#just an off-the-cuff thing for the afternoon

[pathologicalreid]

defrost | s.r.

in which the heat goes out in your apartment and Spencer comes up with a creative idea to keep warm

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: fingering, hand job, good old fashioned dry humping, softdom!spencer, masturbation is referenced, unprotected p in v sex, sex on the floor (!!!), kissing, established relationship word count: 2.8k a/n: smut? havent seen that word since october. well past due if you ask me :-) hope you enjoy

It took entirely too much of your focus not to trip on the comforter that you were hauling from your bedroom, adding it to the heap of linens that you’d collected. The heat had gone out in the entire apartment complex earlier that afternoon, and while it was originally supposed to be fixed by five, the time was pushed back until the gas company finally just told you the issue wouldn’t be resolved until the morning.

Luckily, Spencer had managed to light the fireplace while you gathered every linen from the apartment and arranged a makeshift bed in front of the hearth, but even when you sat in front of the crackling flames, you were still cold. Pulling the cuffs of your sweatshirt over your hands, you tucked them beneath your thighs in an attempt to defrost yourself, you looked up at your boyfriend in desperation, “When did they say the gas would be back on?”

“They said eight, but before that, they said six, so there’s really no accurate measurement that they could provide. I hope we’ll know more in the morning,” he told you, taking a seat next to you and draping a blanket over your shoulders, making sure you were cozy before grabbing one for himself.

You sighed, admiring the way the movement of the fire reflected in his eyes. The two of you had ordered out for dinner, discarded takeout containers were in organized chaos on the coffee table, and two mugs were sitting on coasters filled with warm tea. Your range was out of commission, but thankfully, you had electricity. Admittedly, you were milking the situation, opting for candles over your lamps.

Spencer leaned over and nudged you gently with his blanket-covered elbow, “Are you warm enough?” He asked, looking around for another blanket to hand off to you, but coming up empty.

“If the gas isn’t back on by tomorrow afternoon, we should book a hotel,” you suggested, though, with your luck, Spencer would probably be called on a case tomorrow, leaving you to freeze on your own.

He furrowed his brows in response, “You were the one who didn’t want to stay in a hotel tonight, though?”

Shrugging, you looked at the thermostat on the wall, too far away to read, but you imagined it telling you that the apartment was becoming an industrial-sized icebox. “I don’t like staying in hotels if I can help it, I like having my things and my routine,” you responded as if he didn’t already know this about you.

“But?” He pressed.

“But I’m cold,” you told him, wrapping your blanket tighter around yourself and smiling when he opened his blanket cocoon. Gratefully, you obliged, shuffling yourself over to him and settling into his lap, sighing in contentment when he closed the blanket around you, “Oh, you’re warm.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, and Spencer took the opportunity to press a tiny kiss to the tip of your nose. “Is this better?”

Nodding, you closed your eyes and let your body relax into his, his arms wrapped around you, adding a reinforcement—a border of warmth, if you will. “Yeah, much better,” you murmured, trying to think warm thoughts.

“You know, it would be easier to share body heat if we weren’t wearing clothes,” Spencer told you, shifting one of his arms until his hand was on your waist, giving it a slight squeeze.

A shy smile bloomed on your face, turning your face to bury it in his neck, though the warm glow of your cheeks was a welcome sensation, “Are you trying to get in my pants right now?”

Spencer hummed, shifting beneath you slightly—a telltale sign that he was turned on—and gripping both of your hips, “Technically, I’m trying to get you out of them.”

Now grinning, you leaned forward, pressing your torso against Spencer’s until his back was against the blankets you’d stacked for your makeshift mattress. You took a moment to adjust the fabric that surrounded you, removing the layers of separation between you and Spencer when you finally reached his sweater. Carefully, you slipped your fingers beneath his layers of clothes, pausing abruptly when he inhaled sharply, “Are you okay?”

“Your hands are freezing, honey,” he told you; a lightness was present in his tone as if he was trying not to laugh.

Withdrawing your hands, you instead stuck them beneath his back, hoping to warm them up while you craned your head up to his, placing your lips on his and immediately sighing into him. You settled the rest of your body across his, bringing your knees up to his hips and grinding your core against his hardening length. The layers of clothing between you were proving to be a hindrance, but you weren’t ready to rid yourself of any insulation just yet.

You bunched up the wool of Spencer’s sweater in your hands, finding a rhythm between your rocking hips and moving lips, patiently waiting for the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth and hoping your hands were sufficiently warm when you moved your dominant hand back to his torso. Slowly, you lifted your hips from his and tucked your fingers beneath the waistband of both his flannel pajama pants and briefs, making sure he didn’t flinch at the temperature of your fingers when you wrapped them around his cock.

His mouth opened against yours at the contact, a low moan vibrating in his throat as you kept your hand in his pants. This was your opening, leaving you to slip your tongue in his mouth, deepening the kiss and speeding up your heart rate.

Moaning against his lips, you needed to sacrifice your kiss for the sake of a hand job, ducking your head so that you could focus on the flick of your wrist, the elastic waistbands working against you.

Spencer craned his head, dropping a kiss on the crown of your head, you could feel his abdomen tensing under your arm as you reached your other hand down to try and push his pants over his hips. “You wanna take my clothes off, don’t you?”

Your ministrations slowed as you peered up at him through your eyelashes and nodded, taking your cheek between your molars.

You hummed as Spencer used his grip on your waist to pull you up until your faces were close enough to meet again, he kissed you again, chastely this time, before whispering, “You first.”

Bracing yourself for the cold apartment air to brush against your skin, you assisted Spencer by pulling your arms through the sleeves of your sweater, gritting your teeth while he tugged it over your head. You were pleasantly surprised when the air surrounding you remained insulated, too distracted by the heat to think about the way Spencer was pushing your pants down.

While you regained your focus, you helped him discard your pants, kicking them off into the abyss of blankets that you were still cocooned in. “Are you still warm enough?” Spencer asked, dragging his knuckles up and down your bare waist as he looked up at you.

“Yeah,” you asked, the way he was so concentrated on keeping you warm and comfortable sent a flurry of butterflies to your stomach, making you all the more needier. “Spence,” you whispered, thinking about all of the layers of fabric that still separated the two of you.

He pulled you close to him, looking to the side before rolling you both over until he was on top of you. You quickly got to work, tugging at the hem of his sweater and relishing in every inch of exposed skin that touched yours. The inherent eroticism of skin-to-skin contact was beginning to drive you crazy, and Spencer noticed. He tossed his sweater off to the side, laughing lightly as you disappeared beneath the covers, finally pulling his flannel pajama pants off until it was up to him to get them off the rest of the way. Once you peeked your head back above the covers, you saw the lovesick grin on his face. “Hi,” he whispered, reaching a hand up to cup your face.

You reflected his smile back at him, “Hi,” you murmured, studying his face while he kept his every attention on you.

“You look so pretty like this,” he said, moving his hand down to grip your thigh, parting your legs around his waist while you kept your eyes on him.

Raising your eyebrows, your face warmed at his claim, “What? Beneath you?” You teased, grinning so broadly that you stuck your tongue beneath your teeth to try and tame the smile.

He didn’t falter. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and nodded, “Well, yes,” he admitted. “It gives me the opportunity to do things like this,” he said, dropping his hand down to your core, his eyes on yours as your mouth parted in anticipation. “It’s much easier to see your face while I touch you when you’re beneath me.”

As he spoke, his index finger slipped between your folds, causing your stomach to twist even as he was just barely grazing your clit with his knuckle. “And here I thought it was a control thing,” you challenged, your voice weaker than you’d originally hoped, practically breaking off into a whimper.

“That certainly doesn’t hurt,” he whispered, using his finger to spread your slick over your pussy, any sounds muffled by the blankets that still surrounded you. “But nothing will ever beat the look on your face when I slip my finger inside of you,” he teased, but his words didn’t reflect his actions, leaving you slightly disappointed.

You hummed, leaning your head back and checking on the fire before looking back up at Spencer, “You have an eidetic memory, don’t you have enough of me in your spank bank at this point?”

Spencer shook his head, watching you with an undying interest as he slipped his index finger into you tantalizingly slowly. Your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth parted, and a small, choked noise escaped your lips. “There it is, honey,” he cooed. “No memory will ever do that justice.”

Nodding, you forced yourself to open your eyes and meet his, studying the ring of gold surrounding his irises while his hand found a rhythm. Lifting your hips as his thumb applied pressure to your clit, you gasped at the sensation, your cunt clenching around his finger while his ministrations refused to cease. “Spence,” you breathed, “feels good.”

“Yeah?” He asked, taking your reassurance as a hint to add a second finger to his ministrations, “I like it when you let me take care of you, you spend too many nights alone in our bed for my liking.”

You lifted your hands up, just barely peeking over the blankets so you could place them on his shoulders, “I’ve never minded,” you reminded him. He always comes back to you, albeit in various states of disarray sometimes, but he always comes home.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck and leaving gentle kisses on the soft skin, never sucking long enough to leave a mark, but he paused once he reached your collarbone, “I mind,” he muttered against your skin, kissing down your chest until his lips were level with your breasts, taking the opportunity to take your nipple in his mouth.

As he sucked gently on the sensitive bud, you became all too aware of the familiar knot building in your lower belly, “Oh,” you gasped, your hips bucking up when he hummed against your chest in response, the vibrations going straight to your core, tightening the knot.

Spencer switched nipples, latching onto your other breast while he continued the pressure on your clit. A strangled moan made its way through your throat as the rubber band in your stomach snapped, and your orgasm rippled through you, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your entire body while Spencer continued to work you through it. He separated himself from your chest, leaving tender kisses on your jawline while you tried to remember how to breathe.

Your orgasm ebbed into a dull ache between your thighs, and you let your head fall back against the blankets, wincing when Spencer withdrew his fingers from your cunt. You caught your breath while Spencer adjusted himself, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking your juices from them—it made your walls clench around nothing. “Please,” you found yourself saying, looking up at him with wide, lust-blown eyes.

“Patience,” he cajoled, pinching your hip lightly as you squirmed beneath him. “Are you feeling okay?”

You nodded, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and trying to practice the virtuous trait, “I feel really good,” you assured him, your breath hitching when you felt his tip aligned with your entrance. “We should have sex on the floor more often,” you told him.

He smiled dropping a small kiss on your nose and deciding to adjust the blankets around you. Although, funny enough, you were beginning to get too warm. “You look gorgeous,” he told you, gently pressing into you, only part of the way.

Releasing a shuddering breath, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and met his shining eyes, which he accepted as an okay for him to slide further into you. You were sure you did not look gorgeous, in fact, you could feel your hair sticking to the back of his neck while he sheathed himself inside of you, giving you time to adjust and smoothing your hair out of your face in the interim—as if he had read your mind.

Your walls clenched around him, and he dropped his head in the crook of your neck, “You feel so good,” he muttered, lifting his hips from yours before pushing back in.

“Honey,” you whispered up at him before he found a rhythm, “Will you kiss me?”

You only saw his look of incredulity for a moment before his lips were on yours, you hummed contentedly into his mouth, your breathing faltering as he continued to thrust in and out of your cunt, finding a rhythm.

One of your hands dropped to the side of his neck, cupping his jaw while you moved your mouth on his, taking control of the kiss while he focused on fucking you. Separating your lips only to take a breath, your other hand was on his back, nails lightly grazing his otherwise unmarred skin as you searched for any semblance of stability.

 There had to have been something about the atmosphere, the various flames around you, or the heat of the blankets that covered you, that brought your orgasm on so quickly. You could already feel it building, and you gasped into Spencer as you felt it.

Using one hand to keep himself hovering just above you, he took his other hand and hooked it beneath your thigh, hoisting your leg up and opening your cunt even more to him. The change eased the pressure in your core, giving him more time to build up his own, but you had to separate your lips, “God, Spence,” you said, somewhere between overstimulated and overheated as your cunt clenched around his length.

He sighed, hot breath against your neck as he assured you, “I’ve got you.”

Just like that, you were a goner, head thrown back in complete bliss as your walls pulsed around Spencer’s cock, the sensation bringing on his own orgasm. You were trying to catch your breath while his cum spurted out inside of you. “Oh,” you sighed as he dropped your leg, letting your muscles stretch as Spencer’s hand massaged the inside of your thigh.

“Are you alright?” He murmured, dropping a soft kiss to your forehead.

You nodded, forcing yourself to open your eyes and look up at him, “Yeah,” you answered breathlessly, wincing slightly when he pulled out of you, more at the feeling of the fluid sliding out of you than anything else.

Spencer hummed, “Are you sure?” He brought a hand up, skimming his knuckles over your cheekbone, “It seems like something’s wrong.”

Shaking your head, you brought your hand up to hold his, leaving a soft kiss on his palm, “Promise,” you assured him. “I’m just warm, and I know I have to get up to go pee,” you told him, adjusting yourself on top of the rumpled blankets.

He gave you a lopsided smile in response, “What do you say you get up to pee, and I’ll get us some water while you’re gone?” He offered, bringing a smile to your face. “When we get back, we can watch a movie, your pick.”

Grinning up at him, you run a hand through his hair before ruffling it, “I say you’ve got yourself a deal.”

[marvelsswansong]

melting snow

summary: the subtle, obvious, sweet, and at times - dangerous - ways Coriolanus shows his love for you.

tags: coriolanus snow x fem!reader, possessive and lovesick!Snow, mostly fluff with light allusions to smut, significantly off-canon from movie (no lucy gray and no sejanus betrayal), CW possessive/dark behavior, graphic descriptions of murder, violence (it's only the last bit of this fic that's quite dark/violent, so feel free to read up until then. Please take care of yourself!!!)

☆ word count: 4.6K+ words ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

one: subtle praise

At the beginning, he would mask his true feelings and physical urges towards you with a tight lipped grin and a reserved compliment. Something that acknowledges something you've done objectively well, with a genuine softness that didn't apply to any of his other classmates, but seemingly delivered in a nonchalant matter to feign indifference.

"Great dodge." he'd say to you, both of your chests heaving from adrenaline during fencing class. You'd nod gently, a shy "thank you" leaving your lips.

But when Clemensia wins the next round against him, Coriolanus doesn't go above simply shake her left hand in courtesy before leaving the arena briskly.

"Well played." he'd joke, when it was revealed during the final student appraisal that you'd beaten Coriolanus' marks by a few points. Despite Archane and Felix throwing subtle jabs at his way for "losing" the star student title, you'd just shrug off the compliment profusely, praising him endlessly.

"A mere fluke, really. You're the brilliant student. I reckon I just study hard and get lucky." you'd reply, straightening the cuffs of your jacket nervously. The blonde always found it so endearing how bad you were at taking compliments.

So different from the rest of the scum in Capitol, he thought.

Eventually, he'd start to turn his verbal compliments towards things unrelated to your capabilities and work. And more towards things that were of a personal nature, like your looks and dress.

"Your hair looks very nice today." he comments one afternoon late after school, his shoulders brushing against yours as you both await your rides home. Your hands fly up to your hair, to the small crown of daisies adorning your head, as if you've almost forgotten what you were wearing.

"You think so?" you shyly ask, looking up at him nervously. "I wouldn't have worn it to the academy if we hadn't been called down on immediate notice. It's just that the family I babysit for on the weekends, their daughter just turned six and... well, she was very insistent on making me a flower crown."

He finds your embarrassment awfully cute.

"But I swear, when Dr Gaul turned to look at me today, I thought she was going to kill me."

Coriolanus only rolls his eyes playfully at that, knocking his shoulders against yours.

"And what would she know about first rate fashion? You look amazing."

It's the nicest compliment you've gotten over a silly crown of flowers, your heart warming and your breath stuttering at his words. It's what motivates you to lightly squeeze his right arm before you get into the car, your touch lingering in his mind long after you depart.

A month later, Coriolanus runs into you at the farmer's market on a Sunday. His instructions by Tigris to "buy some bread and oranges for tomorrow" are almost forgotten in one fell swoop when he sees you. Free from your usual academic attire, you're wearing a flowy lilac dress which sits right below your knees, the silky fabric glowing in the yellow sunlight.

"This color really suits you." he decides to whisper in your ear after discreetly sliding into the space next to you, the action so sudden that it causes you to jump. Your shoulders soften when you recognize his striking blue irises, and then you pout, punching him right in the chest.

"You scared me, Snow." you jokingly scold him. "And where are your manners? You should always introduce yourself first to a lady."

He pretends to be wounded by that, hand on heart whilst leaning backwards.

"My deepest apologies. Would this help?" he asks, effortlessly pulling a white rose from his back pocket. He revels in how your gaze lightens up in awe and amusement at the gesture.

"Perhaps so." you reply back, fingertips brushing against his.

The blonde takes it as a sign to slide it behind your ear, the memory of your etheral form with his flower tucked behind your right ear etched into his mind before you're called away by your friends.

------------------------------

two: soft touches

Once he's sure that his feelings are reciprocated, Coriolanus would start to step the line over into something more serious. He's not willing to open up immediately nor is he necessarily a man of romantic prose. A large part of him is scared, even, of the way you make him feel.

After all, what is love if not vulnerability?

And how he could be vulnerable with you, a woman so far out of his league, widely adored and your family amongst the wealthiest in Panem?

So it would start off when the class seating arrangements are changed and you're seated next to Coriolanus for the remainder of the year.

He'd start to purposefully spread his legs a little bit wider than usual, his knees always brushing against yours.

He'd take every chance he could to lean over to explain something to you, his face a few inches away from yours, if you ever seemed stuck on a question.

He'd open the classroom door for you in the mornings and offer to carry your heavy textbooks back to your family's car after school, insisting that it was because he wouldn't want you to trip on your heels. And if you'd ever insist on carrying the books on your own, he'd keep a gentle hand on your upper back to keep you upright "in balance."

Once, whilst presenting a speech at your father's fundraising dinner that you'd stayed up all night preparing for, you accidentally lose track of your speech. You stumble on your words, voice cracking in panic as you start to scan the page of thick text, all of which suddenly seem jumbled up and nonsensical.

Sensing distress, Coriolanus' hand quickly moves under the table to squeeze your left hand (hanging by your side) in a reassuring manner.

It's only then, somehow, that you find yourself able to re-focus on the printed text and continue your speech. Afterwards, you squeeze his hand back and whisper your gratitude.

"I owe you, Coriolanus."

Another time, it's a formal ball being hosted by the academy to mark the holiday season. After a few drinks, you're tipsy and manage to drag your friends up towards the balcony, despite it snowing outside and being below zero degrees.

Cautiously watching your every movement by where he's leaning by the bar, Coriolanus quickly makes an excuse to exit the conversation he found himself trapped in, before walking outside towards your shivering figure.

Your dress certainly isn't helping your situation, it being a satin slip dress with sleeves and a conservative cut out by your shoulders. It exposes your chilled skin as you rub the naked space with your arms, your staggered breaths coming out in white puffs of smoke.

"Corio! What're you doing he-" you start to walk towards him but nearly trip, his arms coming to supporting your body last second to save you from falling completely on your face.

"You shouldn't be outside in this weather." he comments, amused, as he helps you find your balance once more. But you refuse to re-enter the ballroom, choosing to instead excitedly ramble about how wonderful winter in the Capitol is and how you can't remember where you've placed your bag.

Listening earnestly to your ramblings with a smile on his face, he quickly shakes off his blazer.

"May I?" he asks. You blink slowly, heart fluttering at the gesture.

"O-okay."

The boy then carefully drapes his blazer over your shoulders, the act immediately enveloping your senses in his signature smells - oakwood and rose. Your fingers clutch the lapels of the jacket, your nose burrowing in to the softness of the fabric.

"Are you sure you won't be cold?"

He's freezing, of course, but he keeps his posture straight and tuck his hands into his pockets.

"I'm just fine. Don't you worry about me."

-------------------------------

three: nicknames

Once you two become an item, Coriolanus moves on to calling you affectionate names.

Of course, he'll prefer to call you by your name in professional settings - like during a presentation, in front of the Academy staff, at formal galas and dinners - but when it's just the two of you, or around people you both trust, or when he's jealous -

He almost never calls you by your name.

Darling is the classic, lovestruck expression he uses when he's being his most vulnerable. It's what he whispers into the gap underneath your neck when he's waking you up in the morning, landing kisses across your collarbone during sunrise. It's his greeting when he surprises you with a bouquet of flowers on your birthday, right before he whisks you away to a trip to district 1. It's what he cries into your hairline when you are hospitalized following a rogue rebel explosion on your trip home.

"Darling... darling, can you hear me?"

Coriolanus' voice is foggy, your head still ringing from the loud explosion earlier, but your heart still races at the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand on yours. Throat croaking, you try to respond with an affirmative "yes", to which your boyfriend responds by quickly grabbing a near by cup of water.

Gently guiding the glass to your lips, he treats you as if you're a fragile porcelain doll: smoothing down your hair gently and fluffing up your pillows to lay you back down. It's only then that you get a good look at him under the flickering lights - the bags under his eyes look heavy, his usually neat hair a complete mess, his blue irises blood shot.

"Have you been sleeping, Corio?" you ask, worried, your thumb rubbing circles onto his palm. He chokes up at that, shaking his head sideways with a sad smile.

"How... how could you ask me that, darling? You've been in the hospital for days."

"I hope that doesn't mean you haven't been sleeping for days." you quip back, raising your eyebrows. Your boyfriend opens his mouth to lie, but the twitch of his lips gives him away. So you instead shift towards the left of your bed, making space for him on the mattress.

"Come on you silly man."

He smiles a guilty grin before snuggling up next to you, letting out a heavy sigh of content at your warm body against his.

Petal is his sweet, infatuated name for you when he's referring to you in conversation or calling out for you in front of friends and family. Tigris never fails to tease Coriolanus for the name, but he doesn't mind it - you're his flower, his precious petal.

"I can't believe you think this is ugly." Tigris sighs at the dinner table one night, shuffling through the myriad of designs on the desk. "This was going to be the design I send off to the boutique tomorrow."

"I didn't say it was ugly, I just think this design is far nicer." Coriolanus responds, pushing forward the blue design in front of him. His cousin pouts at that, clearly unsatisfied with his answer.

"Petal-" Coriolanus calls out for you, where you're cooking with grandma'am in the kitchen. "Could you come in for a moment?"

When your confused face pops into the room, Tigris quickly calls you over, dramatically stretching out her arms to grab you.

"Mr Snow seems to think this design - the gold sweetheart dress with lace trimmings - is uglier than this blue version. What do you think, (Y/n)?" she earnestly asks, pushing over the two designs to your direction. You shuffle through the papers intently, studying each drawing up close, before ultimately taking Tigris' side.

"I'd say your eye for design is impeccable, Tigris. And that Coriolanus should perhaps stick to things other than fashion."

That makes both grandma'am (who is listening in from the kitchen) and Tigris, burst out in laughter, with the latter throwing her arms around your waist in a sideways hug.

"Ah, I knew you were my favorite for a reason." she jokes.

"Petal, you wound me." your boyfriend jokes, a small scowl on his face for show. Though, when you lean down to kiss him, the scowl easily melts away.

My doll is what he calls you when he's driven sick by jealousy and possession. As, much to Coriolanus' distate, you have many admirers - due to you coming from a wealthy family and being a well known socialite in your own right.

Coriolanus has never liked Felix Ravinstill, but he swears his hatred for the president's son only tripled after you and Coriolanus became an item. Felix was never shy about his attraction to you - the forward compliments, the invitations to his house after school, the rush to sit next to you during lunch periods. But now, the blonde thinks, it's getting full on desperate.

As you sit reading a book in the hallways of tha academy, waiting for Coriolanus to finish his talk with Dr Gaul, the dark haired boy decides to chat with you. When your boyfriend opens the door discreetly, upon hearing your voice mingle with someone else's outside, his vision nearly turns red at how close the other man is to you.

You're pointing out something in your book to Felix, your innocent eyes fixated purely on the black and white text and thus completely missing how shamelessly the man next to you is eyeing you up and down. It takes Dr Gaul's shout - "actually, Ms (Y/n), could we have a word regarding your last proposal" - for Coriolanus' rage to slowly fade.

Instead, he starts to feel cold, hardened logic putting a plan into motion.

And once you're inside the classroom, Coriolanus doesn't hesitate to slam Felix up against the wall, making sure to angle the boy's head to hit directly against a marble statute. The impact isn't hard enough to crack the man's skull, the last minute measurement in Coriolanus' head ensuring that he wouldn't be punished for injuring the president's son.

But he makes sure that the impact hurts enough to leave a mark.

It makes Coriolanus' heart twist in pleasure.

"You better leave my doll alone, Ravinstill. She's not interested in you. She's never been interested in you." he spits, snarling like a ravenous dog.

"You're delusional, Snow, if you think she'd ever want to stay with you." Felix manages to spit out, trying to wiggle his way out of the taller man's hold, but Coriolanus is too strong.

"You're the only delusional one here. It's pathetic, really. All that money and social connections in the world, and it'll never be good enough for my doll."

Coriolanus can tell that hit a nerve with Felix, so he lets go of the shorter boy, nearly throwing him away to the side in the process. Pride and ego surges through his veins when you appear and call out for Coriolanus, so the blonde makes a concerted effort to kiss you fiercely for show.

His arm snaking around your shoulder to pull you right up against him, a devious smile on his lips.

-----------------------

four: lavish gifts and deep marks

Things only escalate once Coriolanus' tribute ends up winning the hunger games and he's crowned the winner of the Plinth Prize. Now saddled with money, reputation and a full ride scholarship to the university funneled by the Plinth family - he finally finds himself able to spoil you in all the ways possible.

