made some changes to the décor, but the problem with never settling in one place for long made this desire of yours difficult to accomplish. It wasn’t feasible, you thought to yourself but that didn’t stop you from adding a bit of comfort when you could.

The night came and went without issue and after you prepared yourself for bed you wondered where your lover was. Was he succeeding, was he accomplishing his goals, would he return to you tonight or would you wake up alone yet again. Luckily for you, you had learn to be patient.

Your dreams kept you occupied but there seemed to be something about them that pulled you toward consciousness, a subtle wish drifting across your imagines to wake up.

Something brushed across your cheek, but was it the dream or reality, you couldn’t tell. Gravity pulled you close to something sturdy, but was it a creation of your imagination or the real thing - why was this so challenging. When your eyes finally opened and adjusted to the light of the room, you realized what had been calling to you.

“Scara?” You pulled your hand down from behind the pillow, the muscles tense from being locked into that position for so long. “What has-”

“Go back to sleep.” He spoke and the sound of his voice pulled you closer to him.

“Is everything okay?” You continued your question as if what he said was never uttered, your eyes trying to find the outline of his frame while your skin adjusted to his touch.

“Nothing to concern yourself with, just sleep.”

“But, why are you here?

“I don’t recall needing your permission to do anything.” His words may have been direct, but you could sense there was something else behind them.

“... would you ... like to come to bed?”

“I can’t.” He adjusted and you felt the warmth of the blankets cover more of your exposed skin. The chill of the evening became blocked by the sheets and you hummed in response. You were confused, but the feeling of his hand running along your neck, your jaw, and into your hair made all the questions you had disappear. Moments like these brought out something completely different in the Harbinger and you wondered why he treated you so differently.

With a yawn, you turned into his touch, lips finding the palm of his hand easily and placing a tender kiss against his skin. “You don’t need to stay if you have work to do. I’ll be fine.” You hummed again as he thumb ran over your lips and the gentle pull of sleep began to find you. It was quiet for a while and you focused on the warmth, the closeness, the comfort he provided until you practically melted into the bed.

“I can’t do that either.” Scara whispered, hand pressing into the mattress as he leaned closer to your face. “Not until you are safe,” He breathed in your scent, gazing down at your trusting form beneath him. “Even from me.” He spoke as his fingers curled into the sheets and before he lost himself in you, he slipped from your bedroom and made his way down the hall.

Thoma

He ran so fast as soon as the news reached him. The weight of his feet as he dashed through the countryside grew with every passing second but there was nothing more painful than his clenching heart and anxious thoughts.

What have they done, am I to late, please don’t be too late. He wracked his brain over and over again, blamed himself for the stupidity of leaving you. If he had been there would the outcome be different? If he had stayed, would he have been able to fend off their attack enough to get you to safety. How foolish of him for thinking they wouldn’t use dirty tricks like this to accomplish their goals.

Rumors and intel began to swirl like wildfire and at this point he couldn’t differentiate the accuracy of it all. There was one thing he knew for certain, the vision hunters had you and he was going to get you back.

Their campsite was simple and you wondered if they would really be able to escort all of these prisoners back to the city on their own. They were intimidating enough to keep most insurrection at bay, but you were not about to let them get away with this. After a quick analysis of your surroundings, you found a few potential options worth trying, now it was only a matter of timing.

“You won’t get away with this!” Someone shouted next to you and you patiently waited for an opportunity.

“Shut up.” A soldier barked, his dismissive attitude apparent from the lack of eye contact and the wave of his hand.

“This is wrong and you know it! Do you think you’re immune to the decree, when the day come to hand over your vision will you?!”

The soldier turned and made his way through the trembling captured, you used the scuffling of those trying to get out of his way as an excuse to move closer to your escape. The dirt scraped against your bound hands and pulled at your clothes, but you didn’t care because each inch you gained the closer you got to freedom.

You watched the soldier lift the woman from the ground, his impressive height apparent as she dangled above the well worn soil. “I will do what is necessary for the Raiden Shogun. I am bound by honor, unlike the resistance.”

“Honor! You know nothing of it. Put me down you brute.” She spat in his face and he reacted in kind. You hated the fact that you were using her as your distraction, but hopefully if this all worked out in the end freedom would be enough compensation for her bruised face. Your fingers brushed against a metal handle, the sword you were aiming for had been reached and you quickly worked to get yourself free from the bindings.