Fresh flowers adorn your windowsill every morning. The finest jewellery and newest luxury bags are delivered to your doorstep at random. Perhaps most impressive of all, he buys a two bedroom apartment near the center of the Capitol for you two to move into.

"How'd you..." you can't even finish your sentence when you first see the place: the prime location, the high arched ceilings, the stainless marble... He hadn't even allowed you to pitch in any of your own - or your family's - money to buy the place, insisting that it was to be a complete surprise.

His arms come around your shoulder to hug you close, swaying you from side to side.

"Generosity of the Plinth family and the spoils of being the victor, darling." he drawls in your ear.

You're still in awe, hands tracing the intricate patterns of the roman columns supporting the ceiling, when he starts to tug you up the stairs.

"Would you like to see the view from our bedroom? It's magnificent."

Of course, Coriolanus' new elevated status and recent memory of acting as a mentor in the hunger games - planning, guiding, and having a role in the extended play of human lives - it all makes him quite obsessive and possessive of you. Given that you're one of the few people in his life who has known him for years now, before he was a mentor and before had all this money and status...

He has to make sure to keep you in his life. He's made a lot of enemies, after all, many of whom would like to harm him. And with his undying love for you, hurting you becomes an attractive option for his enemies.

So Coriolanus gets more possessive by becoming more shameless in public. He'll gladly call you his love in front of crowds of hundreds. He'll kiss you breathless and squeeze your lower back if he thinks a man is staring a bit too long at you. And when he knows you two will be separated for a few days - usually due to him having to travel out of the Capitol on business matters - he'll leave bite marks on your neck.

You didn't even think about how noticeable the marks might be when you rush out of bed one morning, having promised to attend an engagement dinner of a fellow classmate, Clemensia's. Your rude awakening comes when, mid-way through the rehearsal, Sejanus leans over to quietly ask if you've brought your foundation with you.

You scrunch your face at the odd question.

"Uh, yes... I have a powder compact in my bag, why?"

Your friend smiles at you apologetically, before motioning to your neck.

"Because, (Y/n), it looks like a vampire has bit you."

And when you look at your reflection in your wine glass, it's clear that you have odd, dark, bite shaped marks littering your collarbone and neck.

Later in the week, when Coriolanus has finally returned from his business trip, you try and scold him for it.

"I nearly died of shame, Corio. Seriously, you should've seen how Arachne was looking at me the whole night." you sigh, just as he laughs.

"You're over thinking it, darling. Besides, you weren't complaining when I was leaving those marks on you on Tuesday."

You open his mouth to scold him again, but find yourself unable to mutter a smart response, your thoughts flying away when he's back to attacking your skin with his mouth.

After all, you're like a drug to him - he can never get enough.

---------------------------------------

five: killing for you

Once Coriolanus is sure that you're not going to leave him, he finds it appropriate to take it to the next level: marriage. He drops a few thousand dollars on a large diamond ring, a ring which he makes sure you never take off (except in the shower).

At this point, the thought of losing you nearly equals his fears of losing everything he's built so far: becoming wealthy, powerful and well known amongst the Capitol's elite. He's terrified of living in a world without you and so he considers anyone who is deemed a threat must be dealt with in a secure, efficient manner.

No mercy, no hesitation.

After all, Coriolanus thinks one night, whilst sharpening a spare knife in the kitchen: if you give a rebel an inch, they'll run a mile.

The first person he kills is a security guard who fails to do their job correctly in protecting you.

He'd been hired by Coriolanus to protect you in your daily transport from the mansion to anywhere outside the Capitol (most often, to districts 1-3 to support your family's business dealings). But the bodyguard had failed to protect you one fateful winter day, leaving you to stumble back home with a twisted ankle and a busted lip as your bodyguard was only able to neutralize the threat after a few minutes of tussling with the gang's leader in the snow.

Your fiancee was fuming, sending you off to a near by hospital with grandma'am, before he motioned for your bodyguard to come downstairs to the empty garden.

The blonde didn't even feel an ounce of sorrow as he pulled the trigger, simply ordering the next bodyguard he'd hired to do the messy job of disposing of the body.

The second person he kills is a rebel who attempted to sneak a bomb underneath the car transporting you to the Capitol, following Coriolanus' announcement as candidate for the presidency.

The rebel was apprehended by the security detail team pretty quickly, so fast in fact that you weren't even made aware of the threat on your life. All you're told that day by Coriolanus' subordinates is that "there had been a change of plans" and you were to go to a fundraising dinner at an art museum instead to raise funds for the campaign.

And whilst you're off at the dinner, making a passionate speech for his presidency, Coriolanus makes an order for the rebel to be dragged out into the fields.

"You dare threaten the love of my life?" he sneers into the rebel's face, which is already bloodied and broken beyond recognition. The animalistic rage pumping through Coriolanus' veins is unlike anything he's ever felt before, and the gun in his hands suddenly feels like too much of a merciful ending for the rebel's crime.

"Just kill me." the rebel spits, but that only makes Coriolanus let out a sinister chuckle.

"Don't worry, I will. But I think a gun shot will be far too quick."

Instead, Coriolanus orders the man to be placed into a cage - a prototype that was being designed as a trap for the next year's games - and for a tub of venomous snakes to be released.

Whilst the other workers in his campaign look away from the horrific sight, Coriolanus just stares in great interest and pride. Once the screaming dies down, he calmly disposes of his bloodied shirt and hails a ride to greet you at the museum entrance.

"All good?" you ask, noticing an odd expression on your lover's face. But he just kisses you lightly on the lips, chuckling.

"Of course, petal. Why wouldn't it be?"

And so on and so forth. Whether it's directly or indirectly, Coriolanus becomes ruthless in securing your safety and your love. And he's so good at hiding it, he thinks, until one day he becomes a bit sloppy.

It was supposed to be an easygoing dinner at the mansion, a wealthy donor - his top donor, his campaign manager had informed him - named Robert Hemingworth had requested a private dinner. Coriolanus intially wanted to refuse, hating the thought of inviting a stranger to his home, but both you and his campaign manager agreed that it was best to play nice given the money at stake.

"For your troubles." Robert had said on his way in, a snarky smirk on his lips. In his arms were a basket of wines and grapes worth a pretty penny, but Coriolanus couldn't help but think that there was something about the brunette's gaze that he didn't trust. But with pursed lips and a fake smile, he forced out a thank you and invited the man into the foyer.

"What a... charming little abode." the oil tycoon had drawled, his gloved hands tracing along the walls. The sly comments and odd compliments (in truth, backhanded compliments) continued through out the night, all the way from appetizer to the main course. Sipping on copious bottles of red wine in an effort to keep himself grounded, Coriolanus was managing to keep his temper down until the older man asked about your whereabouts.

"Will your charming fiancee not be joining us?"

He froze at the man's questions, the hungry look in the millionaire's eyes and the underlying threat weighing down the atmosphere. The desserts had now arrived, two maids scurrying in with small plates of bread pudding, both of whom Coriolanus quickly dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"She's out with Tigris. Dress shopping." he'd decided to leave it at that, his left hand squeezing his glass so tight the glass started to crack. Coriolanus had hoped the man would leave the discussion there, as he wasn't sure what he was capable of doing if the older man didn't.

But the man continued. A disgusting moan escaping his lips in satisfaction after biting into the pudding, a devious smirk on his lips to match.

"Ah. Well, what a shame. I was hoping she would be part of the dessert."

No sooner than those words leave the millionaire's mouth, Coriolanus' left hand grabbed the knife laying on the board in front of him, where moments ago the maids were cutting cheese and ham. He then brings the blade to swiftly meet the older man's stomach, white dress shirt staining crimson red, all the while Coriolanus refuses to break the man's gaze.

"You fucking disgust me. Everyone in the Capitol fucking disgusts me one way or another, but you? You dare invite yourself to my home?" he retracts the knife, before stabbing it back into the suited man's flesh, each pause accentuated by another driving force.

"You dare speak about my love in such a vulgar manner?"

"You dare insinuate such sinful acts with my beloved?"

"You dare try and buy your way into her body?"

The marble floors are now flooded in a sea of red, the man's dying chokes and Coriolanus' heavy breaths overwhelming the room. The room stings of the smell of copper when you enter the space, quietly closing the door behind you, as you were only able to see the man on the floor and your boyfriend standing on top of him from the entrance.

"Corio? Love?"

The blonde turns around at the sound of your voice, face etched with annoyance.

Annoyed that you'd have to be subject to a vulgar sight like this. Annoyed that he'd stained your new kitchen set with an unworthy man's blood... And most of all, annoyed that he can't tell what you're thinking: your face kept completely neutral as you slowly approach him.

"You're back early." is all he decides to say, testing the waters.

You look down at his hands, soaked in hot blood, then down at the man who is writhing on the floor.

"Found what we wanted quickly, I suppose." you reply, stopping next to Coirolanus before leaning down to get a better look at the dying man. "Right, what was his deal?"

"Hm?"

It's only then that your plain expression breaks, your usually light eyes swimming with sinister charm, a coy smile breaking out on your face.

"Come on, Corio. You don't seriously think I didn't notice the amount of odd stains on your cufflinks? Or the terrified looks the house servants give you since the beginning of our engagement?"

He blinks, surprised. Coriolanus had always assumed he was covering his tracks well. Or that, at the very least, you'd have something to say about it all.

"He was making rather vulgar comments about you, darling. The bastard seems to have been making donations in an effort to get closer to you." he slowly explains as you stand back up, nodding slowly.

"Hm... Yes, that is rather concerning. And I suppose you've gone too far ahead for us to save him, always the temperamental lover you are." you tease.

Your humorous response and your unwillingness to run away from the darkness of the situation, it awakens something fierce in Coriolanus that he hasn't felt for you before.

"I suppose."

The euphoria he feels when your delicate fingers lace his to grab the knife instead, before you finally drive the blade down and end the man's life, is indescribable.

"I think you owe me a new dress." you say quietly, dropping the knife onto the floor.

The blonde wastes no time gathering you up in his arms, kissing you so fiercely that it almost hurts your neck.

"I think I owe you more than that, darling. How about the entirety of Panem?"

He'd do anything for you. The entirety of Panem be damned.

a/n: omg this has got to be the darkest piece of writing + fucked up ending I've ever written in like years of writing on tumblr 😅😭 but idk I'm obsessed with an idea of Corio's partner being someone who embraces him wholeheartedly and surprises him by being darker than she seems on the surface.

please leave a like/comment/reblog/ask if you've enjoyed, your support is what motivates me to write!

ALSO I've just re-opened my requests bc I would love to receive some corio fic ideas, so please send in your corio thoughts if you have any 🥺🥺🥺

[baby-yongbok]

One Last Time

Ex-husband!Bang Chan x afab!Reader

✦ Genre: Soon to be exes to lovers [18+ MDNI] ✦ Summary: Petty claims of possession lead to one last night of pleasure.

✦ CW: Choking/ light breath play, pussy spanking [for a second], Unprotected sex [wrap it up party people], Size Kink [for a second], Oral (f rec.), Chan is... aggressive(??), Chan is referred to as Chris, He calls you a bitch once. only once. ✦A/N: Bang Chan made me do it. There's barely any plot in sight. I wrote this in 4 hrs in the middle of the night. Enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡

✧ Masterlist ✧

It’s funny how things change. Day turns to night, hot to cold and love to pure seething hatred. 

Okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic but you swear that that’s all you can feel swarming in your chest as you sit across from your soon to be ex-husband. 

He made a show of things at the settlement meeting this afternoon. He pushed back on every negotiation you made which has led you to where you are now. Each of you on your side of the bed with a pile of stuff littering the Egyptian cotton sheets that he just has to take with him. 

“There. Are you happy now?” You throw the last item on top of his pile and Chris stares down at the item with that damned smirk that you used to love. “Almost.”

He stands from the mattress, dark eyes on something behind you. He grabs it before you can turn. “I bought you this purse.”

The muffled thud of his hard bottom shoes against the carpet is all that you hear before he turns the black designer bag upside down. The contents clatter against his shoes, items rolling in different directions as you watch with a clenched jaw. 

He’s circling back to his side of the bed as you call upon the might of the gods to keep yourself calm. After being married for five years Chris has learned each and every one of your buttons and how hard he needs to press them just to tick you off. 

You’ve decided not to give him the satisfaction of making a scene. That’ll only feed his ego. Besides, he has buttons of his own, some that you installed yourself.

“Now I’m happy.” He drops the bag into his pile, smiling before you like he’d just gotten away with a million bucks. “Yeah?” 

Two can play that game. “I bought you that suit.” The smirk on blushed lips transfers to your painted ones as you stare over at him with arms crossed over your chest. 

“I’d like it back.” With an innocent bat of your lashes Chris smiles. It’s gone just as fast as it came and it doesn’t reach his eyes. He's pissed. 

“You’re fucking serious?” You hold your hand out to him. “Dead serious.”

Dark eyes are staring into darker ones as he holds your gaze. You’ve gotten used to him challenging you. You’ve gotten used to him being a petty asshole and you’ve learned how to play him at his own game. 

You watch as he pops the button of his suit jacket. Tongue in cheek while his fingers work to free him of the fabric. His eyes stay on yours as he peels the smoky threads from his shoulders. He shimmy’s it down thick arms, pulling at the cuffs until he’s free of it. He’s left in a skimpy t-shirt before you and you take the liberty of letting your eyes wander. 

“Want the pants too?” Chris throws the jacket over into your pile before his hands start to fiddle with the metal of his buckle. “Keep ‘em. They’re the nicest thing you own now.” 

He mumbles something incoherent under his breath, his hand comes up to rake through his hair as his eyes wander the space you used to share. His gaze stops at your vanity, busy eyes study your open jewelry box then look back to you. 

“I gave you those earrings.” He stalks towards the table, snatching the gold studs off of the surface and slipping them into his pocket. “And..” 

The muffled thud of his shoes is all you can hear over the thick tension pulsing around you. It’s all that you can hear over your own enraged heartbeat. “This necklace.” The clasp is snapped from around your neck before you can breathe a protest. You gasp at the sudden pressure of your chain being ripped from you. 

“What the fuck.” That smirk is stolen  back when he slips the jewelry into his pocket. He stands in front of you, barely an inch between you as your chests rise and fall in unison. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“Me?” He fakes a pout, blinking over at you. “I didn’t do anything” 

“Whatever, you got your stuff, get out.” You’re hissing at him, heart racing and blood bubbling with the annoyance you’ve been harboring for the length of this insufferable process. “I’m done with you.”

“Not so fast.” he says slowly, his hands finding your waist before you can step around him. You attempt to shrug off his grip and fail. “I bought you that too.” 

His eyes trail from your eyes to your lips. His tongue darts out to lick over his own as he stares. “That lipstick.” His eyes find yours again.

“Fuck off, Chris.” There’s a bite to your tone that makes him smile. He’s always loved a challenge. 

“I bought it.” He pulls you into him by your waist. Your body is flush with his and one of his hands quickly abandon the plush flesh to wrap around your neck. “ I wan’ it back. I think that’s fair.”

It’s dark on dark as he leans in, eyes searching each others frantically as Chris closes the gap and kisses you gently. It barely makes a sound, it’s feather light and quick. 

“You want it back?” You whisper against his lips and he nods. “Then I want the pants.” 

That fucking smirk pulls at his red stained lips and his mouth is on yours in an instant. It’s hot and messy, drowning out the previous softness. You grab at his arms, clawing down the flesh while his fingers dig into your hips. 

He licks into your mouth with a desperate groan as you turn your heads left and right, his tongue explores your mouth as he takes in the taste of you one last time. Your arms wrap around his neck as one of his hands grab at the swell of your ass.

 “Fuck.” He groans against you, stealing another kiss before you catch his bottom lip between your teeth. “Up.” With a firm smack on your ass you jump up and his hands find purchase on the curve of your bottom over your dress. 

You fall into a mess of tugging and moaning. The tension you once felt in your chest melts into pleasure as his hands wander your bareskin. He drops you onto the mattress, pushing the sorted piles out of the way and hovering over you in your ripped dress as you lay sprawled out on the sheets before him. 

“Gonna miss this.” Chris’ mouth is stained cherry red with your lipstick, it’s smeared over your cheeks and it compliments the bruises that he’s sucking into your skin. You bunch his shirt up his back, scratching along the way and leaving your own marks as you please. 

“Shut up, eat my pussy.” You pull him back with a fist full of his hair, he hisses a moan through clenched teeth as his own hand finds it’s way around your throat again. He squeezes this time. It’s just enough to have your eyes flutter shut, just enough to get you right where he wants you. 

“Can’t you be my good girl for one more night? Can’t you stop being a bitch for just a second, baby?” Chris leans down with a tighter squeeze. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, your nails digging into the flesh. “Did you already forget who the fuck I am?”

He loosens his grip giving you the satisfaction of that blissful rush before squeezing again. “Do you see how small you are?” He whispers, placing a kiss by your ear. “Do you feel how strong I am, baby? Don’t you know how this goes?”

A moan is all he gets as he pulls back to admire you. Your pretty mouth is parted with a silent moan as your thighs press together in a desperate attempt at cumming. “I should make you suck my cock.” His knee wedges between your legs and presses hard against your core. 

“I should fuck this pretty throat. I should get you back for being such a fucking brat through all of this.” The hand that was around his wrist scratches up his arm as he lets up again, letting the blood rush and giving you the dizzy feeling he knows you love. “I should -”

Your fingers wrap around his neck before he can finish his thought. Fierce eyes stare up into his as your other hand moves to unbutton his pants. “Just gimme what’s mine.”

Your hand slips into the waistband of his underwear as you pull him closer to you. “Wan’ my cock?” He moans at the soft feeling of your fingers wrapping around the tip. Eye’s fluttering shut as he attempts to take a breath against your grip.

 “‘S mine.” You lean up to his ear. “Isn’t it daddy?”

It was quick when he pinned you against the mattress. Both of your wrists were in his grip before he shifted them both to one hand to free his cock for you. “You’re a fucking tease. You’re so fucking predicatable, you know that?” He’s hissing as he fights with the fabric of his pants and your dress. 

“You want a reaction outta me, huh? Wanna rile me up, sweetheart?” With a shift of hands and a grunt he’s turning the two of you over. You follow him with a gasp, straddling his waist and sitting over his cock with your clothed cunt. “C’mon I’ll let you. Use me, get what you want.”

Your resolve sinks as his cock twitches against your core. Chris is lying beneath you looking like a sin personified and you feel compelled to indulge in his offer. He is still your husband after all. 

Your panties are pushed to the side in an instant. Chris’ wrists are pinned over his head while you grind your cunt over him. Sloppy sounds of you working over his leaking cock swirl in the hot air and Chris watches it all with drooping lids as you work against him. “Put it in, lemme watch it.”

You ignore him, slowing your grind to counter his request. “C’mon, baby, lemme feel you. I can make you feel so good. Let daddy fuck you, c’mon.” He watches you, head reeled back and moans dripping from your lips like drool as you  do as you please. 

“Fuckin’ tease.” He breaks free from your hold, hands wrapping around your waist and guiding the grind of your hips just as your clit catches on the head of his cock. “I asked nicely.” 

His cock catches at your entrance as he controls you. The push of him against your pussy has your mouth open in a silent scream as he bullies his cock into you. “You keep forgetting who I am, hm?” He sits up, landing a firm smack to your ass to match his brutal thrust as you settle in his lap.

“Chris, shit, just fuck me. Fuck me.” Your nails are in his back, drawing lines that could surely draw blood. He hisses at the pain, smiling with a bite of his tongue as he fucks up into you. 

His hips snap into yours, gradually picking up the pace until you’re falling apart against him. Chest to chest, you’re panting into each other. Littering the thick air with profanities as he splits you open on his dick. “Oh my fucking god, Chris. More. More more more, please. C’mon.”

“Take it.” He growls below you, allowing you to push him back against the mattress and ride his cock to your heart's content. “That’s it, take it. It’s yours, all yours.”

Your nails dig into his pecks, leaving marks on the flawless skin and you use him for leverage. The loud smack of skin against skin decorates the air accompanied by your moans.

 “Don’t hold back, baby. Enjoy that fucking ride.” He thrusts up into you, meeting you halfway. “Let loose, just like that.”.

Chris is rambling under you, mumbling under his breath and growling praises when he fucks deep into you. 

“Fuck me, fuck me harder. Wan’ it harder.” It’s dark on dark again. Hooded eyes stare into each other void of rage, the only priority is pleasure. You’re only here to take advantage. 

“Wan’ me harder?” He fucks into you, moaning at the squeeze you give. “Wan’ me deeper?”

With a lift of his hips Chris flips you over. “Be good for me, yeah? One last time, be a good fucking girl and lay on your back for me. Lemme eat this pretty pussy.” He rips your dress down your frame with a grunt. Your panties get the same treatment before he’s falling to his knees before you. 

“Gonna miss you on your knees.” You prop yourself up on your elbows, staring down at him behind a fucked out haze. “Lookin’ so pretty for me with a mouth full of my cunt.”

With a smirk Chris licks a wet stripe from your hole to your clit. He swirls his tongue around the bud, sucking it between red stained lips and flicking it. Your head drops back against the mattress with a loud moan. Your hands comb through and grab at his damp dark locks but he quickly repositions you to hold yourself open for him. 

“Watch me eat it.” He reaches up, brushing your chin with his fingertips. He lays a flat wet lick to your pussy, hooded eyes staring up into yours. “Eyes on me. Eyes on daddy.”

He spreads your cunt with his fingers, holding you open for him while he spits down onto your clit. He collects it all on his tongue, licking it over the nub before spitting it back. Sloppy slurps against a drooling pussy is all that fills the room. “Daddy, please, wanna cum on your cock.”

He pulls back with a pop, spitting back down onto your cunt. He watches it drip down to your hole, following the stream with his fingers to press it into you. 

“You wan’ me deep right?” His middle and pointer fuck you open as he coos. “Want me to spread this tiny cunt on my dick?” You’re moaning. Panting confirmations and whining pathetically into the air. 

“Then hold it.” He kisses your clit, sucking it in then releasing. “Don’t cum.”

“Please.” You moan a plea, unraveling little by little with each suck and flick of your clit. His fingers fuck you open, curling into your soft spot and pushing you further towards the edge that you’re trying to avoid. 

You could just cum. You could just take what he’s giving you instead of following the rules but it’s so good like this. He’s so good like this. You miss him giving you what you want.

“Chris, ‘m gonna cum for you. I can’t. Please jus’ gimme.” He blinks up at you with pussy drunk eyes as his kiss bitten lips move against you despite your begging. ��Daddy, please. I wan’ your cock.”

"Don't cum for me yet" he speaks against your cunt before licking a wet kiss up to your clit. 

"I can't, Chris. I can't, I can't, I'm gonna cum." Your eyes are glued to the way he licks up and down your swollen pussy. Taunting you with the skill he's gained over the years. He's pushing your buttons again.  

"Daddy, daddy, daddy, please you have to let me. You’re gonna make me cum. Your mouth, your fucking mouth, please let me cum."

You're babbling, you know you are. You’re slipping through the cracks quickly and you can’t do a thing to stop it. There’s no going back and Chris knows it but he still smacks the inside of your thigh. Warning you to be good for him and let him build you up a bit more before you take his cock again.

"Don't." He kisses your clit. "Cum." He sucks the bud into his mouth and swirls his tongue over it with a moan. He's a madman if he thinks you could survive that. 

"Fuck, 'm cumming. I'm cumming, 'm sorry." You’re shaking, your nails dig into your thighs as you keep yourself open for him.  "Cumming, 'm cumming, I can't stop cumming, I can't stop cumming."

He moans into you as he laps up every drop of arousal that you're giving him. He commits your sweet taste to memory with one final swipe of his tongue before he’s kissing up your stomach. 

His lips trail up the valley of your breasts. He licks over the mound, sucking your nipple into his mouth and swirling it with a hum. Once he’s satisfied he moves to your shoulder, kissing and licking his way over to your collarbone then finally his lips are back on yours.

You’re gasping as you tremble through your orgasm, aftershocks wash over you as you taste yourself on his tongue. Chris smirks, whispering against your lips. "No one else will make you feel this good, baby. No one else will make you cum like this.”

The head of his cock slips through your dripping folds, catching against your clit before he’s pushing in. “This is mine. All mine." He sinks in to the hilt then slowly drags his cock back against your walls. 

“This is what I want.” He straightens up, looking down at your pretty face contorted in pleasure. 

“All of that other shit doesn’t matter.” He moans, holding your thighs back to get a perfect view of you.  “I wanna watch it. Wanna see the way my pussy opens up for me. ‘S mine, isn’t it, baby? Tell me this shit is mine.”

“Yours, it’s yours. Fuck, ‘s fucking yours, please, you’re gonna make me cum.” Chris slows his strokes, grinding deep into you and dipping his hips to hit the soft spot that turns you into putty for him.

You’re drooling at the feeling. Tears threaten to fall from the corners of tired eyes as you watch the way he admires your cunt. The corner of his bottom lip is tugged and held firm between his teeth as he fights back his moans so that he can hear yours clearer.

“Shit, You’re gonna make me cum. Gonna make me fucking cum, make daddy cum.” The precise snap of his hips grows sloppy as the seconds pass. His once slow grind is now erratic. He’s purely seeking pleasure, sinking deeper into the haze with every drag. 

“Fuck, squeeze me. Yeah, just like that, that’s my girl. Pretty fucking girl on my cock.” Each thrust is met with a slap to your clit. You jolt at the contact, back arching off of the mattress. “Cum for me. Cum on my dick.” 

With one more flick of your clit you're trembling beneath him. Your cunt sucks him in and he takes it all with a loud moan. Chris lets your legs fall so that he can hover over you. He holds himself up on his elbows as he kisses you through your climax. You moan into it, shaking with each thrust and twitch of his cock. 

“Shit, that’s good. So good, baby, ‘m gonna cum.” The frantic bucking of his hips against yours comes to a halt as he falls apart. 

Moans tumble forward as he does. His muscles tense and his eyes roll back as he drives himself deep into you, filling you with every drop of himself that he has to offer. Chris collapses on top of you, his weight pinning you in place. 

You pant below him, coming down from your high as aftershocks wash over him. He kisses your neck, breathing heavily into your skin. 

“Now.” He pulls back slightly, gaze catching yours. “Now I’m happy.”

Thank You For Reading! Please Reblog or Comment to let me know how you liked it! It makes my day! 💕

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[servicpop]

correcting wrongs nsfw teacher ! zhongli x student brat ! bttm m reader

Clad in a brown turtleneck with an almost unamused expression on his face, your professor was nothing short of being “the best in the business.” His stoic nature paired with those strikingly sharp features made him easy on the eyes, and strangely attractive.

He wasn't soft spoken, but his words were always delivered gently, tinged with a rasp from his low speaking register. A real heartthrob of a teacher.

Though he was kind to others, you seemed to be the one thing that made him slightly annoyed. Every conversation you had with him usually ended with a pinch of his nose bridge, a sigh, and a dismiss with the wave of his hand. Your bratty attitude towards him was almost bearable until it wasn't.

In a cliché fashion, Zhongli had asked you to come to his office in the afternoon when classes finished, and you did.

“Are my teaching methods not good enough for you?” You can hear the exhaustion weigh on his words as he pushes himself off the chair to stand.

You don't respond, the words seem to dissipate in your throat the moment he begins to scold you.

“What is the issue? I'm trying to understand,” A hand grabs your shoulder, and you lift your head to glance at Zhongli's face. He wears the classic 'teacher expression,' one that oddly reminds you of a parent.

“I'm more of a hands on learner,” you shrug, and its apparent in Zhongli's face that he picks up your little tease. There's a slight confusion in his eyes before it's masked to be unreadable. A sigh leaves his lips as his hands move to cuff the edges of his sleeve up, sliding his watch off and placing it on his desk with a small thud.

“I'm willing to adjust my methods if it means you'll behave more accordingly.” He carefully grabs your wrist, guiding it towards the papers on his desk, planting your hand firmly onto the sheet. Zhongli stands behind you, his chest almost touching your back from how close he was. He lets your fingers trace the printed letters to study the content on the page, but it's all a jumble of useless words to you, especially when your attractive teacher is right behind you.

“This is boring,” you whine, trying to pull your hand from underneath Zhongli's.

“Are you having difficulty concentrating?” He asks, the velvety tone of his voice violates your ears like it's crawling through your brain. It's a tingly feeling you can't shake off.

“As if it would be that—” You're cut off by the involuntary hitch of your breath as his cold fingers grace the side of your waist. They travel down to your hips, sneaking under your pants before they retreat.

“Maybe some concentration exercises? To help you stop getting distracted.”

You swallow. Thickly. You're about to jab a snarky remark at him before you feel his hand push down the back of your head, forcing you to look down at the worksheets on his desk. His free hand wrangles his tie, pulling it off to bind your wrists together. Zhongli rests his hands on your hips as he leans into your ear, his breath hot against the shell.

“Do you want me to stop?” Zhongli's fingers rest lightly on the waistband of your pants, like he's waiting for the greenlight to pull them off. He's too patient with you—he doesn't pry at all—and when you don't give him a response he kindly removes himself from you.

“No— um,” You stumble over your words as he pulls away, unable to conjure a coherent sentence in your head to respond. It's almost like your pride is blocking your throat but you push out a few words, just so he knows.

“It's fine,” you breathe, quickly turning your head away from him to save yourself some dignity.

You don't see it, but he smiled ever so slightly, returning to his previous position. Zhongli's fingers slip down, slowly dragging the zipper lower as he watches your eyes fixate on the pages infront of you. His hands—oddly soft and warm—meets your pelvis before they slide down to the elastic of your underwear. With a small flick of his wrists, he's able to pull your boxers off and down low enough that it sits neatly at your mid thigh.

Your breath hitches and you drag your eyes away from the text and to his hands that are gently running up the sides of your thigh. He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, using his free hand to tap the sheet infront of you.

“Focus. Eyes on the paper.” His hands pull away from your body—only to unbuckle his belt, though you misinterprete his actions—and you spin your head around to question him. He's already pulled his belt off and taps your forehead with the end of it. “Needy,” he scolds.

Fabric noises fill the empty office and you see him reach over to dish a packet from his wallet—he keeps those on him at all time. You recognise the sound, the latex rolling on, the slight snap as he fixes it to be more comfortable, and the feeling of wetness against your skin.

He uses his hand to push the back of your head down once again, “Don't pay attention to what I am doing, focus on the content.” He's probably mentioned the word 'focus' five times by now.

Zhongli uses his thumb to part your flesh, giving way for him to nuzzle his head against your hole. He's exactly how you imagined him to be, except all you can really feel is the condom rather than his skin, none of his veins and all—which was, really, the more important details.

Its a slow movement as he slides himself into you, gently kneading the plush of your waist—an absent-minded habit you assume. He's not excruciatingly thick; he's rather average, but there's something about the way he could reach so deep without causing any external pain makes your knees buck just a little.

All the words and educational paragraphs all become a blur the moment he fully sheaths himself inside of you. He pauses, letting you soak in the situation before he pulls out, only just to slam himself back in. Your little gasps and moans earns another cruel thrust, forcing you to arch your back as he holds you in place.

“It's difficult, is it?” He's using that teacher tone on you, but you can tell there's a slight mock in his voice as he watches you disregard the paper, crumpling it under your hands as you grip at anything you can.

“I can always assign you easier work if that makes you feel better.” He tilts your head back, letting you see him through the corner of your eye as he continuously pounds into you, the obscene sound of skin against skin loud enough that you started to worry the janitors wold hear.

“I can do it,” you grit through your teeth despite the pants and whispers.

“I don't think you can,” he cooes, gently holding your jaw as he lets you rest your head against his palm. The only reason he's holding your head up is to ensure you don't get a headache from how hard your body is recoiling from his thrusts.

He practically drags his cock in and out of you, angling his hips in a way that would hit your prostate almost every single time. His hands were gentle on your skin, holding you like you were a porcelain doll, but his thrusts were punishing.

As your whines grew, he knew you were getting close, seeing the way your legs trembled underneath you, barely holding you up. The hand Zhongli had on your hip moves to pick up your leaking tip in his hands, smoothing his thumb over the slit. He holds it there, denying you of any release.

“Are you ready to listen in my lectures?” He hums, leaning his head down to get a good look at your face.

“No more talking back?” he adds, marvelling in the way you're eyes dip in and out of focus. You nod, unable to find your voice from how hard you were yelling while he was hitting all the right spots. He flashes a polite smile, removing his thumb from blocking your urethra and gently massaging your tip to coax out a orgasm.

It hits you like a train, sparks darting across your vision as your dick stiffens, spurting out a copious amount of white all over Zhongli's desk. You go limp in his hold, chest still heaving from the intensity of your high. It takes a few more, slow pumps before he's pulling out, taking off the used plastic and throwing it into the trash can underneath his desk.

“How was that? Did I do your 'hands on learning' correct?” He could really enchant someone with that voice.

a / n : sorry this was short T T I just needed to get something out . I literally forgot how Zhongli acted halfway through so this is probably very ooc . . .

[mead-iocre]

FIFA | Leah Williamson x Reader

synopsis: you play FIFA

warnings: none. just fluff x

wc: 1.7k words

The late afternoon light filtered through the sheer linen curtains, casting a warm golden glow across the living room. You sat curled up on the couch, legs draped over Leah’s lap, idly scrolling through your phone. The rhythmic clicking of the Xbox controller’s buttons was the only sound filling the room, a counterpoint to the quiet hum of the outside world.

All of a sudden, the clicking of the controller stopped. Leah nudged your leg, palm wrapping around one thigh and squeezing. “Hey, baby” she said, her voice light with a hint of something else. “Wanna do something fun?”

You look away from your phone, arching one perfectly groomed eyebrow. Leah took a moment to admire you, dressed in your favourite Izaak Azanei pink shearling cuff button cardigan with the matching leggings. Leave it to you to be overdressed, even in the comfort of your own home. 

“What do you have in mind?” you asked, letting her phone drop onto the sofa beside her. You were intrigued now.

“I was thinking…FIFA,” The blonde said with a shrug, pushing her hair back as it falls over eyes. Her bangs haven't grown out just yet.

You blink up at her, slightly caught off guard. You had never shown the slightest interest in football or video games. You could barely remember the rules, let alone the offside rule.

But one thing about you, you were just as competitive as your professional footballer girlfriend– if not even more.

“FIFA...?” you ponder over it for a moment. You were never one to back down from a challenge-- even football. “Okay, you’ve got my attention. Let’s play.”

The big smile that took over Leah’s face could’ve blinded a man.

She squeezed the leg that was still draped over her lap, and grabbed the second controller that was conveniently left on the coffee table. She hands it to you, grinning when your hands awkwardly fumble around with the buttons. 

Her competitive girl.

Rosy tinted lips settled into a pout, sweet wrinkles form across the middle of your forehead as you study the device in your hands. “Lee–” A huff leaves your lips. “…how does this even work?”

Leah chuckled softly, leaning in to adjust your grip. Her fingers brushed skin. “Okay, first things first. You use the left stick to move your player,” Leah said, her voice gentle but firm. “Try it. Push it to the left.”

Your brows furrowed, lips curling in confusion as you nudged the left stick to the side. On screen, the character shuffled a few steps, the motion awkward and unsure, much like you when you went to your first couple of football matches. “I’m– uh, not sure if I’m doing it right,” 

Leah’s lips quirked into a soft smile as she leaned a little closer, unable to stop herself from touching you somehow. She lets go of one side of the controller and instead drapes it over your shoulder, fingers rubbing the little bit of exposed skin by her hip. “That’s good. You’re doing great, baby. Here, let me show ya.” Leah gently took your hand, guiding your fingers to the controller so you were holding it more comfortably.

“Like this,” Leah murmured, moving the stick smoothly, making the player glide across the pitch. “See? Just a gentle nudge.”

You watched, captivated not by the moving avatar on the screen who looks eerily similar to Viv, but by the blonde shuffling closer beside you. After a year of dating, you should be used to this, but you weren't. Your heart still squeezed when you look at her.

It's almost ike when your Hermes sales associate pulled out your new Hermes Birkin 30 in Mauve Sylvestre Bag with Epsom Palladium Hardware.

Almost.

“Okay, I think I got it.” You pushed the stick forward a little more confidently this time. Your player jogged across the pitch—clumsy, but moving.

“There you go, baby” Leah praised, her eyes on you, soft with affection. “Now, let’s pass the ball.” She pointed to the ‘A’ button on the controller. “Press this to pass it. Lightly, okay?”

You pressed the button, and the ball rolled a few feet—straight to the opposing team.

Leah laughed in pure, utmost affection. You couldn’t help but admire the curve of her neck and the way her soft tendrils of her hair brushed against her cheek as her eyes met yours again. They were like crescent moons and you love the way her cheeks flush slightly the more she laughs.

One hand slides in between your knees, affectionately squeezing your inner thigh. “Okay, that was... a bit too light. But you’re getting there, baby”

You bite your lip, shy now, tasting your favourite Summer Fridays lipgloss. “I swear I’m trying,” you pout but nevertheless straightening your back to lock back in. “This is harder than it looks.”

The blonde just smiles a secret smile. The scent dewy sweetness of pink peony and fresh lily of the valley mingling with the soft, delicate rosy smell of your hair. You feel her press a kiss against the crown of your head, her lips moving against your hair as her jokes “It’s okay, baby. Sometimes I pass it to the opposing team too”

Too soon.

You recall the last game where Leah accidentally kicked the ball to an opposing player and nearly assisted an equaliser. Luckily, the goal was saved.

You gasp playfully, looking up at her only to be met with her pretty blues. The skin around the corner of her eyes crinkle as she laughs with you. Leah’s ability to not take herself so seriously is one of your favourite things about her. 

Turning back to the screen, you tighten your hands around the controller. “I think I might be terrible at this.”

“You’re not terrible,” Leah insists. “You’re learning. And that’s what matters.”

After a few more attempts, you finally managed to pass the ball with some semblance of control, sending it to your own teammate. “Look, I did it!” you bellow, your voice filled with genuine pride. Stacks of Tiffany and Van Cleef bracelets jingle and jangle as you pump a fist in the air. 

It was like when you scored your rare Dior Metallic Lambskin and Rose des Vents Satin bag– but without having to swipe a card.

You press the right buttons, watching as your avatar on screen kicks the ball up the pitch. “That’s what I’m talking about! What a pass, baby!” Leah turns to you, throwing her arms in the air, before leaning in to give you a sweet kiss. When she pulls away, a shiny sheen of your lipgloss is left on her own lips.

She doesn’t wipe it off. 

You grinned at her, fully locked in now. You rolled up your pink shearling cuff sleeves up your arms, because this was serious now. “Okay, now let’s see if I can actually score a goal.”

“Woah– okay, Messi. Lets see how you get dribbling first”

Reaching into the pocket of your pink joggers, you pull out your Summer Friday lipgloss, swiping it over your lips a few times. Leah just watches you with a small smile, your lip gloss still lingering on her bottom lip. You twist the lipgloss lid closed, pressing your lips together. “I can do this. Watch me.”

The Arsenal defender took that as her queue to sit back and observe as you focused back on the screen. The intensity in your gaze was almost palpable, and for a moment, Leah found herself mesmerised not by the game on the screen, but by you.

You pressed the ‘B’ button with a confident flick of your thumb, and watched as the ball sailed through the air—past the defenders, past the keeper—and into the net.

You gasped as the words– GOAL!– flashes on screen, eyes widening in disbelief. “Did I- did I just score?”

Leah was stunning. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to make sense of what her girlfriend just did. “You... you did,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, awestruck. “You scored, baby. What a bloody good goal.”

Turning to her you gasp wide, sparkling eyes, lips parting in shock. Your curls bounce as you turn back to screen– wanting to make sure it was real– and then back to your girlfriend. “I... I really did? Oh my god--”

You squeal, jumping up from the sofa and clapping your hands. A breathless laugh escapes your lips as you twirl around in pure, unfiltered joy. Your eyes sparkle, cheeks flushed rosy with the thrill of victory, raising your arms raised in mock triumph. “I’m a footballer!” 

“Okay- okay don’t come for my job just yet” Leah reaches over, gently snagging your wrist and pulling you into her arms. You melt into her willingly, the controller slipping from your grasp as you both collapse into a tangle of laughter and affection, bodies close. The victory feels sweeter, somehow, in the warmth of her embrace.

“Told ya you could do it” Leah murmurs, pressing a kiss against your forehead. 

You laughed, burying your face into her chest, the familiar smell of her hoodie washing over you. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m not completely terrible at it.”

“I think you’re more than just ‘not terrible.’” Leah snuggles you closer to her, a hand sneakily creeping underneath your top. When did that happen, you have no idea. Unable to help it, you shiver slightly at the feel of her nails dancing across your back.

And of course she notices.

Her voice is low, teasing. “You’re kind of a pro, actually”

"Alexia Putellas better watch out" You say, haughtily. Your taunt is rewarded with her raspy laugh. She nuzzles her face into the crook of your neck, leaving a kiss on the spot where you neck meets your collarbone. "I'm coming for that Ballon Dior"

“Ballon D’or, baby– not Dior”

You look at her, the love of your life. Her pretty blue eyes, bright as they stare at you. She's got a small smile, head tilted slightly as her eyes roam your face. You blush at the intensity of her gaze, still not familiar to the privilege of getting to look at her every single day.

Leah pulls you to her so you're laying over her chest. You snuggle closer, bringing your knees up, and making yourself comfortable. "You should get one.."

An eyebrow raise. She presses her lips together, holding in a laugh. "Wha-- a Ballon D'or? Bit hard to do as a defender, love"

"No," You roll your eyes, petulantly. You shake your head. The soft swish of your hair moves, a playful flutter through your locks thanks to your freshly blow-out. "a Dior"

Leah laughs. The kind of laugh where she throws her head back, crinkles form by the corner of her eyes, and her entire body contorts, uninhibited, because of you. It’s the curve of her neck, the subtle arch of their brow, the way her breath catches just before another laugh bursts free.

"C'mere" Her hand grasps the side of your neck, squeezing it gently, a few lingering chuckles leave her lips. She pulls you closer, pecking your lips once, then twice.

"I’ll get you your Ballon Dior"

back on my spoiled!reader x leah bs. she's just a girl (wants her Ballon Dior)

thank you to the anon who sent the request <333 i hope you love it even if i changed it a lil bit <333

・❥・- kisses, butter

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

[thesecondhandwoman]

Hello I’m back but with a properly formulated request!

Sevika x single mom? Head-cannons, drabbles ect, I’m not picky

Or, you and sevika had been dating a few months but she didn’t know you had a daughter. One day you invite her to your house for afternoon tea (and to meet your daughter)….sevika shows up early with flowers but it’s not you who opens the door, it’s a 5 year old?

-thank you! Pictures of my dog Milo will only be sent if you do this 💗💗💗

A LITTLE BIT OF SUGAR

Sevika x f!reader

Synopsis: After inviting Sevika to come to your house due to months of dating, you didn’t expect her to come early. So, without any knowledge and the doorbell ringing, you daughter answered instead, surprising Sevika entirely.

Request: @possessedmagpie

Sevika wasn’t nervous. Not exactly.

She tugged on the cuff of her jacket, the bouquet of flowers clutched in her other hand as she stood outside your door. This wasn’t a big deal—it was just tea at your place. Nothing she hadn’t done before, right?

Well, except it was the first time you’d invited her over.

The thought made her shift her weight, suddenly hyper-aware of the flowers in her hand. Were flowers too much? She didn’t usually do romantic gestures, but you brought something out in her—something soft and warm, something that wanted to try for you.

Taking a steadying breath, she knocked on the door. It opened almost immediately, but it wasn’t you standing there.

It was a kid.

A very small, very curious kid.

Sevika froze. The child blinked up at her with wide eyes, her head tilting as if trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

“Hi,” the little girl said, her voice bright and clear.

“Uh, ” Sevika’s mind blanked. She glanced down at the flowers, then back at the child. “Hi.”

The girl squinted at her, clearly unimpressed. “Who are you?”

“I’m…” Sevika glanced around as if looking for you to appear and rescue her. “I’m Sevika. Is—uh—is your mom home?”

The girl’s eyes lit up at that. “You’re here for Mommy?”

Sevika nodded, still not entirely sure what was happening.

The child seemed to consider this, then stepped back and opened the door wider. “Okay, come in! Mommy’s in the kitchen. I’ll show you!”

Before Sevika could react, the girl grabbed her free hand and started tugging her inside. The bouquet bobbed awkwardly in her grip as she let herself be dragged into the small, cozy apartment.

Sevika took it all in at a glance: the lived-in feel of the space, the faint smell of something cooking, the drawings taped up on the fridge. Her chest tightened as the realization hit her like a freight train.

You had a kid.

The girl plopped herself onto the couch and patted the seat next to her, looking up at Sevika expectantly. “Sit down! Mommy will be done soon. You can talk to me!”

Sevika sat stiffly, her brain still trying to catch up. She glanced down at the child, who was now inspecting the bouquet with open curiosity.

“Are those for Mommy?” the girl asked, reaching out to touch the petals.

“Yeah,” Sevika said, her voice coming out rougher than she intended. She cleared her throat. “For your mom.”

The girl grinned. “She’s gonna love them. She likes pretty things.”

Sevika found herself relaxing a little at the child’s enthusiasm. “Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. I’m Dahlia,” the girl said proudly. “What’s your name again?”

“Sevika.”

“Sevika,” Dahlia repeated, testing the word. “That’s a cool name.”

Sevika smirked despite herself. “Thanks, kid.”

Before Dahlia could launch into another round of questions, your voice called from the kitchen. “Dahlia, who’s at the door?”

“It’s Sevika!” Dahlia yelled back, making Sevika wince at the volume.

Your footsteps came quickly, and a moment later, you appeared in the doorway, holding a dish towel. The moment your eyes landed on Sevika, they went wide.

“You’re early,” you said, a hint of panic in your voice.

Sevika gave a sheepish shrug. “Yeah, I guess I—uh—caught you off guard.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I was going to… ease into this.”

Sevika’s brow furrowed. “Ease into what?”

You gestured toward Dahlia, who was now busy arranging the flowers in a vase she’d found on the coffee table. “This. Her.”

Sevika stared at you, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to form a response. “You didn’t tell me you had a kid.”

“I know,” you said quickly, stepping closer. “I wanted to. I just didn’t know how.”

Sevika exhaled sharply, leaning back against the couch. “That’s a lot to spring on someone.”

“I know,” you repeated, your voice softer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen this way.”

Dahlia looked up from her flowers, oblivious to the tension in the room. “Mommy, Sevika’s really nice! She let me smell the flowers!”

You managed a small smile, crouching down beside her. “That’s very sweet of her, isn’t it?”

Dahlia nodded enthusiastically, and you turned back to Sevika, your eyes searching hers. “Can you stay? Just for a little while? I’ll explain everything. Please.”

Sevika hesitated, her gaze flicking between you and Dahlia. Finally, she nodded. “Yeah. I can stay.”

Lunch was a strange mix of awkwardness and warmth. Dahlia’s endless chatter filled the silences, her stories ranging from her favorite cartoons to the adventures of her stuffed bear, Mr. Bubbles.

Sevika found herself drawn into the conversation despite her initial discomfort. Dahlia had a way of demanding attention in a way that felt familiar—like a certain blue-haired girl Sevika had once known.

“You’re good with her,” you said quietly when Dahlia ran off to grab a book she wanted to show Sevika.

Sevika snorted. “You think so?”

“I do,” you said, your gaze soft. “I was worried… about how this would go. But you’re handling it better than I expected.”

Sevika shrugged, glancing toward the hallway where Dahlia had disappeared. “She’s a good kid. Reminds me of someone I used to know.”

“Jinx?”

“Yeah.” Sevika’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “She used to follow me around all the time as a kid, asking a million questions. Drove me crazy back then, but I guess I got used to it.”

You smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “Thank you. For staying.”

Sevika’s fingers curled around yours, her grip firm but gentle. “I’m not going anywhere.”

After lunch, Dahlia insisted Sevika help her draw. You watched from the kitchen as they sat on the living room floor, crayons scattered between them.

“Your coloring is terrible,” Dahlia declared, pointing at Sevika’s attempt at a flower.

Sevika raised an eyebrow. “You could just say thank you.”

Dahlia giggled, leaning over to “fix” the drawing. “There. Now it’s pretty.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sevika muttered, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

You leaned against the counter, your heart swelling at the sight. Sevika didn’t just tolerate Dahlia—she engaged with her, teasing and listening in a way that felt effortless. It was more than you’d dared to hope for.

When Dahlia finally ran out of steam and curled up on the couch with Mr. Bubbles, you and Sevika found yourselves alone in the quiet living room.

“She likes you,” you said softly, sitting beside her.

Sevika smirked. “Yeah? How can you tell?”

“She doesn’t usually let anyone touch her crayons,” you teased.

Sevika chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Well, I’m honored.”

You leaned into her, your head resting against her chest. “I know this isn’t what you signed up for. And if it’s too much—”

“Don’t,” Sevika said firmly, cutting you off. “I’m here. I want to be here. Okay?”

You nodded, your throat tightening with emotion.

Sevika tilted your chin up, her gaze steady and warm. “You and her? You’re a package deal. I get that. And I’m in.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but before you could respond, Sevika leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. It was slow and grounding, a silent promise you felt in every inch of your being.

When she pulled back, you smiled up at her, your fingers brushing against the scar on her cheek. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

Sevika smirked. “Guess that makes two of us.”

The sound of Dahlia’s soft snores filled the room, and for the first time in years, you felt like everything was exactly as it should be.

A/N: This was such a cute request and I’m mad that I couldn’t expand it more (struggled a bit and working on the headcanons with other requests). Hope you enjoy it though :)!

[prael]

Pliancy

Kinktember Day 4: Dollification

ILLIT Park Minju x male reader smut

words: 6,488 Kinktember Masterlist

Art is eternal. Who was it that once said that a thing of beauty is a joy forever? Was it Byron? Was it Yeats? Who cares. But that line, however trite, does kind of get the concept down, really, as clichéd and insipid as it sounds.

Minju, too, is a joy forever, with her soft face, her sweet body, and her delicate touch. On this, I will allow you an image: she was the absolute pinnacle of girlhood, the perfect blending of innocence and wanton sexiness. When you pressed her slender wrists down into the sheets of her bed with those pale, thin fingers and pinned her slender body with your cock, you became one with a living, breathing piece of high art. The feeling of that, ah, that is something you cannot ever convey. And that's probably how it started, your obsession with her; she was beautiful and delicate and utterly desirable. She had all the loveliness of a porcelain figurine; just looking at her could arouse you, bring about your lusts and make your mouth dry up.