The loosening rope told you of your success but when your hand wrapped around the hilt of the weapon and you moved to stand, a sudden pain against your head made your vision go blurry.

“What do you think you are doing?!” Shouted a voice near your ear. They were so loud that you shrunk away from it only to be yanked right back. “You think you could take on all of us? Are you stupid.”

“I didn’t think so.” You wheezed, blinking harshly to try and bring your vision back to clarity.

“Well let me help you understand.” He drug you away from the group but before you could take but a few steps, an intense groan blasted it’s way near you and the hand that held your hair fell away in an instant.

“Are you alright?” A familiar voice asked, hands finding your waist to steady you. It was like your eyes snapped back on because as soon as you turned your head, you found Thoma standing their with an expression you’d never seen before: fury.

“I’m - ouch - okay.” You whispered and then you realized the implications of him being there. Turning, you pressed your hands against his chest and pushed against him, your voice turned tense as you shouted. “Ge-get out of here! What if they catch you!?”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Thoma!”

He looked down at you, his arm tightening around you and you swore the world shifted red and the screaming soldiers shouts became muffled. “Until I know you are safe, I’m not leaving.” He looked forward and the glint of his polearm caught your attention. “Now hold on, okay.”

The dry landscape turned into a wildfire until only what Thoma wanted to remain, remained.

Zhongli

“This is very kind of you, Zhongli. To walk me home.” You chuckled, gazing up at him as you made your way down the path and toward the city. It wasn’t uncommon for Zhongli to escort you from place to place, but tonight you would have assumed he would stay on the Pearl and continue his lively conversation.

“It is no trouble at all, to allow you to walk by yourself would not sit well with me.” Zhongli commented matter-of-factly, his eyes closing as he nodded his head and gazed up toward the stars.

“You were having such a nice time, know that I didn’t mean to bring that too a close.” You scratched your forehead and adjusted your clothes after climbing the stairs from the docks. It was a rather pleasant night, but it usually was in Liyue this time of year.

“I would never insinuate you had ill intentions. I made this decision on my own, to escort you is no trouble at all.”

“Yes, well, that’s very kind of you Zhongli.” The lights of the festival swayed in the wind. To you they looked like fireflies in the sky, but that was such a silly thought you kept it to yourself. “I think I can manage on my own, if you want to go back?”

“Nonsense, I will stay until I know you are safe.” He glanced down at you and offered you a smile, one that spoke true and gave you the impression of ‘I will not be swayed.’

“Well, thank you.” You turned away from him in hopes that he wouldn’t notice the embarrassment you were sure shined in your eyes and flashed across your expression. How can someone so regal find your company enjoyable at all - but Zhongli was so kind to anyone you fought against your better judgement to believe this gesture was more than common courtesy of a gentleman.

“It is my pleasure. Did you have an enjoyable time?” He asked, head examining the city streets and decorations as you had earlier.

“Oh yes! Thank you for inviting me, I’ve never attended something so high class.” You fussed at your outfit again, it was apparent you weren’t used to wearing something like this but you did your best to fit in and not insult the guest who invited you to join him.

“I am delighted to hear. It is far better to enjoy ones time when in company you relish, don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely!” For a while, the two of you discussed the highlights and lowlights of the gathering. The sound of your laughter and excitement caught the attention of late night patrons, but you didn’t mind because it also caught the attention of the one you wanted the most.

It wasn’t until you neared your home that the conversation began to drift. Your heart was sad that the night was coming to a close but responsibilities held you to a tight schedule, even if you felt the itch to break them.

“Thank you again, Zhongli. This night will be one I remember for a while.” Your nails had received a break all evening, but, now that you were about to be alone, they felt the dig of your nervous habits once again.

“It was my pleasure, it is always a gift to spend the evening with you.” He bowed, his long hair slipping over his shoulder at the motion.

“I tend to agree with you.” Chuckling, you moved to unlock your door and when you looked back to Zhongli, his face was illuminated by the sparkling lanterns and yellow glow of the city. No matter what he did he radiated colors you’d never fully understand.

“Liyue has many festivals,” He began, his tone wistful, “though I must say the ones where lanterns adorn the city are my favorite. Do you not think they look like fireflies in the distance?” He asked, gazing up at a few that dangled across the bridges and walkways that lined the city.

“Yeah, actually I do.” You whispered as your eyes fell onto the man you loved so much it hurt to look at him, but, if it meant you could capture even a hint of his existence in your memory, you would happily suffer this pain.

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