But there is something, and you realise this, something both primal and shameful, about wanting to sully that image of innocence. Not, of course, that your feelings towards Minju are wholly visceral—you do love her, and genuinely so. The things you do may imply something different, a detachment from her as a person if someone were looking in from the outside, but just as you assured her, it's an act born out of admiration. It's an act out of devotion.

To dollify the living, breathing, loving, feeling organism called Minju, then to make her merely an object for your desires. Ah, there's something wonderfully, gloriously filthy in that—the violation and the liberation. In all those actions and thoughts, you can be sure, is that undercurrent of perverseness and lust. Your lips tracing across Minju's navel is an act of passion, one to express the fullness and warmth that has bloomed inside your chest. Your hands gripping her thighs so tight that they leave deep, crimson fingerprints on the skin is an act of passion too—one to express a primal need.

When it all starts, Minju, a girl so usually full of energy and vivacity, is demure and quiet; she sits in this stoic way in front of you, knees together and her hands resting on her thighs, just below the table. The table holds the tools of your art: hairclips, mascara, lip gloss, nail polish and everything else. She waits, as she always does, in silent expectation.

Minju wears the outfit you laid out for her that afternoon. The fabrics are light and flowing, cotton in a milky off-white colour hugging her upper body and a linen shirt whose billowy sleeves hang around her slender arms; at the wrists, she keeps the cuffs rolled up. Cotton shorts, equally soft, equally neutral in colour, held to her small waist by a ribbon as a makeshift belt. All of it was chosen specifically by you—it's all so very angelic, and comfortable. Innocent.

You set about your work, asking her to place a hand on the table. Nails take the longest to dry so you start there: you paint the end of each of her slender fingers one at a time, taking great care, letting her rest her hand in the palm of your own as you go through the motion. Whisper-like strokes of the brush over the thin keratin in a pastel shade, the pink of newly-blossomed cherry flowers. A compliment to her fair complexion. 

One hand done, you raise it closer to your mouth and gently blow over the fingertips, to quicken their drying. Her hand, in yours, is ever so small. So petite. You remark this, smiling, and her expression—wide-eyed and quietly attentive—softens. It's a sight so adorable; how the ends of her lips upturn as if you've said something exceptionally touching. That's the thing with Minju; you just never quite get used to how much trust and affection is conveyed in those big, soft eyes.

Not long until the other hand is done, perfect crisp painting without a single smudge, or mistake.

You screw in the brush, then stand to move the table aside, you pull it away from her and then push it away. You kneel at her feet, hand resting gently on a small calf. You lift a leg, then draw your hand down it, to her heel. Bare feet, too, are a marvel in and of themselves: smooth skin over arched bones. Like all good things, it's imperfect; she's a dancer after all, still, she takes all the care to moisturise and you take all the care to massage them.

Now, Minju is ticklish, always has been, so when you take hold of her foot in preparation to paint her nails, she struggles not to break composure, and yet a cute little smirk betrays her. With one hand, you hold it steady; with the other, you reach to the table and draw the brush from the pot of white paint. White like the brightest snow, a winter's morn. You make slow, even strokes, over her nails, starting with the big toe and making your way down the digits, till her little feet are thoroughly and beautifully made up.

She flinches occasionally, under your touch, but with great care, you never make a mistake. No stain on her flesh. Repeated for her other foot too, each followed by a patient period of gently blowing, which sees her struggle against the tickling of her flesh even more. This time, she moves, almost unable to help it—and you know that to admonish her would not be the gentlemanly thing.

"It's okay Minju. Relax," you tell her, softly, as she takes a steadying breath, "that's it. Good."

It is here where you see a glow of pleasure and a hint of a smile on her pretty, youthful face, at hearing words of praise from you. This you know well: to Minju, your affirmations have an almost spiritual significance. In all the time you have known her, she has yearned to do well, to make others around her happy, to gain approval and affection, and as someone important in her life, this sentiment extends to you.

"My angel," you call her, not for the first time, and definitely not for the last. You lean close to place a gentle peck of your lips against her leg, just above the ankle, which causes her to stir. But that's okay, a moment of weakness is ever expected. You shift away from her leg, letting the soft flesh slip from your hand, and admire the neat work you have done so far. "There we go."

You bring your chair close to her, so you can sit, knee to knee across from her and set to work on her pretty features. First, you frame her face by clipping back the locks of fine honey-brown that threatened to obscure her eyes. Then you take the lip gloss in a soft rose colour, and a slender, synthetic-haired brush, and begin the work of accentuating her lips. Start at the top and glide over the curve that runs along her cupid's bow. Define the fine edges and then coat, to treat yourself to a shimmering pink glow; a shine over the otherwise natural look.

"Perfect. Oh, how I want to kiss them."

Minju doesn't say a word but the look in her eye speaks all the same, 'I wish you would do it.'

She remains still as you take hold of the thin eyeliner pencil in one hand and Minju's chin with the other, carefully positioning the tip under the lash line, and drawing it slowly, ever-so-carefully. Drawing a light, curved line to the side, first on her right, and then on her left. Do the same, light and clean, under the bottom lashes, being extra sure to define her creases.

Her eyes, as you study them, are so rich and vivid in colour that they command all of your attention and all of your efforts. So you work carefully, deliberately; being this close to her means you can see each speck, each mote in those deep, earthy brown irises. This intimacy, the face-to-face nearness of it all, brings on a unique vulnerability: when she closes her eyes next, to allow you to apply shadow to her lids, Minju puts herself at your mercy.

Minju's lips part and a small but noticeable hitch of her breath follows as you pull yourself away and admire your work. She has this kind of seductive natural pout—soft, shapely. Something alluring that the angles of her mouth lend her. As you sweep blush powder over her cheeks with a fine, oval-shaped brush, she utters a soft question, "How does it look?"

You bring a finger to rest against the fullness of her cheek, letting it trace along her soft flesh, down her jaw, and under her chin—before bringing it upwards, a physical prompting, to make her lift her chin higher. "Perfect. Always."

It occurs to you, as you define her eyebrows in quick, practised strokes, that for all the work you put into her, the inhuman focus and the undivided attention, this effort is nothing against the absolute, undying beauty that is Park Minju. It's a sort of colour-by-numbers deal; with all the perfect lines drawn out, it's up to you—a mock amateur—to simply embellish, to exaggerate, what is already there. To add shadow, light, and life.

You finish your work creating ('Creating' is the wrong word, more so, refining) the perfect doll. Minju keeps still, and patient. Beautiful.

"Precious girl."

By her earlobe, just below the jaw, there is a spot. The most perfect, sensitive area, to which you bow your head. Close your eyes. Place your lips. You kiss this spot, slowly, dragging your lips against her flesh, across it, revelling in the delicate softness. Revelling in her soft little moan, muffled only by pursed lips.

You push your chair back, and stand, looking down at her from above. You draw the clips back from her hair and it falls back into the perfect place. You circle around her once, slow, methodical. Taking all of her in, marvelling.

The greatest treasure in all the world. A masterpiece.

She follows your every guidance as you pull her to her feet. After all, she is, for tonight, nothing more than a doll. Pliable. Openly, and explicitly, subservient. You turn her and position her before a full-length mirror set in the far corner of her room. There she stands, arms at her side, staring back at you with doe-like, innocent eyes. There you stand, tall, strong behind her, hands on her arms.

"Perfect. You really are the most precious girl."

Your grip on her upper arms is gentle but firm as you ease her forward into a bend at the hips, tilting her towards the mirror as you place her into a pose. Fingers playing lightly down her limbs, like stroking the keys on the piano, or the strings on a guitar. You place her hands behind her back, and instruct her expression, "Give me a sweet smile."

Your voice is quiet in her ear as she nods, just the slightest, almost indiscernible incline of the head. She stares down the mirror as her full, kissable lips slowly contort into a charming, simpering smile, the type that the most beloved princesses often wear. You press up behind her, brushing your body tight against hers and see how that lovely little grin of hers slowly stretches up, to become ever so slightly crooked.

In your reflection in the mirror, you see yourself behind her. She holds perfectly still, hands fixed as if bound at the wrists, legs set slightly apart. "Pretty, don't you think?" You ask, teasingly. You press a little into her upper back, angling her in such a way that in the reflection you see down her cotton shirt, revealing the taut, soft curve of her small breasts. The sight of that, the teasing glance, is intoxicating. It brings a slight tremor down your spine, one you swallow down with a sharp breath. "Yes," you assure her, "Very pretty."

Her breathing comes laboured now, sharp little gasps; perhaps it has started to arouse her too, knowing herself to be at the mercy of your hands. Knowing herself to be nothing more than an object at this time—a living doll. To be used, played with, broken, toyed with, cared for or cast aside as you will.

You pull her to a stand and guide her away from the mirror. Her legs are long but you tower over her. She's so light to the touch, the petite girl, that should you need to, you could carry anywhere you desire in one swooping embrace.

You lead her to her dresser, to pose her against it. You guide her lithe left leg, so it crosses over the right one, you place her hands on the wood and let her rest against it. And she, docile, complies. "Like this?" She whispers.

"That's perfect."

You draw the collar of her shirt over her left shoulder, the one closest to you, until it hangs at around elbow height, exposing the skin underneath. A bare arm, all the way up to the strap of her tank top. You smile, admiring your own work, her poise and posture. You adjust her face, so she gazes slightly down in front of her. A final check to ensure the pose is perfect. It doesn't hurt that Minju is a natural when it comes to expressions: there is always some inflexion to the curl of her lips and the shape of her eyes, that says, 'I love this'.

You take the final unused item from the table, a Polaroid camera, one of the new instant types. This one, white, boxy and expensive, is perfect to capture Minju's pristine beauty. One image taken of her here, a pose in the frame, holding the photo to wait for it to develop is worth, it seems, a thousand words. It never ceases to amaze you: how well the camera captures her: how it draws out that natural aura of Minju and depicts it on the fine gloss. It makes, in effect, a perfect keepsake.

You take two more shots, each one giving you pause for appreciation. Each one, was perfect, like it was a scene from an album cover or the poster for a movie. She watches you from her position, gazing intently at you with a lovingly longing gaze. Watching you in fascination, and admiration.

You hold one in front of her. "This is my favourite, look at the way your leg curves here," you point to it, showing her. "And here, the shoulder, just at that angle. See the light dancing in your eyes and on the pink gloss, on the lips. Beautiful."

She remains lifelessly still staring at herself in the print without a word or reaction.

"Now, just one more like this, but first..." You place the camera slowly on the dresser, then grab the hem of her shirt. You fold it in under itself a few times until it sits taut across her stomach, just above her button. Her narrow waist is set into beautiful relief: a curvature down toned abs leading to between her thin hips. Then you pull at the other shoulder of the shirt, more pale skin, more svelteness of form, more smooth flesh. There's a light shiver through her skin as you graze her arm with your finger.

You push slightly into her chest, leaning her back a little over the dresser and then you tilt her head back exposing her neck. Soft lips fall open just the slightest, like the petals of a rose blooming, a faint gasp of a moan parting her pink lips, and her heavy breathing filling her heaving chest.

Taking the camera, you step back, crouch slightly, hold the lens up to eye height and take the shot; a flash and a click of the shutter is followed by a slow hum and a whir of the plastic film rolling out. Another polaroid, you take it to her, tugging lightly at her chin to direct her gaze to it. "This one," you breathe in close to her, placing a kiss on her exposed neck, "is something truly special." You fix on her scent, something fruity and soft: orange blossom undertones.

Minju lets out a soft gasp.

"This one turns me on. The exposed skin. The lustful eyes. Those parted lips, like an invitation," you utter, "do you know how beautiful you look, Minju? How sexy?"

The deepening of her breath tells you what you want to hear.

"New pose. Come here." You take hold of her bare shoulders and pull her to a stand. Her shirt hangs at her back between her elbows. You move behind her as you guide her toward the window, opening her curtains wide and letting the final embers of sunlight in to kiss her skin. You slip her shirt from her arms that hang by her side. "Let's lean you against here."

You guide her hands onto the sill of the window. Let her hands rest flat against it. Hold her by the hips and pull them back, making her shuffle her legs back. Make the curve of her ass tighter, the flex of her lower back deeper.

You pose her into this deep bend, then guide her face up so she faces the evening light. So she basks, regally, in the final glow of the setting sun, and you can see the pinking hue reflected in her eyes.

"Be a good doll and remain still."

The heat has turned Minju's pale flesh red, but you soothe her with a palm, a brush against a soft cheek and an affectionate 'hush'. You fixate upon the curves and lines of her back, following the path of her spine down with your hand, taking care to remain in the hollow. That central channel carved through her back that draws down the centre, passing by dimples in her lower back before widening at the hips and merging into her tapering waist, is a work of art unto itself. 

A simple touch of a kiss against that soft flesh at the base of the spine, and Minju fails to disguise a sharp breath as you kneel, her bare calves become a mounting point for your hands. She inhales in soft, controlled bursts as your fingertips stroke around the curve of her lower leg, working around and under the leg, dragging slowly upwards as you make careful circles over her toned calves, till your finger hits the lower thigh. Upward, further. Her body trembles gently as your hand traces along her inner thigh, up to her light cotton shorts where you draw your hand over to the back of her thighs and back down.

"Be a good doll," you repeat, quiet, breath warm against her lower back. You hook your fingers into her shorts, running your palms on her taut, toned little ass. Slight tremors from Minju ripple through your skin as you hook in the fingers of either hand beneath the elastic of her underwear too. A lingering hesitation passes as you focus, and in the serenity of the moment, you draw everything down in one slow, measured pull. The sight of the white cotton dragging down over the firm roundness of her ass has you weak.

You stop at her ankles, and one at a time, you lift a foot out of the clothes, and pull them free, planting her foot back down in a slightly wider stance. You look up, and to her faint reflection in the window, and admire the look she wears, the unnerving determination to hold still and say not a single thing. The deep red hue paints her skin as the day darkens.

"Stay," you command.

You find the camera one final time, to indulge in one final intoxicating shot: Minju, back beautifully lit by the last remnants of the sun's rays, the light striking her skin and making the paleness and tone all the more beautiful; the slight swell of her hips, the small, firm, almost apple-like curve of her behind, and those slim toned thighs in the shadow.

"Hold for me, don't move."

She stares resolutely into the distance through the window, hands clutching the edge of the window sill as you draw the viewfinder to your eye once again. Click, a flash and a whir. The exposure of the light behind her leaves a shadowy image on the thinning film of her nude behind; the smooth line of her legs, her trim waist and that sweet little thing between her legs. An air of sophistication; and one of sin.

"See this?" You show it to her and the embarrassment causes a flutter in her eyes; the arousal of watching her own bare ass on the printed film causes the slightest redness of her cheeks. "I'm going to use that right there. Stay."

There's another twitch in her eyes as you walk away and leave her there, still posing, looking as sensational as ever. You walk out the door, to drink, relax, anything to make her wait. Make her suffer the indignity of exposure and vulnerability.

You spy her through the doorway and never does she move a muscle, your little doll-girl stands there obediently as requested. Time passes—several minutes. And yet she, with such admirable determination, wills herself to stay in position until you return. And you do. You saunter back in, slow. Walking behind her and she never once looks back over her shoulder.

You rest a hand on her waist and the contact is met with a sudden release of tension—her chest falls with a sigh. Her pose remains perfect—adulation for your hand, written in the small shakes of her body and the gradual intonations of her heavy pants. A perfect and delicate angel. Your hand slips from her waist down over the taut curve of her ass, palm resting for the briefest moment on the soft, supple flesh. The pliability. Your hand continues the path it has carved over her skin until it rests lightly between her legs.

A gentle palm over her sex sends a current through her entire form, and a tensing in her muscles is the only indication she offers that there's a struggle to suppress noise in her throat. Hot and wet and you're a man driven by impulse. You step behind her, stroking her, massaging her, then withdrawing to instead spread her slightly with a single, teasing fingertip. "Good little doll."

A clear, sticky, glistening moisture trickles onto the digit and in the way Minju shivers, you are given every impression, you're sure of it, that her lower stomach muscles have clenched tight and are presently squeezing themselves in on each other. A fever pitch is reached within her, and you're ready too.

You draw your hand away, leaving Minju suspended in torment: there is desire, there is desperation and tension that must be alleviated. That itch soothed. She must hear it, the sound of you unbuckling and unzipping. A rustle of fabric as you pull them down and take them off.

With no word, you hit a palm against her ass, a quick and painful swat with your bare hand. Hard, smacking against soft, dough-like flesh. She stifles a soft, bitten-off yelp that sends a vibration up the curve of her back. "Going to play with you," you utter quietly. "Use this doll however I like."

Your hand is drawn back over the red mark on her tender flesh, stroking the mark, massaging, and it soon heats against your palm. You follow it by pressing the very tip of your dick, gently, against her opening. Enough pressure there for you both to know where the next moments go and a slight motion—only the gentlest thrusting—to grind that sensitive flesh in. Just enough to make her bite back her lower lip, to struggle against the overwhelming urge to break her poise.

To add to that struggle, the sensation, you lull her, deceive her, by trailing your length against her slick, tender folds, then abruptly drag it over the tight hole right there at the back. One more light tap there too, right on her little asshole, that drives her into a daze. Then you take her slit again, spreading her open, rubbing yourself over that hot hole and sending her a thousand electric tingles up through her hips.

You thrust once, a single long thrust, right into her little pussy, as much as her wetness will allow until resistance forms. Then back out, completely. Glistening with the slick fluids, you slap your shaft against her ass a couple of times. Wetness dripping, staining those tight cheeks. Then a wet slap of your hand to a cheek. Testing when she will break. Searching for that whimper, that moan, or maybe she'll hold it so well that a tear will form in her eye.

You fill her again, use her a little, rocking your hips back and forth. A careless use of her for pleasure, no consideration for her, for what she might desire and it is pure torture to her. One hand circles over her ass, grazing over the reddened mark, you let it settle on the top of her thigh for leverage and dig your fingertips into the skin. Another few firm pumps into her. Out. All the way out.

Dripping fluid pools around her slit, spilling out down her thigh, hot. "There's no better use for you than this," you hiss, as you smear the wetness over her flesh with the swollen head. The discomfort, the uncertainty, all of it written on her reddened skin and trembling lips. Another few slow pumps up her. Thrust, thrust, thrust. Draw out—slow, torturous—and then fill her again, rough, and violent, driving yourself up hard against her soft skin. Again. "Just like a sex doll," you groan. "Like you're a dirty toy."

Those words draw this low growl inside her, and Minju shudders under the intensity, this vibrating noise rising in her. Fuck, it feels wonderful in her, tight, burning hot—soft, yielding—wet, messy. Drive into that tension, the squeeze on you, where she can feel you so full and snug inside her.

Allow yourself for a moment, to just enjoy her, as she is. She will allow you to, don't fret. Enjoy her as a possession, something lesser than yourself; an object to be manipulated, used and owned. Let her be your slut and let the words roll around in your head. There are times you prefer to fill her with long, agonising strokes, and there are those other times that are frantic and hurried. She takes it all, wilfully and willingly and adoration flows through your veins.

No care for if she cums, you simply use her too. It is not in a casual disregard for her desires, or in selfish pursuit of pleasure at the sacrifice of her. No, no. That is not true. Minju wants this. She cares less about her own pleasure than you. Should she cum, then maybe that would be a nice perk to all of this, but all she wants is to submit herself as a vessel for yours. To serve as the implement to which you expel everything. You have taken her into that dream world she desires to inhabit, where she's an item to be manoeuvred as one wills.

And so you get close, right inside of her—clutch, tense—as she milks you so exquisitely, squeezing and so soft, so fucking silken-smooth and at the very last, you pull out—every last drop is captured on Minju's skin. Her spread ass, her back, thighs.

For all the care you took, perfecting her makeup, now a fine sweat paints a layer across her skin and you're shooting over it and making a true mess of her. All that, her absolute purity and devotion, and what you have done is sullied it. Your doll, your most precious is dirtied. But your most precious thing in the world deserves the best you can give her.

So it is after you have painted your release over her body, that you leave her again—basking in the humiliation of how fluids trickle down her flesh. Just a toy, put aside to stand, vulnerable, debauched and unsatisfied, waiting to be picked up again and played with once more. You could leave her all night. Have her be ready and willing any time you desire. Your toy.

"Fuck, what a sight." You step away, back out of the room, spent and gazing at her. Minju, of course, keeps her back facing you the entire time, she does not dare turn back around to see her, not even to cover up or find modesty, it simply would not occur to her to do so.

Aware of the pain, the hurt of being left this way. Left unfinished. A small smile plays on your lips, the knowledge that this is what turns her on most. Her lover is out there, he's drinking, eating, watching TV, or anything, and she doesn't really know where. She just stays resting over the window ledge with her legs held apart, exposed and vulnerable.

Knowing, feeling, every stroke that has been applied over her body, every part you have made use of, and the places in which you have violated, is enough to turn Minju's insides all warm and fuzzy and soft. Your fingerprints are inked upon her flesh—traced by the veneer of liquids coating her—a record of who has marked her, owned her, as nothing more than an instrument of delight.

Until you're ready to come back, she holds back an unspoken whimper. Tension in her stomach muscles and legs threatened to give out.

Oh, how badly the poor girl yearns to be picked up, taken and fucked again and again.

Eventually, you do return, and without warning. As if you'd never been gone a moment at all, you're just there suddenly behind her, you just have that presence of power that exudes over her. You say her name—nothing else—but the tinge to your voice tells her that you've missed her.

You bring your hands around her slim waist, just above the hips, and trail upwards. Grinding back inside her feels as wonderful as ever. Still throbbing, still wet, still wanton, and she takes you in, spreading wide once again. "Missed me?" You coo, but she still never responds verbally—dutifully compliant, Minju simply moans, her cheeks flushed the same colour as her smeared lips.

You're rough with her, pulling her away from the window and pushing her into the middle of the room. Hasty, impatient, and uncaring. Now, you see, Minju weighs nothing to you, it feels like there's nothing to her; something light, lithe, easily manoeuvrable, like you can twist her and pull her without resistance.

You draw her to you, picking her up from the ground by her waist and walking forward. You set her down on a desk—her ass perching first, then you push her onto her back, drawing up her knees to her chest and pressing onto her. Oh, flexible Minju, sweet Minju: the perfect sexual tool to place and fold and screw whichever way you want.

Minju is pinned there, under you, taking you into her pussy, tight around you. Dutifully letting you shove into her repeatedly, without fight or complaint, only meek, restrained sounds of satisfaction. Letting her limbs fold, letting herself be toyed with however you need or want.

Stretch her as you take hold of her neck and restrain her to the wooden surface. You bear down on her, fucking into her with strong, sure pumps, and with every thrust into Minju, you feel her heat against your thighs and groin, her warm juices seeping down over her, and a vulgar squelching sound filling the air.

The air is dense and hot and she is flushed bright red; she gazes at you, her face etched with need. You're forcing your doll-girl, fucking her raw and hard into her desk. Rough, dominating strokes. And what does she do but squirm and moan and take every ounce of your strength? "F-fuck," she moans out the profanity, her body succumbing to the overwhelming burst of intense, numbing heat. She flinches a few times as her eyes squeeze shut.

So close, now. Another round, and there is nowhere Minju is more content than trapped, helpless, watching you near another orgasm. She doesn't even attempt to hide her delight when you're about to blow. A smile of satisfaction as you unload inside of her. A welcome sight as you feel yourself rupture, as your essence pumps into her little fuckhole. The sticky hot cum that fills her.

And Minju moans for you, breathless, happy, so lovingly joyful that her existence has resulted in this moment—this act—her purpose as nothing more than something you fuck, claim, and own.

But, there is work to be done, work you cannot shirk away from. So, with a light sigh, you wipe your forehead, you gather Minju off of the table—flickering eyelids and all—and you lead her with gentle encouragement. "Let's clean you off. There's a good girl," you say, and she holds onto your neck, as you lift her off the desk.

You perch Minju on the sink for a moment, un-trapping her legs so she can stand once you place her into the shower.

"Stay. Still."

And again, you can see that longing gaze. Sultry, drawn. She wants so much, and she needs so little.

"There," you draw out the word with a certain finality and walk behind her to start the shower, switching from bath faucet to shower nozzle, and taking great care in testing the heat of the water, to make sure not to burn her precious skin.

You start with her shoulders, sweeping her soaked locks down her back, wet, heavy and darker now. Washing her takes time, patience, and gentleness—you bring the palm of your hand over her shoulder while the other directs the shower head. The water trails down her arm, little rivulets tracing over her porcelain skin. You draw the shower across her back and admire how the water caresses the curves of her frame.

She keeps perfectly still, save the tremble that comes with the rise of her chest each time the water meets a sensitive point. Your hand follows in the water, over her sides, slowly. You draw her close against your chest, putting your head beside Minju's, looking down over her shoulder. you bring the head of the shower to her chest and let the water flow across, over the swell of her breasts.

You whisper into her ear, "Stay just like this. Let me wash down my toy after use."

Your name comes out of her mouth, a little strained, and when you wrap your arm around her and cup her little breast, she immediately whimpers. This poor girl still hasn't cum, and she's so sensitive.

You rest her against you, keeping your front flush against the curve of her back, and there is something wonderful and sweet in the way she falls back against you. Minju leans her head back on your shoulder, a nuzzle, and your hand continues to cup her and you play with her nipple. The shower, however, you bring lower and lower, down over her slender belly and between her legs.

The lower it goes, the more soft whimpers she makes, and Minju's feet begin to curl, and she draws a slow intake of air through her clenched teeth. You dip the jets of water low, and Minju finally gives out this small groan, her eyes squeezing tight and her mouth opening and closing, the words and sounds catching as she trembles all over. 

You press it against her pussy, and she bucks lightly backwards against you—hard—and grinds. A pleasured exhale, a sign of satisfaction. That the poor girl is finally getting her pleasure but "No, no, no," she says—is she feeling guilty for it?—and she struggles forward from your grasp.

"Shh... it's okay," you soothe her, but she still jerks her body. There's this fact, that always rings true, whenever you use Minju like this. Part of it, she told you before, is how in her own head she degrades herself. She tells herself that she doesn't deserve to cum. That a toy's only purpose is for others, and she will deny herself an orgasm until you give her express permission to finish herself. That's why she fights now, she is ashamed of her own arousal and enjoyment.

You press the shower hard into her clit and she groans, "I can't... I can't—"

"Yes, you can." You focus on using the shower in little circles, not allowing any distance between it and the sensitive nub. Her head falls back on you, eyes shut tight as if in anguish. "You have served me so well. You were so wonderful. Let go for me, beautiful." You murmur those things in her ear and Minju opens her lips to say something but no words form, it's simply a long, deep-seated, contented moan. A relief-filled sound that is music to your ears.

Her back goes completely tense, and her hips twist and buck, but you press firmly down, keeping her locked into the jet. She bites her lower lip, almost like she's desperate, and it hurts, the way her whole body tenses up for so many seconds before the relief sweeps over her. The sensations surge throughout her body, leaving her limp and satisfied.

After the rush passes through, she moans, over and over. Shattering pleasure has overtaken her mind and all she can think about is the joy her lover has bestowed upon her, the ultimate show of adoration and tenderness.

"Good girl. That's it. Give in," you breathe out the last sentence, and Minju moans louder, riding it out. Her body writhes violently and her toes curl as her breathing stops, she's stuck at the very height of her pleasure, but finally lets out an ecstatic, long-winded moan. You drop the shower, and cradle Minju with your whole body.

Her hips jump one last time against your hand and then she goes completely lax against you, her feet plant flat down and her whole body gives out. Minju slides back onto her heels, and her face drops toward the floor and she just smiles with pure glee. If not for you, she would collapse to the floor in this exhausted, limp state.

For some minutes, you hold Minju until she can find enough strength until the daze of her orgasm is no longer in effect.

"Now, let's really clean up."

"Let me," she says. "Let me clean you, please."

[stanswifeirl]

NERD GETS APPRECIATED AND WHIPS IT OUT!

notes: cross-posted on my ao3!

contains: stanford pines x gn!reader

warning: masturbation, some self depreciating talk, him feeling guilty about thinking about you while he jerks it

Glass Shard Beach was rarely kind to him, and there were few normal scenarios he could recall throughout his life.

But now? Here he was, reduced to a stuttering, nervous wreck at the simple words of praise that seemed to flow from your mouth with ease, just like the process of diffusion with non-polar molecules (which, for your information, is pretty damn easy).

This type of reaction is expected, he thinks. How often did a guy find someone as attractive as you in a Fifth Dimensional Calculus class? Of course you would attract his attention!

He didn't like to audibly put down the work done at Backupsmore University, but it wasn't often he'd find someone so... smart. Maybe well-read is a better word? Someone who viewed his work not only with interest, but from a new perspective.

It was dangerous. The way your voice filled the space with intelligent dialogue made him wish it was the only sound he ever heard. The way your scent made him lose focus on his work whenever you leaned in to assist him on a project was simply intoxicating.

He could think up plenty of flowery phrases to describe what he's feeling... Actually expressing them was where his expertise fell short.

To put it simply, the guy was head over heels, and he didn't know how to handle it.

Inviting you to conduct research for class was probably the worst possible decision he could've made. It was absolutely thrilling to spend an afternoon with you, but the growing tightness in his pants only proved to sully his mood. He was sure you noticed. There was no way you didn't, even if you decided to carry on like you didn't know what you were doing to him. Surely, he couldn't be the only one feeling the chemistry!

He didn't know how you worked up the courage to call him sweet names, or pat his shoulder politely at the end of the night when he dropped you off in front of your apartment complex.

More than thankful for the dim lighting, he was only able to mumble out a hurried "Goodbye!" before slamming his foot down on the gas pedal, ready to get the hell outta there.

Ford drives, things pressed tightly together in shame, into an empty parking lot. He parks.

"Sweet Moses." He whines into his hands, patting down drops of sweat with the cuff of his shirt. "Goodness. I'm horrible. You don't deserve this. God, I can't believe I'm..."

His hand shoots for his pocket, pulling out a 38 sided die. To freak, or not to freak? That was the question. He squirms uncomfortably in his seat, closes his eyes, and takes a breath.

Ford mentally cringes it when he rolls it onto his dashboard, realizing how lame he must look as he uses his game dice to decide on if he should masturbate or not.

Mind running a mile a minute, the poor guy was always a bit too self aware of his actions, he realizes how lame he looks allowing a dice roll to tell him whether he's allowed to jerk off or not.

His face scrunches up in disgust as he unzips his pants, hand hesitantly hovering over his painfully erect dick.

"This is so embarrassing." He groans, feeling the length of his dick as it twitches under his touch.

Ford’s face flushes as he slowly moves his hand up and down, humiliated. His back straightens as his thumb brushes over the head, already leaking in precum.

He grits his teeth, feeling his face burning hot with shame as he strokes himself to the thought of you. As much as he admires your fiercely intelligent mind, he can't help but be captivated by how fucking hot you are.

Leaning back in his seat, his eyes flutter closed as he imagines hands brushing against his skin, comforting eyes looking up at him in that way that made him feel so, so safe. His hand moves faster as his breathing grows ragged.

"God, I'm such a loser." He whispers to himself, face growing hot as he realizes how pathetic he sounds.

Would you still look at him like that if you knew what was happening right now? Would you enjoy it? Maybe you'd entertain him. He'd like that.

Oh. Oh. That idea really sticks with him.

Your presence always seemed so commanding. So sure of yourself. Maybe, he hopes, you'd like taking charge of him when he was at his most vulnerable.

His back arches as he bucks into his hand, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to imagine it was you touching him. He should be allowed to indulge a little, shouldn't he? He doesn't know anymore.

It's almost this primal instinct that keep his thoughts out of logic mode, and far more acutely aware on the shockwaves of pleasure coursing throughout his body.

His chest feels tight as he imagines your hand slowly running up and down the base, teasing the head. Tears prick up in the corners of his eyes as picture after picture of you enter his mind.

He curses, stuttering your name as he twists his hand, quickening his pace.

"Thank you." He chokes out, face burning in humiliation as he feels his orgasm building. He didn't mean to think if you this way— the least he could do was thank the image of you.

His head slams back into his seat as he reaches his climax, body trembling as his hand and car floor is stained with long ropes of cum. The mind fog quickly clears, and makes quick work of grabbing tissues from the glove compartment to clean his mess up.

Ew. He'd have to clean properly in the morning.

[tirasamu]

01. CRUEL BEYOND MY YEARS . . . you do the impossibleー you make dazai feel. that's why you're his, even if neither of you know it yet.

ft. pm!dazai + pm!reader, possessive behavior, descriptions of depression, oda, ango, and chuuya are there too, 2.4k w.c.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dazai knows he’s supposed to be in a meeting right now.

He yawns, hands behind his head in a makeshift pillow, overgrown legs hanging off the arm of the couch as he stretches out. The heels of his shoes graze his jacket, haphazardly tossed aside when he first came into his office and laid down.

Even with the sleep mask covering his face, blocking out the sun that pools into the top floors of the Port Mafia’s Headquarters, he knows it’s you who’s approaching his door.

He fights back a smile, something he rarely has the opportunity to do. He keeps his breathing steady and deep as he hears the familiar rhythm of your knuckles against his office door, knocking in a code. You both came up with it when you were younger, freshly sixteen against the hollow walls of his shipping container; your own shared secret. He hears the gentle creak of the old wood as you peek inside.

“Dazai?” he hears the soft sound of your footsteps as you come closer, then a sigh he’d recognize anywhere.  “Dazai. Take that thing off. It’s creepy.”

He remains still. He’s supposed to be asleep, after all.

“I see Mr. Executive is as busy as always,” you say sarcastically, but he can still hear the smile in your voice. You slip your thumb under the soft cotton padding of the sleep mask and slide it up his face, pushing his bangs back. The soft glide of your skin against his forehead leaves tingles in its wake, and it’s easy enough to ignore the burn of his one visible eye adjusting to the bright afternoon light when you’re hovering over him like an angel. “Don’t you want to say goodbye to me?”

A new mission. He sighs exhaustedly, as if was the one who was assigned. “How long will you be gone this time?”

“Not long, probably,” your hip presses against his as you sit on the edge of the couch. You rest your cheek on your hand, arm bridged over his stomach as your elbow props on the backrest. “Chuuya got assigned to it with me. Him and I make a good team.”

“You shouldn’t hang around him so much,” he tilts his head back. “You should be careful. He eats dog food, you know. He really is a dog, isn’t he?”

“Shut up,” you laugh, and the sound makes his heartbeat quicken without his permission. “I know that isn’t true.”

“It is!” he sits up on his elbows so he can meet your eyes, his own shimmering with mirth. “I even saw him do it. You trust me, don’t you?”

You flick his forehead, giggling as you stand back up and straighten your skirt. “You’re just jealous you don’t get to come on this mission with us.”

With us? Dazai swears he could be sick and die right there on the couch, as if there even was a ‘you and Chuuya’. The thought alone makes him nearly double over in pain. If anything, it should be him you were paired up with, and if you asked for his opinion, it was a joke that you weren’t by defaultー even if little assignments like this were below him now that he’s an executive. No one else knew you as well as he did, and no one else ever would; besides, he’d known you longer than that stupid slug. Mori's negligence on the matter makes his stomach churn and his skin prickle uncomfortably.

“Hey,” he grabs onto your jacket sleeve, where the cuffs are still a little too long and the fabric hangs over your wrists, before you can walk away. “Be careful.”

You smile at him brightly, giving him a thumbs up, but it barely fazes him. He watches you leave, gaze dark and mouth firm. Something bitter starts to crawl up his stomach, growing in his chest like thorned vines intertwining and tightening around his ribs.

When Mori first introduced you and Dazai to one another, you were both fourteen years old. The first thing he noticed when he saw you was that your clothing was too big, hanging awkwardly off your body. You’ve both grown since then, nearly identical black jackets and ties over white button-downs adorning your frames. The second thing he noticed was that you were different from him; he could tell from your eyes, bright and glistening.

He can't remember a time when he wasn’t burdened by the feeling of looking through a window, always a spectator. You were different; you had a seat at the table. Every bomb placed, every trigger pulledー you were there with him through it all, with the same fucked up feeling of adrenaline pounding through your veins, except you were attached to the world around you. You saw meaning in it somehow.

He wants to pick you apart piece by piece and study you under a microscope. He wants to understand just what it is about you that makes you so intriguing. What do you know that he doesn’t?

How are you so good at making him feel like this ?

He thinks about you on your mission, even when he tries not to. He flips through his paperwork lazily, pulling sheets from their stapled packets and folding them into origami shapes. He stares at his finger when he gets a paper cut on the edge of a report about some dispute in Kyoto, watching the blood dribble down his skin in small beads. He raids the infirmary for chemicals, slipping past the nurses and picking the lock to the medicine cabinet, pocketing bottles and extra rolls of bandages. He plays on his handheld console, sighing in frustration when his character dies again; if only it was so easy.

It's nearing the latest hours of the night when he decides to sneak into your office that he finds you again, back from your mission and chatting with Chuuya, whose arms are crossed as he leans against the edge of your desk. Dazai skims his eyes over you, noting with satisfaction that there seem to be no new visible injuries on you. He relishes in how Chuuya’s brows furrow when he sees him, and how yours rise in delight, Cheeks rounding in a smile. He throws his arms around your shoulders, your faces close enough for him to count your eyelashes as you tilt your head back to look at him.

“I hope you didn’t have too much fun without me,” he pouts, squeezing you against his chest. “Did you keep Chuuya on his leash during your mission?”

“Don’t talk about me like I'm not here, idiot.”

“Oh, there you are,” he eyes the aforementioned man lazily, as if he were a bug that landed near him. “I almost missed you because you’re so small.”

“I fell asleep right after we were done,” you giggle. “Chuuya had to carry me back.”

“Oh?” he tightens his arms. Dazai always thought you were the cutest post-mission, all sleepy and touchy; he always made sure he was around for those moments. “Did he?”

You’re talking, something else about the mission, but he doesn’t listen. Chuuya looks from you to him when he feels his gaze, eyebrow raising in a silent question. They screw up in irritation when dazai’s eyes narrow as his lips curl up into a cruel grin. He cranes his neck down, nose grazing your temple before he drags his tongue across your cheek.

“Ew, Dazai!” you try to shove him away, but he doesn’t go far, still clinging to you tightly. “What the hell? You’re so gross!”

He laughs in your ear, even as you try to pry his hands off his shoulders. You twist your hand around his wrist, tugging on it and glaring at him over your shoulder.

“Let go, Dazai.”

You’ve only ever looked at him like this when he woke you up in the middle of the night, knocking over one of your chairs after he broke into your apartment; you weren’t able to fall back asleep for hours, and when you finally woke up the next day, you realized he ate the last of the mapo tofu in your fridge.

He loosens his arms, stumbling when you shove him. The feeling of your hands pushing him away is nowhere near as warm as when you brushed his hair back earlier that day. There's no pretty, warm smile dimpling your cheeks either; just the dark wood of your office door grazing his nose, the sound of it slamming shut, and Chuuya’s annoyed glare still prickling his skin. 

His chest tightens. 

The flickering light of Bar Lupin’s sign penetrates the foggy night air, like a lighthouse calling lost ships home. Ango and Oda are already inside when Dazai arrives. A cigarette dribbles loose curls of smoke into the air as Ango cradles his glass between his palms and Oda tilts his head back to sip his whiskey. The bar’s most devoted patron hops from Dazai’s seat knowingly, landing on his little white paws as Dazai sits down on the stool with a huff.

He rests his chin against his forearm, sighing into his elbow as the bartender places his usual in front of him wordlessly. The two older men look at the pouty pile of messy hair between them. Oda knows he’s waiting for one of them to ask, so he does. 

“Did something happen today, Dazai?”

“Yes,” he bounces the sphere of ice against the bottom of the glass, feeling his fingertip go numb. “She’s mad at me.”

“What did you do now?” Ango eyes him wearily from behind his glasses.

“How rude,” he says flatly, his voice sounding hollow without his usual playfulness. “Immediately assuming I’m at fault.”

“Aren’t you always?” he sighs into the rim of his glass, taking a long sip.

They both wait in silence before Dazai shoots up in his seat, his stool spinning slightly.

“How can that stupid slug touch what’s mine?”

“'Yours’?” Ango asks, a thin eyebrow raised. “People don’t own other people.”

“I didn't know you two were dating,” Oda says.

“We’re not,” Dazai sags back down, folding his arms and laying his head down so his eyes are level with his glass again. “That's gross.”

“You’re not?” Oda repeats. “…Then why are you upset?”

He feels the bandages around his eyes loosen as he turns his head away, squishing his cheek into his elbow. The cat licks his paws across the bar, before reaching up and rubbing his little face. He catches dazai’s gaze, looking at him with round, unblinking eyes.

His chest tightens again.

The sun is rising, melting the black of the night sky to gold when Dazai arrives at your apartment. His hand freezes inside his pocket, fingers wrapped around his lock pick, glancing back to your door. He lets it go and knocks instead, beating his knuckles against the wood in your secret code.

You’re in your pajamas when you open the door, and he notices the bruise on your leg that was hidden under your work uniform. He looks at you like a lost puppy; ears down, eyes big, with his nonexistent tail between his legs.

“Hey,” your eyes dart along his body, and he knows you’re scanning him for injuries too. “You okay?”

He doesn’t reply, and you let him meekly slip past you into your apartment. Your blanket is pooled on the floor from where you were sitting at your coffee table, chopsticks and a bowl of stir fry waiting for you; the schedule of a mafiosa has your circadian rhythm flipped, eating dinner as the sun rises.

“Did you eat anything yet?” you ask him, sitting back on the ground.

His big brown eyes blink down at you in a silent answer.

You open the side of your blanket expectantly, scooting over to make space for him. You nudge your food between the two of you when he sits beside you. His stomach flutters as he thinks about you feeding him from your chopsticks, a hand cupped under his chin, your soft thumb brushing his lips as you wipe them clean. He ignores it, plucking a shrimp out of your bowl with his fingers instead.

“You can have the rest,” you bundle the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders, sighing softly as you lay your head down on his shoulder. “I made extra. I knew you’d come over.”

“You did?”

“Mhm,” you rub your thumb along the edge of his bandages where his palm and wrist meet absentmindedly. “I know you.”

You do, scarily so. You like your stir fry spicy, but you kept it mild for him. because you knew he’d come over. Because you knew he wouldn’t have eaten otherwise. Because he only ever gets a home-cooked meal when you make one for him.

“‘m sorry,” he mumbles, voice barely audible.

You tilt your head up and look at him, eyes heavy. He holds his breath as you lift your hand and cup his cheek, tracing the dark circle under his one visible eye with the pad of your thumb.

“Let’s go to bed,” your voice is soft in the way it always is when you’re tired. “We can still sleep a little before we have to go back to headquarters.”

He knows every inch of your apartment, but he still lets you guide him into the dark of your room, and he’s suddenly surrounded by everything that is so quintessentially you. He has it all committed to memory: the title of the book on your nightstand you swear you’ll finish, the delicate splay of jewelry on your dresser, the pajama shorts hanging over the side of your hamper in the corner.

You practically collapse, falling into your bed and splaying your limbs with a happy sigh while he carefully lies down, staring at the ceiling and keeping his hands to himself. It's after a few quiet moments when he feels something warm against him, and when he turns to look at you, his breath catches in his throat.

You’re so much closer to him than anyone else would ever dare to be. You curl towards him even in your sleep, like a sunflower growing towards the sun. Your arm reaches towards his, fingers loosely clinging to his sleeve, as if you wanted to keep him anchored to the bed with you. He could almost make himself believe you really wanted him there.

He watches the daylight fall over your face, just as delicate as the sheet you draped over your body, still thin enough to show off the contour of your legs. You look so relaxed, cheeks full of color with the shadow of your lashes resting against them.

You looked so alive. So human.

His chest tightens.

[renzurrs]

Merry (fucking) Christmas

Sub!Jisung x Fem!Reader

Description: A wholesome moment while opening stockings on christmas eve was quickly interrupted when Jisung got a vibrator in his… and you somehow got fuzzy hand cuffs..? What could go wrong when you mix the two together?

Warnings: cursing, NSFW material, P in V, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, please), crying during sex (Jisung), bondage, orgasm play, I think thats all chat?

Word count: 3,364!

Christmas. The one time a year where you can sit around, drink hot chocolate and watch movies without being distracted with work or other life responsibilities. The one time a year that your boyfriend, Jisung, was off and could enjoy your presence.

Christmas is your favorite, it always has been, and Jisung knows that. This is your guys third christmas being together, and you were so excited you could barely contain yourself. You both had agreed on filling each other’s stockings with smaller items you couldn’t wrap and put under the tree, stuff that was memorable, cute and things you wouldn’t normally buy each other.

It was finally christmas eve, the clock on your phone read 9:30 pm when you looked down at it to check the time. Ji had just came back with the hot chocolate he made, telling you to be careful with it since it was hot. After settling down on the couch, Jisung got up to grab your stockings for both of you to open them, a small tradition you both had since your guys first christmas together.

Jisung grabbed yours, handing it to you with a small smile and sitting down next to you on the couch. The electric fireplace in front of you both letting off a small amount of heat, enough to leave the room nice and warm.

You and jisung started to undo the small amount of stuff in your stockings, the small candies and jewelry Jisung shoved into yours making you smile.

you continued to converse with Jisung about the small things you bought him. A guitar pic that was customized with his name engraved in it, a small amount of his favorite candy, and so many little rings and other things that he loved. His smile was bright as he placed the stuff next to his side, looking like a child opening up his presents on christmas morning.

The room was set under an orange glow from the fireplace, the tv set to soft christmas music that played in the background as you both took stuff out of your stockings with smiles plastered on your faces. The christmas tree lit in the corner of the living room, glimmering with red and white decorations that were so graciously placed on there by you and Jisung one random saturday afternoon in december. Gifts lined the bottom of it, bigger boxes from Jisung since he just LOVED to spoil you with anything you loved. The moment was wholesome…

“Jisung!” You said excitedly, opening up the small black box that showed off the amethyst stone on a necklace chain. The necklace was gorgeous and definitely expensive, but Jisung would spend anything to see you happy. He smiled softly at you, letting you examine the small rock on the necklace. He grabbed it softly from your grasp, unclipping the back of it and wrapping it gently around your neck, clasping it back together and fixing your hair around it. You looked down at it, holding the amethyst stone in your hand as you gave Jisung the sweetest smile ever.

“Thank you, JiJi” You said lovingly, leaning forward and stealing a soft kiss from him, which he generously recuperated. The moment was so soft, the air thick with love. You both leaned against each other again, going back to getting the stuff out of your stockings.

It eventually got to the bottoms of the stockings, the floor covered in wrapping paper and wrappings from certain items you both took out of the package. The cups of hot chocolate being half empty by now and long forgotten on the table in front of you both. You couldn’t help but blush slightly, feeling your heart start to race as you realized how soon he would see what you got him, wondering how he would react…

He pulled the small box from out of the stocking bottom, tilting his head and looking at the shape, seemingly trying to decipher what it could be. You also grabbed the last thing from your stocking, the wrapping paper crinkling under your fingers as you looked over at Jisung, who gave you a small smile. He started to unwrap the paper around the box as you started to unwrap yours, the ripping of the wrapping paper filling the silence. It was a couple seconds later when you looked over at Jisung who was a blushing mess, no fucking wonder.

You lifted up your hand, the fluffy material tickling your skin. Fuzzy fucking handcuffs dangled from your index finger, swinging slightly as you looked at them. You looked over at Jisung, catching eye contact with him, a small smirk playing on your face.

“Whats this, Ji?” You hummed lightly, cocking your head at him. He looked down at his lap then back at you, holding up the box. The box displayed a vibrator on the front, one that was phone operated and sat on the tip of the dick.

“Whats THIS?” He retorted back in a bratty tone, still a bit shy as his cheeks grew red.

You couldn’t help the small smile that quirked at the edges of your lips, keeping your head cocked at him and letting your soft and gentle tone seduce him further.

“Haven’t you been wanting a little stress relief, ji?”

Jisung melted at your words, his self control slipping away slowly but surely. He gulped back the saliva that pooled in his mouth, his thighs clenching together. The tent in his pajama pants prominent and warm from his flustered state.

He suddenly felt how close you were, how much heat was radiating from your body, how pretty your hands were holding those fuzzy handcuffs… he couldn’t stop thinking, his thoughts coming in horny waves.

Your body felt like it was on fire, your stomach fluttering and between your thighs aching from the way Jisung looked at you. So needy, so fucking hot.

A JIsung was distracted by starring at your lips, you unlatched the handcuffs, quickly putting one part around his wrist. His cheeks flushed a deep red color at the sensation, his senses heightened from the moment.

You leaned forward, just enough to sit close enough to his lips where he could feel your breath with his.

“Do you want to have a little fun, baby?” You whispered, your voice was soft and subtly sweet as you waited for his reply.

He nodded eagerly, not even waiting a second later before connecting his lips to yours, a soft moan escaping him at the taste of your lips. He tried to move his hand to hold the back of your neck, but was quickly pulled back down by the part of the handcuff you held onto. A soft whine came from his parted lips against yours, lifting his other hand and trying to grab onto you with any type of grip he could, but before he could, you gripped onto his free wrist, swinging it behind his back with no problem.

The handcuff clicked shut, both of his hands stuck behind his back as you moved your lips against his. Your soft lips against his made another moan come from him, a smirk being planted onto your lips when you pulled away.

His big eyes looked up at you, his lips swollen and slicked with saliva. He looked so innocent yet… so dirty. You grabbed onto his chin, running your thumb along his bottom lip before shoving it past his lips, pressing against his tongue. He whimpered against your thumb.

“Is my JiJi baby all worked up?” You cooed, popping your thumb from his mouth and rubbing his spit all over his lips.

“D..Dont tease me…” Jisung whined, going to move his hand but quickly being held back by the handcuffs. You chuckled at his failed attempt, pulling away from him and grabbing the box from next to him. The small box containing the vibrator she bought for him, her hands working to open it and toss the box to the side.

“How the hell does that even work…?” Jisung furrowed his brows, looking back at you before his eyes landed on the object in your hand.

“Shhh… you’ll find out” You said ever so softly, your free hand coming down to his pants, running along his length under his clothes. He groaned, his hips bucking up into your hand with a small whine of approval from him. You chuckled, undoing the strings on his pajama pants as his hips lifted to help you pull them down with his boxers.

His hard cock hit his lower abdomen, his cheeks running a dark red color from how flustered he’s gotten. You gently used your free hand to rub at his tip, spreading his precum over his dick. He let out a small moan, squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure. He was so sensitive that any touch was making him whimper.

You swung your leg over his thighs, straddling them down so he couldn’t move. You looked at him again, his lustful gaze meeting yours with need and desire behind it.

Your eyes stayed on his as you adjusted the toy to sit on the tip of his dick, the vibrator snug against it. He whined softly at the friction, trying to stay as still as possible under you.

“Stay.” You murmured, getting off of his lap and finding your phone on the coffee table in front of the couch. He nodded at you, he was always good for you, listening to everything you told him to do…

You slid yourself back onto his thighs, pinning him down again and opening the app on your phone. Jisung shakily let out a breath, his composure slowly slipping as he felt you click the vibrator on, though the vibrations hadn’t started.

“Why didnt it-“ He was cut off by you turning it on a low setting on your phone, his words cutting off into a high pitched moan. His hips lifted up off the couch as he tried to get closer to any friction at all against his dick.

You chuckled softly at the need in his movements, he kept trying to move to make it hit other places, but it kept vibrating against the same area.

“Are you ready for me to turn it up?” You teasingly asked, watching his reaction to your words was enough to make your thighs rub together and heat pool between your legs. His head nodded, his eyes full of need and desire. he pulled against the restraints on his wrists with a whine.

“P..Please..?” He whimpered, giving you the softest eyes with his pleading sentence… you couldnt very well say no to the poor baby. You looked down at your phone, scrolling through the settings as the silence was filled with the sound of the toy vibrating against Jisung and his small moans.

You eventually fucked with the controls, going to a bar that messed with the level of it. You cranked it up a couple notches and watched him completely fall apart. His eyes rolled back into the back of his head, his head hitting the back of the couch, and his thighs tensing underneath you. You almost moaned at the way he looked, but he did that for you with the amount of moaning he was doing. He was always quite vocal, but you had never heard him THIS vocal.

Jisung whimpered, babbling about heightening the speed and that he was close already. You gently listened to his words, keeping straight eye contact with his dilated pupils as you maxed out the vibrator. His hips shuttered, his moans turning into almost screams while he just got higher in pitch.

It was fun fucking around with orgasm play, why not do it now…?

He was so close, so very close, and he could only whine out a small reply about being on the edge and how he was about to cum. This made you snicker, your finger tapping your screen and turning off the vibrations. His eyes widened, meeting yours as he tried to catch his breath. He furrowed his brows, looking like he was about to cry.

“Baby I..I was so close… give it back, please… fuckkk…” He said, drawling out his words at the end in a groan. He moved against his wrist restraints, squirming under you with the softest eyes.

“I..I’ll be a good boy for you…” He pleaded with you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of weakness. He found it, hiding back a small grin at the way your eyes softened at his pleading. He mentally prepared himself for the pleasure he was gonna endure, not knowing how high you would put the vibrator up to…

To his surprise you started low, eliciting small and deep groans from him. You waited a little to turn it up a notch, changing the vibrations to a setting that vibrated in pulses, his hips lifting off the couch and his breathing coming out in small huffs.

His orgasm was building up again, this time he gave no warnings about how close he was, not wanting you to stop. You knew, it was obvious by his body language. His hips grinding up into the air, his hands pushing against the handcuffs that were locked behind his back, its was so obvious. You didnt stop the vibrator, watching his face contort in pleasure was turning you on…

Your clothed clit rubbed against his thigh as you readjusted yourself on him, trying to help the aching between your legs. You bit back a whimper, watching Jisung again as you tried to ignore the feeling of his thighs flexing against your clothed heat. It would only take a bit longer before he came, only a little bit longer until you could use him until hes a whining mess under you.

He started to shudder, trembling underneath you and pleading with you to let him cum. The noises he was making were almost pornographic, high pitched whimpers and his moans coming from the bottom of his throat, going from deep to whiny.

“I..Im gonna cum…” He mumbled aloud, throwing his head back onto the couch. And with your permission he came, hard and long. His stomach muscles tightening and his hands clenching into fists behind him from the pure pleasure he was feeling, he was almost screaming.

The long orgasm finally subsided, making him pant and look up at you. His cum dripped all onto your pants and his thighs, the toy drenched with the milky white substance. It didn’t take you long to turn the vibrations off and pull the toy off of his cock, he wouldn’t need it anyway right now.

He looked at you with a confused look when you got off of his lap, his eyes widening as he saw what you were doing. Your pajama pants hit the floor in a plaid pool of clothing, leaving behind your silk red underwear. The sides were lined with a lace material, along with the waistband of them. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, you were so beautiful just standing in front of him, stuck between the coffee table and the couch.

“Do you like what you see, baby?” You cooed at him in a teasing tone, smirking and chuckling at the fast nod he did. You wrapped your hands around the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and revealing a matching bra to your underwear. You purposely bought it to get him all wound up, and it was working as his cock twitched at the look of your tits spilling out of the silk material. He gulped again, this time letting his eyes wonder over your body. His gaze was hot and heavy, watching as you made your way back onto his lap.

In a seductive way, you pushed his shirt up a bit. You gently ran your fingers over his chest, down his abs, and stopping at his dick. You looked up at him, keeping eye contact and rubbing your thumb over the tip of his cock, his eyes rolling back and a whine coming from him. She realized he was super sensitive, this made more heat pool between her legs.

Your panties were practically dripping, you readjusted yourself to sit against him more, his dick rubbing against your clothed cunt. You let out a heavy and shaky breath, rubbing yourself against him again and letting out a gentle moan. Jisung was watching you, his eyes never leaving you and his lips parted to let out small noises from the way you felt against him.

“Y..You feel, Ji? Im wet for you baby” You said, rubbing your hips against him and looking up at him.

“F..For me.. yeah… only for me…” He said in a breathy tone, his voice cracking in between with small moans. His poor body so overstimulated with the feeling of your body against his, a whine could be heard from him.

You stopped rubbing against him, pulling your panties to the side. With your free hand you held his shoulder, leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. It was a messy kiss, teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance, but it was quickly interrupted when you sank onto him, your pussy clenching around him. He let out a high pitched moan, your own small moans mixing with his.

“Y..You’re so warm baby…” He murmured, his breath hitching. You grinned, starting to lift up your hips and sinking them back down onto him. His eyes fluttered shut from the pure pleasure, his jaw dropping and he moaned loudly.

You ground your hips against him, his dick hitting deep into your cervix. He couldn’t speak, only letting out noises of pleasure. You couldn’t help but speed up your movements, your eyes watching his face contort in pure bliss at the feeling of your pussy.

It was only a matter of time before he was babbling about how close he was again, your panties rubbing against his cock every time you bounced on him gave him so much extra stimulation he was almost crying. He pushed against the restraints that were still on his wrists, wanting to grab your waist and fuck into you so hard…

He started to buck his hips against yours, his breaths coming out in faint whines and tears started to brim his eyes from the intense feeling he had.

“Oh don’t cry baby…” You said softly, wiping the tears that hadn’t fallen yet.

“Fuck- feels so good…” He whimpered, looking up at you with glassy eyes and an eager look. You nodded softly, softly moaning and pressing a kiss to his lips. He looked up at you, eyes rolling back and a pornographic moan slipping from his lips, his cum spilling into you.

You let out a harsh moan, your walls convulsing around him and leaking cum down your thigh. You rode out your high on him, his soft whimpers and moans quieting down as you slowed. You gently ran your fingers through his hair, looking down at him. He opened his eyes, gazing up at you with a lustful expression in his eyes.

“Babe… my wrists…” He whined, making you giggle. You got off of him with a small huff, grabbing the keys off of the table, they had been thrown there in the midst of the activities. You pushed your hand behind his back, unlocking the cuffs and taking them into your hands. You took them away, putting them on the table.

You sat down next to him, cuddling into his side. He wrapped an arm around you with a small sigh, pressing a kiss to your forehead and smoothing down your hair. The small and wholesome moment melting your heart.

“Let me clean you up… we can watch a christmas movie after…” He murmured against your hair, breathing in the scent of your shampoo.

He did that exactly, cleaning you up and putting you in clean pajamas. He settled you on the couch, cleaning up all the small gifts that scattered onto the floor before sitting down next to you, pulling you into his side as “Rudolph” played on the tv.

A/N: HI GUYS!! This is a bit late i wont lie, i got so distracted at family gatherings that the end is a bit short. I hope you enjoy it anyways🫶 have a great christmas if you celebrate, happy holidays!

Tags: @felixleftchickennugget @gnabsrihc

[daydreams-after-dark]

Hiya! I think I found the "ask" button! :D I'm dropping my favourite suggestion here, hehe...

You could write about a bad cop/good cop Han/Minho (Han being the good cop and Minho de bad?) And of course, ending in an endless make out session and "fuck-time" in the interrogation room.

Have a bood day/night/afternoon! ♥

This scenario is a fucking dream!!! Thank you for putting this idea to me. I love it. I love it so much. I hope my take on it is to your liking 😘😘😘

I’ve had a few police officer!skz asks and I’m having so much fun imagining all the filthy things that are being sent my way.

I’ve already written sub police officer Han here.

CW: detective/interrogation role play (not established or clarified, but as the writer I’ve decided that is what’s happening), CNC (established off-screen and not referenced in the story). Implied established safeword (not used). Unprotected rough sex, oral sex, orgasms.

🚨🚨🚨🚨

"TELL US!" Detective Lee practically spits in your face. "You know where they're hiding, and you're going to tell us right now." He leans in close to your ear. "Or else." he adds venomously, then stands back against the cinder blocks of the interrogation room, arms crossed.

"Look, Miss." The other man, Detective Han, sighs. "Just tell us and your sentence will be reduced."

"I'm scared." You say desperately. "What they'll do if they find out I-"

Lee scoffs and you pout, turning back at Han.

"We'll protect you." Han almost reaches across to hold your hands, but the weight of Minho's stare makes him think twice. “All you have to do is give us a location.” He says softly.

You shake your head and wring your hands together.

“I think she’s going to need a special kind of convincing.” Lee raises an eyebrow.

Han slowly turns his head towards Minho. “Detective. I’m not sure that’s style of interrogation is appropriate.”

“Well where has being nice got you?” He retorts, storming over to you and pulling you up roughly by your flimsy satin top.

"Now, little Miss," he growls slamming you against the one way glass, holding your arms behind your back and pressing himself against you. You can feel his erection against the top of your ass. "Just tell us the location, and all this stops.”

You turn to look over your shoulder, giving him doe eyes. “I’m never gonna tell you the location.” You say firmly.

The corner of Detective Lee’s mouth twitches slightly. “So that’s how you’re really gonna play, huh?”

He drags you back, bending over the cold, metal interrogation table. “Han. Handcuff her.” He demands, tossing his handcuffs to his partner.

Han looks down at the cuffs in his hands, hesitating momentarily before cuffing your arm to the table leg. He moves around and cuffs your other hand to the opposite leg. You pull and tug, but it’s no use.

“Now check she’s not hiding anything she shouldn’t.” Lee adds tugging your jeans and underwear down your thighs, exposing your ass and pussy.

Han gulps and moves behind you. He strokes your back gently, and leans over you. He’s fucking hard too. “Just be good and do everything he says. Try to relax, baby. Okay. Don’t be a brat.” He soothes as his hand cups your pussy. “You’re doing great. So wet already.”

You suck in a breath. You’re turned on. No doubt about it. You close your eyes as Han slides a finger into your cunt. “Have to check you aren’t hiding anything you shouldn’t. Shhh…. Stay calm. It’s all going to be okay.”

He inserts another finger, sliding them in and out of you. Wet sounds immediately fill the interrogation room.

“I’m gonna check your pretty little mouth.” Minho forces your mouth open with his hand and shoves two fingers inside. “Suck on them.” He hisses. You do as you’re told, sucking on the detective’s digits. He removes them before sitting back down to enjoy the show.

Behind you you hear Han unbuckling his belt, then the sound of a zipper. “Shhh… you need to stay quiet, okay. So you don’t get yourself into more trouble.” Han whispers, but his voice is strained. The tip of his cock slides through your dripping folds several times, before he pushes it deep into your pussy.

“Ngh…fuck!” You gasp.

“Now, what did Detective Han say, hmm?” Lee leans forward in his seat and pulls the hair off your face. “If you can’t be quiet I’ll have to put something in your mouth to make you quiet.”

But you can’t stay quiet. Han is fucking into you hard. Each thrust pressing you into the cold, hard table. He’s hitting you deep too. The kind, sweet Detective Han isn’t holding back. His fingers dig into your hips, and his body slaps against yours loudly.

“Has she hidden anything in her cunt?” Lee asks Han.

“I’m not hiding anything, I promise!” You cry. Minho raises an eyebrow, unamused. “I wasn’t asking you.” He snaps and looks towards Han.

“She is.” Han grunts.

“What?!” You lift your head in protest. “No!”

“Tsk tsk. Now you’ve made me very angry.” Lee says low. He stands and undoes his trousers too, revealing his thick, hard cock. You swallow hard. You’re nervous. But you’re also excited.

Lee steps towards you and tilts your head in such a way that he can rub the tip of his cock along your lips. “You’ve got such a filthy, lying mouth.” He whispers. “It’s gonna feel good around my dick.” He holds your head steady as he fucks your mouth. He’s surprisingly gentle and smooth as Han continues to fuck you rough from behind.

“Han, what’s she hiding from us?” He moans as his cock hits the back of your throat.

“She’s hiding an orgasm.” Han responds. “And, she’s keeping all this cream inside her. Look!” He exclaims pulling his dick out and showing Lee.

The mean detective looks down at you like you’re pathetic and smirks. “Show her.” He snarls, withdrawing his cock from your mouth.

Han comes to stand in front of you, and you see how creamy and wet you are. His cock is covered in it.

“You have to clean it. It’s all gonna be ok. Just do as we ask. You’ll be fine.” Han looks at you with soft eyes. “Now…all you need to do is clean it up. Okay?” He pushes his cock into your mouth. He pushes in further and you gag. “Shhh…That’s it. That’s it.” He encourages you.

Your eyes water because he pushes in so deep, and he takes his time to pull out, making it hard to breath. “Yes, you’re doing really well.” He praises.

Lee’s behind you now, slapping your ass. The sound resounds around the room. He slaps you again and you sob around Han’s cock.

“That’s for not cooperating with an interrogation.”

Another slap. “That’s for hiding your arousal.”

One more slap. “Now you’re gonna come for us.”

He slides into your heat and your eyes roll back into your head. He pulls out almost to the tip and pauses. You clench in anticipation, then he slams back in.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come. Let me come in your mouth and I’ll promise I’ll put in a good word for you.” Han’s breath is shaky, and his thrusts stutter. “Catch it all for me…ngh… I’m coming.” Han throws his head back and moans as his thick cum coats your throat.

He plonks down on the chair, panting.

“Finally some cooperation.” Scoffs Lee, pounding into your pussy. “Han. Release her arms.” He orders his partner.

You’re swiftly uncuffed and your flipped onto your back. Lee pushes your legs up and squeezes his dick back inside you. Han’s at your side kissing and sucking your nipples. “You’re doing good. I’m proud of you.” He nibbles your breasts as his hands explore your body.

Lee brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing firm, rough circles on it. You close your eyes savouring every sensation that the detectives are making you feel.

You’re not on a cold metal table in a dingy little room. You’re floating, soaring higher and higher. You’re going to fall apart any second now. The tension inside you is about to snap.

Han’s lips find yours. Soft, gentle, kind. “I love it when you’re a bad girl.” He whispers and slips his tongue into your mouth.

It’s your undoing and you whimper as you clamp down around Lee’s cock.

“Fuck!” Growls Lee, pulling out and spurting ropes of cum on your stomach. He steadies himself, staying buried inside you until his cock softens.

“Now. The location. Give it to us.” Minho presses as he pulls his trousers back up.

“Please?” Han looks down at you.

“I said never.” You whisper defiantly.

Lee sighs. “Fine. We’ll be back in an hour to interrogate your further.” He says flatly, and he and Han leave the room, locking the door behind them.

Read unrelated sub police officer Han ask here

Read unrelated ot8 free use jail cell

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[jadeoru]

SMUDGED LIPSTICK

20: dissipating fear -> prev / mlist / next

now playing: deep red - movements 🎶

The doorbell rang once, twice, and when she showed no sign of answering, it rang a third time. Confused by the insistence, she slowly sat up from her couch. She tugged all 3 blankets off with mourning burning in her chest. It was far too cold. She wanted to crawl back under the warmth and enjoy her second nap of the day. Unfortunately, curiosity got the better of her. She stood up, pulled the cuff of her sweatpants leg, that hitched up as she tossed around in her sleep, down and made her way to her front door. She didn’t look through the peephole. Why didn’t she look through the peephole? How different would the outcome of that afternoon be if she had looked through the peephole? She unlocked the door, and slowly pulled it open. Peeking her head from the side, she would have screamed, only her shock kept her at bay. Standing in front of her, on her own porch, was him. He stood there as if it was all too familiar, reminding you of many things: rainy days spent under the porch, trying to light her cigarette. Her hands were always too shaky from the cold. She never had to worry about burning herself, because he would always end up lighting it for her. He stood on that porch as if it were a monument; a symbol of which he loved and worshipped. Her stomach felt sick.

He looked distraught; his curls were slightly messy, almost frizzy. Her Omi was never like that. He wouldn’t leave the house without making sure each individual curl on his head was perfect. Maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but her Omi cared too much to leave his house looking like that. His haphazardly styled hair was accompanied with dark circles under his eyes, which was also unlike her Omi. Sleepovers. Whenever they had sleepovers he made it abundantly clear that he needed more than eight hours of sleep, never settling for less.  - He always made sure she did too. He barely looked like he slept a second. His clothes looked lazily chosen too, he had a plain dark grey jumper on, with black sweatpants to match. He was without a doubt Sakusa Kiyoomi, but she struggled to see Omi. She swallowed the lump in her throat and it didn't go away; like a pill swallowed dry. 

“Sakusa? What the fuck are you doing here?” She asked, but it wasn’t a question. He could tell; almost reading her mind. What she meant to say was: “Go. Get out of here - Far away from me, and don’t come back.” He knew he wasn’t welcome, part of him wanted to turn on his heel and listen to her unspoken plea. But he knew that was pointless, he’d always come back. “I need to talk to you.” he spoke sternly. She could hear the desperation that stained his tongue - it only served to fuel her anger.  “I don’t want to see you.” she spat, her face twisting with a mix of anger and disgust. Her heart was searching for a reason to forget everything and take him back. Something, anything, but she found nothing. She gave him enough chances, and he wasted them. She wasn’t going to let it slide. She found no reasons to let him back into her heart, but she found a million to slam the door in his face. As her hand pushed the door, he stuck his foot out, preventing it from shutting. He stepped inside, to stop her from shutting him out. He called her name like a prayer, and she couldn’t count the emotions heard in his tone on one hand.

“Please listen to me. Let me explain everything.” He pleaded, his tired eyes were filled with sorrow. She had no more fucks to give him. Her arms crossed, fists clenching as she struggled to keep her volume at a normal level. “I don't want to hear shit from you!” She shouted, her voice trembled slightly. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to her, she pushed it off of her quickly. “Everything will make sense if you just let me explain!” He shouted back, but quickly regretted raising his voice. He mentally kicked himself, trying to remain calm. “No! I don’t need your explanations! I gave you a second chance, and you fucking blew it!” she began. Her hand pointed at him angrily, enunciating each syllable that left her lips with pure disdain. He tried to cut her off, saying her name to get her to listen, but she kept going. “I just don’t understand you, Sakusa! We were finally on good terms again - great terms! But, no! You just had to fuck it up, didn’t you? Now that you finally had me on your side, you got bored, huh? Was that it? The chase was over? Was I boring you?!” she yelled, not once listening to any excuse he had to explain himself.

“Why did you just disappear again? We were finally good again! Was it because we fucked? Is that it?” her eyes were wide and her eyebrows were furrowed. He quickly shook his head. “Of course not! I just-” she cut him off, unbothered to hear his shitty way of redeeming himself. “What? Was I getting in the way of your little girlfriend?” she asked, disgust on her tongue She wasn’t stupid. She saw all of the news accounts - him going on dates with a girl at their cafe. His eyebrows furrowed, his face scrunching with pure confusion. “What? What are you talking about?” he asked, desperate to understand. She scoffed. “Don’t play dumb! The girl you keep bringing to the café! Is she so insecure that she can’t handle us being friends?!" Oh. Now he knew what she was talking about; Kiyoko. He met with Kiyoko for advice - to help talk to her. The situation was diving from misunderstanding to misunderstanding. But, he had the patience to stay, waiting for his chance to clear everything up.

“Girlfriend?  Don’t tell me you believe those news accounts - They call anyone I look at my girlfriend! They’ve said the same thing about you for fuck’s sake!” He yelled, trying to get her to just listen to him. “Then why the hell have you been avoiding me? I thought we were fine- i thought we were fucking incredible! But then one day you just fucking changed! You just left me like it was nothing! Just like last time! I don’t understand why-” her voice was filled with emotion, and she desperately fought back tears. He let out a shaky breath. Clenching his fists, he cut her off. “Because I fell in love with you!” he shouted, louder than her - louder than the thoughts that whirled in both of their heads, effectively silencing everything. 

Everything went quiet, and for a second Sakusa almost turned around and went home. She stared at him, pure shock evident in her eyes. His knuckles were white from clenching his fists so hard, but they slowly regained colour as he looked down to the ground. “Again.” he added quietly, filling the silence, and adding to the confusion that lingered in the atmosphere. She blinked, dumbfounded. All of the rage slowly dissipated out of her. Not because she forgave him, - it was replaced by a need for answers; an explanation. “What?” she asked, her voice was shaky, and weak from shouting. She couldn’t believe the words she heard. He had to be joking right? Love was an arrow to the heart, that pierced through any worries or insecurities; it pushed through any obstacle, and surrounded the heart in joy. Love wasn’t a bullet to the head, a wound that reopened after years of trying to heal. None of his actions made any sense to her. If he loved her, surely the logical thing to do would be to tell her, right? She needed the peace of understanding. He took a deep, shaky breath, struggling to find the right words. “I… um.. This sounds so unbelievably stupid but please just let me explain.” He pleaded; his usual stoic, unbothered appearance was long forgotten. It was strange to see him so… expressive. Everything about him lately had just been so strange. She didn’t respond, she stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

“When we were younger… um.. before we fought, I really liked you. And… it scared me.” He paused, the room quickly filled with silence. “You were just so… perfect. You were funny, kind, caring, pretty and I couldn't help but want to be yours.  And.. then we got closer, and I started to think that maybe you liked me back… and I got scared. There were so many other people you could’ve been with - so many people that could’ve given you the happiness you deserve. I didn’t want you to choose me. I mean, I'm a mess. I can’t love you like someone else could. You deserve so much better. So I panicked and.. Well, I left. I know it was stupid, I really shouldn’t have done that. And you’d think I'd learn from my mistakes, but no!  I went and did the same thing again!” he clenched his fist as he spoke, his knuckles turned white again and his fingernails were scraping his palms painfully. But that was the last thing on his mind. “When we became friends again I was the happiest I'd been in a while. But, then the feelings came back, and… I left you again. But I swear I tried to apologise. I realised how stupid it was but by that point you had me blocked and I didn’t know what else to do.. So, I met up with your friend Kiyoko for advice, because I really value our friendship and I don't want to lose you again. I thought that leaving you would help the feelings go away but they only got worse. When you’re gone it’s like.., there’s something missing. I can’t function properly without you near me. It sounds pathetic but that’s just what you do to me. I can’t even sleep anymore without thinking about you. You’ve made me into this mess of a person and I should hate you for it but I just can’t. I could never hate you.” He spoke frantically, letting all of his thoughts out, some of which were kept inside since they were younger. His voice cracked as he reached the end of his final sentence, gradually quieting as he tried to calm himself down. “I regret hurting you, and I regret never telling you how I felt. I understand if you never want to see me again, but I can’t live the rest of my life without telling you how I feel.”

She didn’t realise she had been holding her breath until she involuntarily gasped for air. She had never felt so many emotions in a single moment than she had then. He looked at her in a way that made her want to both punch his face and kiss it. She let his words process in her mind, trying to figure out an appropriate response. She was beyond conflicted, and although she hated to admit it, the sight of him so vulnerable; desperate to make things right between them made her heart flutter a little. She was still struggling to grasp the concept of him liking her back. She had so much to say, and yet no words left her mouth. He spoke up again before she could, desperate to fill the silence before it consumed him whole. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving you.” He almost whispered, the regret in his voice was loud, despite how quiet he spoke. She was silent again, which made him unbearably anxious. He couldn’t stand the aching feeling inside of him; the guilt and regret that surrounded him, leaving him no opportunity to escape. Every breath he took caused the pain to sting a little more. He was slowly crumbling apart under her gaze.

She took a few steps towards him, until they were only a few inches apart. She looked at him with intentions he couldn’t quite put his finger on; he had yet to decipher. He stood there, confused, waiting for her to say something, anything. Despite her confident exterior, not even she was fully sure what she was doing. She was undeniably pissed off. She was also sad, strangely relieved, and ultimately frustrated at her rapidly beating heart. She didn’t trust herself to speak, knowing she didn’t have the right words to say to him - so she let her hand do the talking for her; slapping him across the face with a loud clap. It hurt, and she didn’t hold back; the sharp pain that rippled through his face did a good job at establishing her anger. He stood there and took it without a single complaint. The second her hand left his face his eyes immediately found their way back to her.

“You deserved that.” She said, a shadow of a smile on her face. “I know.” He admitted, breathlessly. He didn’t care about the stinging pain that danced on his cheek, he was just glad she was even acknowledging him to begin with. Months of painful silence really does something to a person.

A part of her was annoyed that he didn’t react to being slapped. The selfish part of her - that wanted to bring him the pain that he inflicted on her. But in all honesty, she didn’t expect him to react any differently. Even though there were times she wished it wasn’t true, she knew him more than she knew herself. The fluttering eyelashes that decorated his harsh, angry eyes, which seemed to soften around her, were as familiar as a morning breeze. He wasn’t just some ‘what could have been’-relationship, he was her Omi. Even after all that came between them, he was hers.

He waited for her next move, not knowing what else to do. He could tell there was something else she wanted to do, or say. He could sense the hesitation in her eyes. His heart banged in his chest; a syncopated rhythm of anticipation and admiration. He found himself struggling to stay in place, his body unconsciously trying to lean in to her warmth. He searched her for a sign of anything; her body language, her eyes, - he tried to find any hint to what was going through her mind. He could see the temptation in her heart, it matched his own. There was something she wanted to do, badly. It was an urge; an itch that she couldn’t scratch unless she went through with it. She knew she shouldn’t, and she was fully aware of the consequences if she did go through with it, but her lips were pressed against his before either of them could fully realise what was happening. Bad decisions were the foundation of their relationship anyways. Bad ideas were a fluent language when it came to them; There was no harm in adding another one to the mix. She pulled him towards her by his shirt, and kissed him like it was what she was born to do; letting all of the love she felt for him out into the air without saying any words. Her anger slowly faded away with every passing second spent with their lips connected.  He was caught off guard at first, tensing up with wide eyes as he realised what was happening. He quickly melted into her touch, cherishing every second of it like it was the last time he ever could. It was quick, and anything but perfect. But it perfectly encapsulated how she felt. It did a better job at conveying her feelings than words ever could. She was mad at him for what he had done to her, but she could never hold a grudge against him when he looked at her the way he did. A single moment has never felt so right.

The kiss was the best and worst thing that ever happened to him. He knew this. She probably knew it too. It was everything he ever wanted, and that was the problem. If he couldn’t push his feelings for her aside then, there was no chance he’d ever be able to from then on. The bittersweet sensation of her lips pressed against his was one he found himself addicted to. As their lips collided, he couldn’t help the fear that loomed over him. The fear he found himself used to; familiar. Now that he got a taste, he knew he’d never want to let her get away, which only served to make his fears worse. But strangely, he had a weird feeling that things would be alright.

After what felt like both the longest and shortest moment of his life, she pulled away from him reluctantly, staring into his eyes. Silence fell over the two of them, as they caught their breath. Their faces remained inches apart, as if an invisible magnet was keeping them together. He gulped, still struggling to come to terms with everything that’s happened. He cleared his throat. “Does.. does this mean you forgive me?” he asked, a genuine tone in his voice. He sounded exhausted. She couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her lips. Unfortunately. “Would I have kissed you if I didn’t?” She asked rhetorically, a smirk on her face. Her mind still struggled to process what had just happened between them; reeling at the close distance between them. “Fair point..” he muttered, finding himself smiling slightly. Despite all of the worries and fears that plagued his mind for years; a loud constant in his life that festered deep within him, one look into her eyes made it all go quiet. The way she smiled at him had him thinking that ‘yeah, everything would be alright.’

They were quiet again for a moment, this time it was comfortable. It was a nice moment of peace, where they mutually enjoyed the fact that things were finally good again - again. She was quick to fill the silence again after a while. “So you’ve had a crush on me since High School, huh?” She teased, relishing in the way his face quickly grew flustered. He looked down to the ground, a wave of slight embarrassment washing over him.  “Maybe..” he admitted, looking up at her hesitantly. “Quit looking at me like that, idiot.” He added, and her smirk only grew. “What? It’s cute! Who knew that Mr. Serious Pants was capable of feeling this kind of thing!” She chuckled, watching with pleased eyes as her teasing had a visible effect on him; even if he tried to deny it. “Don’t call me that.” he stated sternly, stepping back from her with an agitated pout. She laughed. She laughed and he hated how it was the one sound he had wanted to hear for the three months. But he told her all she needed to know, he wouldn’t tell her that. Not if he wanted to be a victim to her endless teasing. “Shut up.” He tried to remain a calm, uninterested tone, but his voice cracked slightly; flustered.

She was quiet again, before stepping closer to him and  pulling him into a hug. He had a vague idea, but he didn’t know just how much she had missed him. Even if she disguised her yearning with anger. He was taken aback, but quickly adjusted to her warmth, awkwardly wrapping his arms around her and patting her back. She chuckled. “I’ve liked you since High School too, y’know.” She confessed, leaning her head to the side so he wouldn’t see her face. He let out a huff of amusement. “Oh really now? Are you saying that you still like me now?” He asked, beyond desperate to hear her answer, but he didn’t make it obvious. She laughed again, pulling away from him to look at him. “Mm, and what if it does?” she asked, a goofy smile on her face - The smile he would spend late nights thinking about. “Well, I'd probably ask to kiss you again.” He admitted, sheepishly. “Well in that case, I really like you, Omi. - More than just a friend…” She looked up at him with doting eyes, her smile spreading out to her cheeks. She knew that it was stupid to be nervous, especially since she knew he felt the same. But she couldn’t help the anxious butterflies that tore her apart from the inside. She couldn’t prevent the lump in her throat that didn’t want to go away. His eyes softened, trying his best to ignore the blush that crept onto his cheeks. “I..” he began, mentally hyping himself up to continue. “I really like you too.” His voice was quiet, but she heard every word, and clung onto each syllable that left his lips with love and desperation. The smile on her face never faltered, only increasing in size. 

He leaned in close to her, something he could never get used to, and paused when they were only a breath apart; their noses almost touching. “I believe I owe you a kiss.” A small smirk filled his face. She chuckled, “I believe you do.” No other words were uttered, nothing else needed to be said. He leaned even closer, before he finally connected their lips again. His lips moved gently and tenderly against hers. It was sweet and unhurried, wordlessly expressing the love for each other that they had to keep to themselves for so long. All of it seeped through their lips and into the other’s. He was inexperienced, and struggled to figure out where to put his hands; opting to place one at the back of her head. She placed her hands on his cheeks, stroking it lovingly with her thumb. He hummed into the kiss, slowly losing his mind at the pure satisfaction that coursed through his veins. The only reason he pulled away was to catch his breath, and even then, he immediately missed the sensation of their lips pressed against one another. She looked into his eyes with a lovesick smile, seemingly drunk on love. He wasn’t aware that he was looking at her in the exact same way.

“Omi?” She asked, quietly, removing her hands from his cheeks, and nervously fidgeting with her fingers. He could’ve whined with annoyance as her hands left his face, but for the sake of his dignity and pride, he didn’t. He noticed the sudden change in the atmosphere, and couldn’t help but feel like he knew where this was going. “Yeah?” he asked, reluctantly. She hesitated, swallowing and taking a deep breath. “Could we.. maybe give this a try?” She asked him, a hint of nervousness and yearning spreading across her features. He was silent, and she could practically see the mental contemplation he was facing in his mind; a silent battle between his love for her, and the lack of love he had for himself. “Are you sure you won’t regret it?” he suddenly spoke up, his voice quiet. She smiled softly, placing her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to quiet his whirling mind. “The only thing I regret is not asking you sooner, dumby.” She tried to lighten him up, but she could still see the guilty fear that silently tore him apart. She noticed how his eyes strayed from hers, looking down to the ground. “I know I won't regret it.” She reassured, and his eyes reconnected with hers. He spoke up again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry that I won't be able to love you like you might want me to..” His eyes were clouded by a guilty melancholy. “I.. I don't know what I’m doing, but I can try.” He added, a tone of promise and determination laced in his words. He might not be able to love her the way a normal person could, but he wouldn’t go down without trying. He tried to move on twice, and it didn’t work out either time. He couldn’t just stand there and let someone else take his place. He needed to grow up. He wasn’t sure if he could make her as happy as someone else could, but the selfish part of him couldn’t even handle the idea of seeing her with someone else. He was gonna try, - and he was gonna try hard.

“It’s okay. I can teach you.”

The way those words left her lips fed him with a new confidence, and suddenly the tormenting fear began to disappear. Things were gonna be okay. His lips curled up into a wide smile, and it had her heart pounding in her chest.

“Then.. will you be my girlfriend?” He asked, and a chuckle left her lips.

“Of course I will, Omi. You big idiot.”

She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, and pulled him in for another kiss; full of relief, passion and devoid of fear. Fear was left behind - An old friend whisked away into the night.

He was going to love her like it was what he was born to do. 

bonus thingy for the funsies:

“Hey you left your door open dumba-” Nishinoya stood there in shock; eyes flicking from Sakusa to her as they quickly broke apart from their kiss.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” He yelled, eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at the scene in front of him.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” She asked, a rush of embarrassment crashing over her like a tidal wave.

“I DITCHED THE PARTY TO SEE IF MY BEST FRIEND WAS DOING OKAY!”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU KNOCK?”

“WELL I FIGURED YOU WOULD BE TOO LAZY TO OPEN IT FOR ME - NOT CANOODLING WITH THE ENEMY! Hi by the way..”

“..Hey Nishinoya.”

TAGLIST: @gojoed @anianurst @itsdragonius @sleepy-writer84 @yuminako @wolffmaiden @tenjikusstuff4 @juie3 @ilyless @arachnoia @choizzn @3lectraheart @sugarrhiccupp @bbybibi @diorzs @le000xxgrd @aboveasphodel @petrus1989 @aria-in-wonderland @walllflowerrrsss @wave2mia

@loveelylacey @marimisses @alpha-mommy69 @thepurpleempath @theauthorunicorn @v1oletfury @iluvmang @slashkxe @soupofmushrooms @megmercury @renardiererin @violetesensou @wtfdudewhydidyoutakemyusername @ast4rg1rl

@dazqa @yoshit-he-dinosaur @chaotic-nat @solaqes @crimcriminal @am-i-ok-no @myromanempiree @jaynawayna @h0neybunni @sunakeiji @zazathezaer @lordbugs @sillygooseymood @zq13 @cat-seltzer @thatonecroc @kuroosfavkitten @beckxisxinxlovexwithxjin @navymacaroons

a/n: i typed a wholeeee sappy speech and tumblr fucking obliterated it this was my last straw

we're done!!!!! it's finally finished!!!! sorry this took so long my life was literally insane i was homeless at one point lmfao BUT WE PERSEVERED!!!! thank you so much for being patient and thank you for the love and understanding i hope all of you are well and taking care of yourselves!!!!1 shoutout to the lovely @eggyrocks ! i made a cheeky reference to their smau maneater (the dj and bouncer enemies to lovers) ITS SO GOOD PLEASE CHECK IT OUT !! THANK YOU FOR READING!!! THEY'RE FINALLY TOGETHER!!!! HAPPY EVER AFTER!!!!!!

[live-laugh-lenney]

could you do Arthur tv helping r with her anxiety/period symptoms? Either in a separate fic or together love youuu

he would be such a softie, for sure.

she hears him, his footsteps thudding and echoing down the hallway, before she sees him.

the door to his bedroom creaks open from it's ajar position, a rustling sound of a plastic bag coming soon after, and she can feel him enter the room by the warming presence of his figure now standing in the doorway. she sniffles softly, wiping her face in the sleeve of his grey jumper and leaving damp stains in the cuff from where she wiped her tears and running nose, sitting up on the mattress and looking at him as his eyes held sympathy and sadness behind them.

his heart aches at the sight before him; how she looked so small on his bed, hood pulled up and the strings pulled to keep it tight to her head, jumper almost swallowing her whole and she had red cheeks with tear-stained skin and blood-shot eyes from how she struggled to keep her emotions at bay throughout the afternoon. the bag in his hand felt heavier and he was instantly reminded how she would most definitely want the contents hidden behind the orange plastic.

"god, menstruation sucks."

"i'm not in the mood for your stupid jokes right now," she grumbles and his lips purse tightly together, a frown forming on her face before her eyebrows pinch together, eyes forming a sheen of tears that went shiny under the flickering candles filling the room with a yellow hue, "i didn't mean that, arthur. i'm sorry."

"don't cry, you silly goose," he laughs softly, stepping closer to the bed and perching down on the empty side of the mattress, "i've got some stuff for you. i went to the shops when you were asleep."

"i didn't sleep," she mumbles truthfully, pulling her knees to her chest and she could feel the pit of her stomach begin to cramp and the way her muscles tightened made her feel achy and sore, "i just couldn't."

he sets the bag upon the bed and lets her have a rummage through the things he'd brought for her.

her favourite box of chocolates, a tub of her favourite ice-cream (that he was, for sure, going to help her finish off), some tampons and a variety of pads that she could use and keep under his bathroom sink for the future week she would struggle with, some paracetamol and some stronger ibuprofen for when she was really dealing with strong cramps and pains, and a lavender bubble bath that she took a sniff of once she saw the scent.

"an old lady actually helped me pick this out," he admits sheepishly, a blush on his cheeks that she found so endearing as he pulled out a heating pad and some lavender oil, her eyes welling up with tears again as how thoughtful he had been for all aspects of how she was feeling, "i told her i was buying for my girlfriend who has it really bad, she took one look at my basket and told me to get this heating pad because it makes you feel relaxed and helps with the cramping. the lavender oil is for massaging purposes," he grins cheekily, "she said that when her and her husband were young, he used to rub this into her tummy and it made her feel a lot calmer."

she wipes her eyes with the sleeves of the jumper, shaking her head with a soft smile on her lips, and he reaches for her hands.

"i figured you could have a bath, i'll make some dinner, you could get into some clean clothes and feel a little more fresh and we could just have a cuddle on the sofa," he suggests, squeezing her hands tightly, "we could move everything into the living room, make the sofa into a bed, eat all the chocolate and ice-cream i brought today... what do you think?"

she shrugs softly and looks at their joined hands.

"will you have a bath with me?" she asks quietly, almost coming out as a whisper, "i just want to be near you. wanna be held today."

"of course i can."

-

the water lapped against her skin and the warmth kept her from the cold air of the bathroom, with arthur's arms tight around her, holding her against his chest. her legs were bent up to her chest, his legs were stretched out either side of her, and she was comfortably in a position to lay her head back against his shoulder without feeling she was going to slip away. the smell of lavender filling the air and the gentle sound of the bubbles and the foam popping could be heard over the silence of the room.

"how are you feeling now?"

she nods softly, turning her face and letting his nose brush against the skin of his neck, and she smiles a genuine smile that gave him a sense of a little satisfaction; he'd accomplished what he had set out to do and he could only hope she continued feeling this way for the rest of the day.

"so much better," she says, "not sure if it's just being around you or whether the water and the lavender scent is helping."

he presses a kiss to her forehead and lets his lips linger a little longer than normal, feeling her melt under his touch, a soft hum leaving her throat and filling the room.

"it's you," she whispers after a while, turning her upper body so she could look him face-on, the water sloshing either side of her, "it's always you who makes me feel better. i'm lucky. so lucky."

"anything for you, lovie." x

[emotionalhottiee]

Made For Each Other!

Chapter 1: A New Friend

Aleah

“40-inch when, I bust down

G6, how I touch down

Hot girl, put them cuffs down

Icy from the neck down

I'm that bitch, so they all dissin'

Puttin' on for the tall bitches

All these hoes be big fans

Swingin' at the air and they all missin”

I rapped with my whole chest, as Megan Thee Stallion blared my speakers while i stepped out of my afternoon shower. Today is the day I start my new job as an assistant content officer working for WWE. Working as a mentee under The Paul “Triple H” Levesque. I have to make the right impression, to be taken serious as a young black woman in a white male dominated field as my mom would always say.

Finishing up the final touches on my makeup, i made sure all the lights in my apartment were off, before heading to my car. Lookin at my apple watch the time read 1:16pm sounds like i have enough time to stop by Starbucks. For an afternoon Coffee. I am gonna have to get use to this crazy schedule, between starting work around 3 in the afternoon until after midnight possibly, to being on the road most of the week. This is going to be a different experience for me. Especially because this is my first big girl Job, since graduating from college.

“Ugh would yall please hurry the hell up” i quietly raged in the comfort of my own car. Why do people get in both lanes to drive the same slow ass speed? I questioned to myself. Praying i won't be late for my first day of work. That would be so embarrassing.

After a short drive from starbucks i made it to the State Farm Arena. Pulling into the parking lot where Monday Night Raw, will be filmed tonight. I am very happy my first show is in the city i live in. I peaked at the clock on my dashboard and the time read 2:49pm. That allowed me to let out a high sigh of relief. “Thank goodness I’m not late” i said gratefully checking my makeup one last time, before making my way into the building. Swiping my badge i got a few days prior at my orientation. I smiled and waved to all the WWE employees i walked past. My heels clicking on the creating a small echo against the concrete, as i made my way into elevator area of the parking structure.

Walking in to the elevator, and pressing the up button to take me to the main floor of the arena. I stepped into the big elevator and just as the door was closing i saw HIM. A very fine specimen of a man. His tall muscular frame making his way over to the elevator, trying not to miss it. I stuck my hand out of the elevator just enough to stop it, causing the door to reverse opening back up, to allow the hunk onto the elevator. “Preciate it” he said in a deep powerful voice. Sending chills down my spine, into my vagina causing her to throb a little. “You’re welcome” i replied calmly. Trying not to let the man see, he had me weak in the knees off two words.

I never really been into wrestling as a kid, that was more of my dad & older brother’s thing. But i had been brushing up on all things wrestling in order to not seem like a fish out of water. And clearly i had to learn about the finest men in the WWE, which is how i learned about The Jey Uso. I had to relax my thoughts, before i started sweating, because it’s late fall in Atlanta. This is not sweaty weather. Snapping back to reality i watched as big sexy tried pressing the lobby button, but it was already lit from me pressing it just a few moments earlier. My mind started roaming again, wondering how close we were going to be working together, if at all.

But my thoughts were quickly interrupted by the elevator dinging letting us know we were on out floor. The big fine gentlemen holding the elevator doors open for me. “Thank you” i replied putting on my sweetest voice. “You’re welcome” he replied kind but so matter of factly.

Hopefully i will be seeing him again. I blushed as i made my way to the backstage area looking for Triple H, so he could give me the rundown and everything i will be doin. I wish i coulda talked more to big sexy, but the shyness took over my body while i was intoxicated off the smell of his cologne. Lord knows i don’t need to get involved with someone i work with. Things could get quite messy, if it didn’t work out. Snapping myself out of my thoughts, i finally saw Triple H. “Hello Mr. Levesque i greeted him reaching my hand out for a shake. “Ah Miss Alexander, welcome to your new home” he reached his hand out returning the handshake.

Finishing up the impromptu tour of the arena, and its offices. Triple H gave me a brand new work computer so that i can log in to all the WWE website, and save all my media. I found my way to catering to grab a snack. And to fidget around with my work computer. Finding an empty table. I sat down doing some remote work, for my other job as a junior project manager. I’m thankful my other job is remote and i can just login anywhere i have teams. I was focusing on my work, answering my emails. When i felt a large figure looming behind me. Before i could turn around big sexy was in front of me asking to sit down.

Jey

After unloading my bags from the trunk i made my way over to the elevator, only to find it closing. I wasn’t even worried about catching the elevator until i saw HER. A fine ass shawty standing in the elevator. I had never seen her before, so i had to see who my future wife was. I started jogging over to the elevator now hoping i can catch it before it closes. Luckily shawty held the doors open for me. “Preciate it” i said trying not to sound out of damn breath. “You’re welcome” she said her voice so soft and cute.

Trying not to look to obvious i stole a couple of glances while going to press the button for the Lobby, but i realized she had already pressed it. I stole one more glance, before noticing she had a WWE badge clipped to her purse. “She must be new here” i thought to myself, quickly getting snapped out of my thoughts, by the elevator dinging. I went to hold the door open for shawty, stealing one last look. DAMN she was fine as hell… “Thank you” she said, barely hearing it above the sound of my own thoughts. You’re welcome” i replied back. We went our separate ways but i caught her name from her badge before we did. I definitely will be seeing you later Miss Aleah. I thought to myself smiling as i made my way to the locker rooms.

After dropping my bags off in my locker room, i was making my way into catering when i saw shawty talking to Triple H. I wonder what she does here, and how come i ain’t neva seen her? It don’t really matter as long as i get to see more of her fine ass. I got distracted from my thoughts running into Damian, and Rhea. After a few minutes chopping it up with Damian & Rhea i was finally on my way to catering. I felt my phone vibrating in my pants pocket so i took it out, only to be slightly annoyed at the notification.

iMessage

Saniah; goodluck tonight zaddy. I miss you

Shrugging my shoulders i just slide my phone back in my pocket. Don’t get me wrong Saniah is cool, but I’m not trying to be in no relationship with her. But she always texting me, like she is my girl. And besides i couldn’t stop thinking about shawty from earlier. She got my mind & my heart racing. I can’t believe it, i haven’t even officially met the girl. Getting myself a sandwich i saw shawty sitting at a table by herself. This is my opportunity to introduce myself. I gotta bag her, before someone else tries talking to my girl.

As i honed in on her like a lion, stalking his prey. I was approaching her and i saw she was typing away on her computer. Whatever she was doing she was focused and singing a song i had never heard before. But her vocals were on point, let me find out my girl can sing. I didn’t want to scare her, so i walked around the table until i was in front of her. “Mind if i sit here babygirl” i asked while pointing to the chair that had her big ass Louis bag. She snatched a headphone out of her ear, before replying “yeah of course. let me move my purse out of the way”. She likes the finer things i see, ima have to spoil my princes.

She smiled at me before moving the bag, so that it was hanging off of her chair.

Damn she has a beautiful smile.

“Whatchu got in that big ass purse a body?” I chuckled looking at the bag that was almost as big as her. That bag was big as hell. “Nothing just my work stuff”. She giggled pushing a hair behind her ear. “You must be new around here” i asked watching her face intently. I smiled at her showing off my bottom row of grillz. “Yes today is actually my first day. I do content for WWE”. She said still smiling. “That’s wassup. My name is Josh, but everyone calls me Jey”. I responded reaching my hand out. “Nice to meet you Josh, I’m Aleah”. She responded sweetly returning the handshake. Bring her soft little hands into mine.

“I hope you didn’t mind me joining you” i mentioned after our greeting. “Oh no you’re fine” she spoke so softly.

She has the softest voice i had ever heard. This must be what angels sound like.

Series Disclaimer!

Tag List:

@prettypink-princesss

[thedemoninme141]

Her Heartbeat; Chapter 18: Her Hope.

Summary: Wednesday shows you that she understands and that's when it finally happens.

Warnings: EmotionalOutOfCharacterWednesday!

Parings: Wednesday x Fem reader. Wordcount: 4.3k-ish?

Chapter 1 ------- Previous Chapter

Her Heartbeat's Chapterlist.

Worklist

Wednesday adjusted the cuff of her sleeve, her fingers lingering on the familiar texture of her blazer.  Parents’ Weekend. A pointless ritual, in Wednesday’s opinion, yet another chance for society to revel in shallow pleasantries. Enid had already left to meet her parents, and for that, it was quiet. And the quiet gave her room to think—a dangerous pastime she had indulged in far too often over the last few days.

It had been a week since you were discharged from the hospital. A week since you insisted you were fine, brushing off Wednesday’s concerns with that maddening smile of yours.

After you were discharged, you had been taken home to recover. It was only logical. You were still fragile, still regaining your strength.

As soon as her classes were done each day, she had gone straight to your house. The walk to the edge of Jericho had become a part of her routine.

She never announced her visits; she simply appeared on the porch like a shadow, silently stepping through the door you always left unlocked for her.

The swing outside became her refuge. You insisted on sitting there most afternoons, wrapped in a blanket. She had brought her notebook, intending to jot down notes for her novel, but the words never came. Instead, she’d found herself watching you.

You would talk about nothing and everything. You told her about your childhood, your love for old movies, your love for animals, your love for flowers and she had listened, not just listened but absorbed every detail, filing them away as though they were critical to her survival. Somehow, they had become just that.

Your laughter, faint but still vibrant, would be there... You’d tease her, call her "Angry Bird" with a cheeky grin that no longer made her want to throttle you. She wanted those to last, just last till...lifetime.

Against her better judgment, you had begun to infiltrate her thoughts, her routines, her life whenever you had not been beside her. You had a way of breaking through her carefully constructed walls, making her see things she’d never cared to notice before.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she thought about the moment you had asked to return to Nevermore. “I miss them,” you had said softly, your eyes distant. “I miss my friends. And I miss... the life I had before all this.”

She had wanted to argue, to insist you needed rest, but the conviction in your voice had silenced her... though she felt something similar to.. Relief, because... you would be closer.

You had changed her. That much she couldn’t deny. In your presence, she felt something she never thought she would feel, an understanding that the world was not entirely cruel and soulless. It used to irritate her at first. But now? She wasn’t sure she could do without it. Without you.

Thing snapped his fingers sharply from his perch on her desk, breaking her reverie. She glared at him, though the hand only gestured impatiently at the clock.

“Yes, I’m aware of the time, I just do not care.” she muttered before heading out... Time for torture, and not the good kind.

The quad was alive with activity. Parents and students mingled, the hum of laughter and chatter grating against her nerves. She scanned the crowd, her eyes landing on her parents near the center.

“Wednesday,” Morticia greeted as Gomez grinned broadly beside her. Pugsley waved awkwardly, his face lighting up at the sight of his sister.

“Mother. Father. Pugsley,” Wednesday said, her tone clipped but not unkind.

Gomez spread his arms wide. “Mi querida, look at you! As stoic and menacing as ever. Have you started any fires recently? Poisoned anyone’s tea?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Wednesday replied dryly. “My schedule has been occupied by less homicidal pursuits.”

Morticia’s dark eyes gleamed with amusement. “Surely you’ve found some way to entertain yourself?”

“I’ve managed,” Wednesday said, her voice as flat as ever, though her mind flickered with memories of you—your laughter, your presence beside her.

Pugsley stepped closer, looking up at her with admiration. “Have you been teaching anyone new torture techniques?”

Wednesday’s lips twitched, the closest she ever came to a smile. “Not recently. But I’ll pencil you in for a lesson next time you visit.”

As Gomez laughed heartily, Morticia’s expression shifted, her gaze

piercing in that way only a mother’s could be. “We heard about the hospital, Wednesday.”

Wednesday stiffened, her eyes narrowing. “Who told you?”

Morticia arched a brow. “I called Principal Weems. She mentioned a... significant event involving you and someone else. A friend, perhaps?”

The word hung in the air like a blade. Wednesday’s throat tightened. “And what exactly did Weems say?”

“That you were remarkably devoted,” Morticia said, her tone carefully neutral. “And that this friend of yours has been unwell.”

Wednesday’s jaw tightened. “Her name is Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Morticia repeated, tasting the name as if it were a fine wine. “And what, my darling, does Y/N mean to you?”

There it was, the question she had been dreading. What did you mean to her? You were everything she didn’t understand, everything she couldn’t control. You were infuriating, reckless, and entirely too important. But how could she say that? How could she explain something she barely comprehended herself?

“She’s...” Wednesday began, her voice faltering for the first time in front of them. “She’s someone who matters.”

Gomez���s brows shot up. “Matters? My little viper, you’ve never admitted that anyone matters before. This Y/N must be extraordinary.”

Wednesday was quiet... and that told everything.

Morticia’s gaze softened, a rare warmth breaking through her usual cool demeanor. “Do you need us to do something for her, Wednesday?”

“No,” Wednesday said quickly, her tone firm. “Not yet. I’ll... talk to her first.”

Morticia nodded, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Of course. You will introduce her to us, won’t you?”

Wednesday didn’t reply, her gaze drifting over the crowd as if searching for you. But you weren’t there. Of course, you weren’t. You had told her last night that your father won't be here because he was working overtime at the garage, taking on more cars than he should for your sake. The thought made her stomach twist, a feeling uncomfortably close to guilt.

Morticia followed her gaze, her expression thoughtful. “She’s not here, is she?”

“No,” Wednesday said softly, her hands clenching at her sides.

“Then you’ll tell her what we discussed,” Morticia said, her voice gentle but firm. “And Wednesday?”

She turned to face her mother, her dark eyes unreadable.

“Don’t wait too long to tell her how you feel,” Morticia said, her voice low enough that only Wednesday could hear. “Life has a way of slipping through our fingers.”

For once, Wednesday didn’t have a sharp retort, her mind already drifting back to you.

She slipped her phone from her pocket, she detested the necessity of this device yet here she was, compelled to use it.

Where are you?"

The reply came quickly—a picture. The pond near the academy.

Without another glance at her parents or a word of explanation, Wednesday turned on her heel and began walking.

Before she had taken more than three steps, a smaller figure trotted up beside her. “Wednesday, where are you going?” Pugsley asked.

“To the pond,” she said curtly, not breaking stride.

“Can I come too? I want to meet your friend!”

Wednesday hesitated, the idea of introducing you to her brother an odd one. But as she glanced back at Pugsley’s hopeful expression, she found herself unable to refuse. “Fine,” she said, though her tone carried no warmth.

The walk wasn't long, but Pugsley filled the silence with his usual chatter.

“So,” he began “how did you two meet?”

Wednesday’s lips curled into the faintest of smirks, the memory as sharp and vivid as the day it happened. “Kidnapping,” she said simply.

“Kidnapping?”

Wednesday didn’t elaborate, leaving him to puzzle over her answer. Silence stretched between them for a moment before Pugsley tried again.

“Do you want to go grenade fishing later?” he asked, his voice eager and boyish.

Wednesday sighed, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “Not today. I have something to do this afternoon.”

Pugsley tilted his head. “Something more important than grenade fishing?”

“Yes,” Wednesday replied simply, her pace quickening as they neared the pond.

The walk felt both agonizingly slow and all too fast. Her thoughts raced as she considered what she would say when she saw you, she stopped abruptly, her breath catching in her throat.

There you were, sitting cross-legged on the wooden platform, the light breeze teasing strands of your hair. The sight of you, so serene and entirely yourself, made her chest tighten in a way that was as infuriating as it was inevitable.

You looked fragile and strong all at once, the memory of the raven came back to her mind. The thought of how close she had come to losing you made her stomach churn, but the sight of you now, alive, here, with her, eased something deep inside her that she hadn’t realized was knotted.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, the urge to go to you overwhelming. But she stayed rooted to the spot, her mind waging war against itself.

How had you come to mean so much to her? How had you managed to weave yourself so deeply into the fabric of her life?

“Is that her?” Pugsley’s voice broke through her thoughts.

Wednesday blinked, her focus snapping back to the present. “Yes,” she said, her voice quieter than usual.

She started forward again and Pugsley followed closely.

When she reached the edge of the platform, you turned at the sound of their footsteps. Your smile was faint but genuine, the kind of expression that made Wednesday’s heart clench painfully in her chest.

“Hey,” you said softly, your eyes flicking between her and Pugsley.

Wednesday stopped a few feet away,“This is my brother, Pugsley,” she said, gesturing toward the boy at her side.

“Hi!” Pugsley said brightly, waving a little too enthusiastically. “You’re Y/N, right?”

You nodded, your smile widening just a fraction. “That’s me. It’s nice to meet you, Pugsley.”

Pugsley beamed, clearly delighted. “Wednesday’s told me... well, not much about you. But she doesn’t usually bring people up, so you must be special.”

Wednesday shot him a warning glare, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care.

You laughed, the sound soft and melodic. “I guess I’m just persistent.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched in what might have been the beginning of a smile. “Annoyingly so,” she muttered.

You patted the spot beside you on the platform, your gaze fixed on Wednesday. “Sit with me?”

For a moment, she hesitated. The vulnerability of the gesture, the simplicity of your request, made her chest tighten. But then she stepped forward, lowering herself onto the wood beside you.

Pugsley lingered for a moment before plopping down on your other side. “Do you like grenades?” he asked suddenly, his face lit with curiosity.

You blinked, caught off guard by the random question. “Uh, I’ve never used one.”

“Pity,” Pugsley said, shaking his head solemnly. “They’re really fun.”

You glanced at Wednesday, a bemused smile playing on your lips. “I can see the family resemblance.”

“He’s the less refined version.” Wednedsay said flatly.

Pugsley didn’t seem to mind the jab, his attention already drifting to the water. You, however, were focused entirely on Wednesday.

“Did you have a nice time with your family?” you asked, your voice gentle.

Wednesday hesitated, her eyes flicking to the water. “It was tolerable,” she said finally. “Until they started prying into my personal life.”

You tilted your head, “Prying about what?”

She turned to meet your gaze, her expression unreadable. “You.”

Your eyes widened slightly, but you said nothing, waiting for her to elaborate.

“They know about the hospital,” Wednesday continued, her voice low. “And they know about you.”

“Oh,” you said softly, your hands fidgeting in your lap.

“They wanted to... meet you...” Wednesday added, her tone quieter now, almost hesitant, her fingers twitched slightly as she processed your reaction.

But the way your expression softened into a warm, unreserved smile immediately soothed the tension coiling in her chest.

"Of course, I’d love to meet them," you said, your voice gentle and sure.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice almost cracking from the weight of her own uncertainty. She couldn’t believe the vulnerability in her words, couldn’t believe that it slipped out so easily, but she couldn't take it back now.

You nodded, your eyes warm, and Wednesday’s heart skipped another beat. “I’m sure,” you said with a quiet smile, so simple, yet so potent. “It’ll be nice to meet your family, Wednesday.”

Wednesday’s usual cool demeanor flickered for just a moment, and she quickly looked away, her hands still clasped tightly in front of her. The thought of her family meeting you, of you becoming a part of that strange, twisted world of hers, filled her with a strange feeling... She didn’t know what that meant, but she didn’t feel the need to dissect it just yet.

Pugsley, oblivious to the undercurrent between you and his sister, grinned. “I think they’ll like you! Especially Dad, he loves meeting new people. Mom’s... a little intimidating, though.”

“Thanks for the warning, Pugsley,” you said with a laugh, glancing at Wednesday. “Any survival tips?”

“He's the last person you would want survival tips from.” Wednesday deadpaned.

“Do you want to go grenade fishing with us sometime? It’s really fun.” Pugsley asked out of nowhere again.

You laughed, clearly not sure if he was joking. “I’ll think about it.”

Wednesday sighed, her eyes flicking toward you. “He’s serious.”

“Of course he is,” you said, your grin widening.

As the two of you continued to talk, Wednesday found herself leaning back slightly, watching the interaction. You and Pugsley seemed to get along effortlessly, your laughter mingling with his in a way that felt almost... natural.

And for once, Wednesday didn’t feel the need to correct it.

The three of you sat there for a while longer, the afternoon sun casting a golden hue over the pond and Wednesday found herself stealing glances at you. She isn't the one to be sure about her feelings... but she was sure about this, she wanted you here, by her side, in her life. But how could she possibly explain that?

Finally, she broke the silence. "We should head back," she said, standing abruptly and brushing nonexistent dust from her blazer.

Pugsley groaned but got to his feet, brushing off his hands. “Fine, but only if we can do grenade fishing later.”

You laughed, your gaze flicking to Wednesday. “Do I even want to know what grenade fishing is?”

“No,” she replied flatly.

As you walked, the quad came into view, still bustling with parents and students. The sight of the crowd made Wednesday’s jaw tighten again, but she pressed on, her gaze flicking briefly to you.

“They’re over there,” she said, her tone carefully neutral.

You glanced at her, your expression soft. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said curtly, though the slight tension in her shoulders betrayed her. “Come on.”

Gomez spotted her first. His face lit up, and he waved enthusiastically. “Mi querida! You’re back!”

Morticia turned, her gaze softening as she saw Wednesday. “Darling.”

“Mother. Father,” Wednesday said, her tone as composed as ever. “This is Y/N.”

Morticia’s dark eyes swept over you, her lips curving into a faint smile. “So this is the infamous Y/N.”

Gomez stepped forward, his grin wide and genuine. “Ah, the one who has captured our Wednesday’s attention. It’s a pleasure to meet you, young lady.”

You smiled politely, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Addams.”

“Gomez, please,” he said, shaking your hand enthusiastically. “And this is Morticia, my beloved.”

Morticia inclined her head gracefully. “I must say, you seem to have quite the influence on our daughter.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you said modestly, though the way your eyes flicked to Wednesday told a different story.

“She wouldn’t admit it if you did,” Pugsley chimed in, earning a sharp glare from his sister.

“Enough,” Wednesday snapped, though her voice lacked its usual venom. “We’re here. Now what?”

Morticia chuckled softly. “Patience, darling. We merely wanted to meet the one who has... intrigued you so.”

“Mother...” Wednesday’s tone was low, warning.

Gomez clapped a hand on your shoulder. “Tell me, Y/N, do you like fencing? Or perhaps dueling? We have a wonderful family tradition—”

“Father,” Wednesday interrupted, her voice sharp. “Stop.”

Gomez raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning. “All right, all right. But you should join us for dinner sometime."

“That sounds... lovely,” you said, glancing at Wednesday, who looked like she wanted to sink into the ground.

Morticia’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before she turned to Wednesday. “She’s charming, Wednesday. You’ve chosen well.”

“I didn’t choose—” Wednesday began, but Morticia silenced her with a look.

“You’ll learn, darling,” Morticia said, her voice laced with amusement. “Sometimes, the heart makes choices before the mind catches up.”

Wednesday stiffened, is there any place she can put her family up for adoption?

“Tell me, Y/N, how do you handle our little viper? She can be quite... intense.” Gomez asked.

You smiled, your eyes flicking to Wednesday. “I don’t handle her. I just... understand her.”

Wednesday’s breath caught at your words. Understand her?

Morticia’s gaze was knowing as she addressed you. “You must care for her deeply.”

Your smile softened, and you nodded. “I do.”

Wednesday had nothing... no retorts... no comebacks... no sharp answers. She simply stood there, the weight of your words settling over her like a warm, unfamiliar cloak.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of conversation and laughter. Morticia and Gomez were Morticia and Gomez.

Through it all, Wednesday remained by your side, And as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the quad, she prepared herself. Its showtime.

"Come with me. I have something to show you." She said

You blinked, intrigued by the sudden request. "Lead the way," you said, a smile tugging at your lips.

From a distance, Morticia and Gomez watched as Wednesday lead you towards the forest.

Gomez squinted slightly, watching the two of you disappearing further into the trees. "She really has changed, hasn't she?" he remarked.

Morticia’s gaze remained steady, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "Our little viper was trying so hard to not be like her mother, she ended up becoming like her father." She let out a soft, almost satisfied laugh.

Gomez chuckled "She’s got that same look in her eyes. Reminds me of when we first met."

“You see it too, don’t you? Where this path ends?” Morticia’s voice was quieter now, but her words carried a weight that neither of them could ignore.

Gomez’s grin faded, and he nodded, his hand resting on Morticia’s arm. “Yes. But it’s the path she has chosen, isn’t it? We can’t change what’s already in motion.”

“No,” Morticia agreed, her eyes distant as she looked toward the woods. “We can only watch.”

You walked beside Wednesday, your gaze occasionally flicking toward her. She had been silent, her dark eyes fixed ahead as if lost in thought.

It wasn't her quietness that bothered you, it was the way her fingers twitched slightly, as though wrestling with a decision, the way her posture, usually so rigid, seemed just a fraction less guarded.

You glanced around, the trail feeling strangely familiar. A flicker of recognition sparked in your mind as you took in the surroundings. It was leading to the same clearing where she had gathered fireflies for you before, fulfilling one of your bucket list wishes: to catch light. A soft smile tugged at your lips at the memory. What could she have planned this time?

What could she have planned there now?

Right then, you felt the faintest brush of her fingers against yours. It was so subtle, you almost thought you imagined it. But her hand hesitantly slipped into yours. Her grip was delicate, as though afraid you might pull away. Your heart swelled at the gesture, a warmth spreading through your heart, and it felt... like it was beating just as it should.

You tightened your hold on her hand slightly, a silent reassurance that you welcomed her touch.

But for Wednesday, the simple act of reaching for your hand had felt monumental. She had debated it for the entirety of the walk, her mind torn between logic and the overwhelming pull of her emotions. The thought of rejection had briefly crossed her mind, but the warmth of your presence, the sound of your steps aligning with hers, made her brave enough to try.

Her heart raced in a way she couldn’t entirely explain, perhaps it was anticipation, or maybe the weight of what she was about to do.

She had visited this spot last evening to ensure everything was perfect. It was as she had envisioned it, though she owed part of that to Eugene’s assistance. The boy had grinned proudly when she’d inspected his work, and, for once, she hadn’t chastised him for the enthusiasm.

This was for you. It had to be perfect. She hoped you would understand what it meant, what she was trying to say without words.

When the clearing finally came into view, she paused, her heart hammering against her ribs.

“Almost there,” she murmured, her voice quieter than usual.

The two of you stepped into the open space, and your breath hitched at the sight before you. The scene was just as magical as the last time Wednesday had brought you here, but now, it was even more enchanting.

The fireflies were there, just as they had been before like tiny stars.

But now, there was something more—something that hadn’t been there last time.

Blue Butterflies. Dozens of them. They danced around the trees, alighting briefly on leaves and branches before taking flight again. It felt otherworldly, almost like a dream.

You gasped softly, your eyes wide as you took in the sight. “Wednesday…”

She stood beside you, her hand still in yours, watching your reaction intently. “I did it for you,” she said quietly, her voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“I know it wasn’t on your list, not exactly. But…” She hesitated, her dark eyes meeting yours, her usual confidence faltering. “I wanted to show you that I understand. That I’ve been listening.”

“Listening to what?” you asked, your voice just as quiet, as though afraid to break the spell of the moment.

“To your wish. "Save A Life" ” she admitted, her gaze unwavering. “I know now… you didn’t mean it literally. You wanted to save me. And in your own strange, infuriating way, you already have.”

Your breath caught in your throat as her words sank in.

“You’ve changed me,” she continued, her voice growing steadier. “You’ve made me see the world in a way I never thought I could. In color. In light. In… beauty.” her eyes glimmering with an emotion she rarely let show. “You’ve done something no one else has ever managed. You’ve made me feel alive.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t look away from her, not for a second.

Her words hung in the air, and for the first time, you saw a vulnerability in her that she rarely, if ever, allowed herself to show.

“I love you,” she said finally, the words tumbling out as though she couldn’t hold them back any longer. Her voice wavered just slightly, betraying the depth of her emotions. “I’ve tried not to, but it doesn’t matter. I love you, and I don’t care if that makes me weak or irrational or—”

You didn’t let her finish. Closing the distance between you, you cupped her face in your hands, your touch gentle but firm. “Wednesday,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “I love you too.”

And then, you kissed her.

The world seemed to fall away in that moment. The only thing that mattered was the feel of her lips against yours, soft, hesitant, but filled with a passion that left you breathless. Her hands found your waist, holding you as though you might disappear if she let go.

She felt your warmth seep into her, chasing away the coldness she had always clung to. She wanted this moment to last forever, to hold onto you in a way that felt eternal.

When she finally pulled back, her dark eyes searched yours, looking for confirmation, for reassurance. And she found it. In the way you looked at her, in the soft smile on your lips, she knew. This was real.

She took your hand again, her fingers brushing against your palm before gently lifting it. She led you closer to the butterflies, holding your hand steady as one of them landed on your outstretched fingers.

Wednesday’s gaze was fixed on the emotions in your eyes as you watched the butterfly. In your eyes, she saw wonder, joy, and something deeper, something that made her chest ache in a way that was almost unbearable.

If this was her world now, she decided, it was one she wanted to live in until the very end.

And as the butterfly flew away, you turned to her, “Wednesday,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “Save a life… it wasn’t about changing you. I love you for who you are—every dark, twisted, brilliant part of you. I wouldn’t want you to be anything else.” You hesitated, your eyes searching hers. “It’s about something else. Something… you’ll understand when the time comes.”

Her brows furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across her face. But she didn’t press you, sensing that the moment wasn’t right. Instead, she nodded, her grip on your hand tightening as though to anchor herself to you.

And as the butterflies continued to flutter around you, the fireflies casting their golden glow, Wednesday felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time: Hope.

Next Chapter.

[Author's note: I promised and I delivered! THE FIRST KISSSSS!!! Soo How do you guys feel about this chapter?]

[vesearlee]

──── 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒆 𝑺𝒖𝒏

The atmosphere was light, tinged with the beauty of waking well rested from an afternoon nap — until someone disturbed the peace.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── Zayne x F!Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ── 1.2k 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ── Fluff, heavily implied spice, Zayne is a fucking tease 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐀 ── @smutconnoisseur 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ── HERE 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ── I would say I am sorry, but that would be a downright lie. all of this was inspired by this tiktok.

─── 𝑳𝑨𝑫𝑺 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ───

Slowly, ever so slowly, the sound of rustling reached through your sleepy haze. There was a slight breeze against your cheek, the smell of the jasmine flowers carried by the spring air that blew through the open window. 

The plush mattress and pillow beneath your head and body gained an infinite amount of comfort as you came to your senses — each finger and toe coming to life as you lay there listening to the soft click of keys on a keyboard, or the occasional scratch of a pen over a piece of paper. 

A warm body was right next to you. There was a weight over your shoulder that only moved when you felt the brush of gentle fingers on your waist — mindless patterns that followed no path, just simple curves and circles and lines that made a small shiver crawl up your spine. 

You shifted slightly to better encourage the soothing movements. It was then you realise you weren’t resting on a pillow, rather, your head rested comfortably on Zayne’s lap, close to his hip. “Are you awake, darling?”

“Mm,” you hummed in reply, blinking your heavy eyelids open. The room was bathed in the afternoon light — leaves shook as the curtains moved with the subtle breeze. 

The hand on your waist stopped its movements and laid flat against your side while a deep, low chuckle reverberated in Zayne’s chest. “I think you are, my love.”

“No, ‘m not awake.”

You could feel him looking down at you, and you nestled closer in protest of moving. “All right. A shame, I will have to wait a little longer to take what I want, then.” He continued to work away, all while you watched his deft fingers work over the smaller keyboard he had placed on his thigh — the one opposite to where you rested. 

“Ngh. Take it anyway.” The taunt was cut short by a yarn and you cursed internally at the flutter of excitement that stirred through your body. Instead, you asked, “What’re you doin’?” 

Lazily, you brought one arm up to rest lengthwise against his thigh. The weight of his hand on your waist vanished, and you whined quietly at the loss. “Wait–”

“Calm down,” Zayne chuckled. “Give me just a moment.”

You sighed and looked up at him. His black hair was sitting neatly — as it always did — over his forehead, brushing against the very top of his frameless glasses. A silk robe engraved with intricate patterns covered his arms and shoulders, the cuff wide around his wrists, but that wasn’t what caught your eye. Toned and muscled, his chest was bare, and you watched while he took a sip from a cup of tea. 

“Where’s mine?” you whispered, still staring at his chest. 

A heavy sigh ended on a tsk as Zayne placed the cup back down on the bedside table, the fine bone china making a delicate sound against the saucer. “I will make you one, once you have finished staring at me and imagining all sorts of things that would land you in trouble.”

You blinked. “Hmph.”

Zayne’s hand held the side of your face, and you felt the pad of his thumb move over your bottom lip. “Don’t pout, darling. Not yet.” And with a small smirk, his focus turned back towards the notebook by the keyboard, leaving you speechless and feeling only slightly flustered with his hand still gently resting over the side of your face. 

“Not fair, y’know. I just woke up and you’re already–”

“Hush,” he whispered, his thumb now moving to brush over your cheekbone, the movement so slight against your skin that you could have passed it off to be the breeze coming in from the window. “Let me finish my work and then my time and focus is all yours, to do with as you please—you need only hush.”

“Make me.”

Suddenly, a shadow loomed over you, and you glanced upward to find Zayne staring down at you, a brow quirked at your taunt. “Make you, hmm? That was not wise.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but Zayne moved faster. His lips were over yours in a heated kiss, the tip of his tongue tracing the line of your upper lip. A small noise of shock made your lips part, granting him access. The heat of his hand that cradled your jaw moved down to your neck, then back up once more, stopping to rest underneath your chin. 

“Make you,” he repeated against your lips, pulling away only enough to brush his nose against yours. “Consider that a warning, darling. If you continue to be mischievous, it won’t be the only thing I make you do. Understood?”

For the umpteenth time that afternoon, you were left speechless as you stared up at him, your mouth parted in shock from the implication of his words. “Uh-huh.”

“Mm. Good.” He continued to type, completely unphased by the implication of his words that left you reeling. Slowly, he reached for his cup again, eyes still focused on his task, when his gaze shifted back towards you. A slight smirk pulled at the corner of his lips as he maintained eye contact with you, all while moving the cup to his lips. Before he took a sip, he nonchalantly asked, “What is it?”

"I thought you were going to make me some tea," you reminded him, frowning softly while you shifted against his thigh from the heat of his gaze. 

There was a pause while his lips curved into a knowing smile. "I did, didn’t I?”

You bit your lower lip, and you couldn’t help the playful smirk that teased the corner of your mouth. “Yes.”

“I suppose I could share." Without warning, he leaned down and captured your lips again, the warmth of the tea still lingering on his tongue as it swept against yours. The taste of jasmine mingled with the unique flavour that was purely him, the bergamot note you'd noticed earlier now dancing across your taste buds in an intimate dance. 

The air in your lungs left in a quiet sigh against his lips, and your head spun. 

Zayne pulled away far too soon with a low, rumbled chuckle at the way you chased his lips, desperate to taste the tea on his own tongue. “Beautiful,” he hummed, his hand moving to tip your chin up again. 

"That wasn’t... exactly what I meant by sharing tea."

"No?" His voice held a hint of amusement. "I found it rather effective, darling. Look at you. Wouldn’t you like another taste?"

“You’re the worst,” you grumbled, burying your face into his thigh to hide the utter need in your eyes. “The absolute worst, Zayne, no one can compare.” The sound was muffled by the robe he wore, and you nestled even closer, almost curling into a ball against his splayed leg. 

“If I am the worst,” he said quietly, and you felt the heated weight of his hand on your waist again. It moved slowly, teasingly down towards your hips, "Then you are my sweetest temptation—you are nothing but an influence. You know what you do to me, darling. How could I possibly resist?"”

You groaned in reply, endeavoring to place yourself as close as physically possible. 

The clicking of his keyboard continued in the comfortable but charged silence, and you settled in place to rest, and perhaps, think of a plan on just how to get him back.

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