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hoshifighting · 8 months ago

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Workaholic!Joshua

— Synopsis: Joshua consistently skips happy hours or works overtime. You've tried to warn your friend countless times, but he didn't listen to you. As a result, it's no surprise that Joshua experienced a burnout on the office floor. — WC: 5.3k — WARNINGS: Smut, fluff, angst, office setting, fingering (f. receiving), clit stimulation, handjob, penetrative sex, a little bit of car sex, protected sex, dirty talk, flirty Joshua.

[Please be aware that the following text includes mentions of burn-out, collapse, fainting out, which may be a sensitive topic for some]

[Issue Club Serie]

You remember when you heard your manager talking about a job vacancy in the recruitment and selection sector. The name immediately stood out to you—Joshua. You studied with him in college, and you knew he would be perfect for the role.

The manager loved him. Joshua was charismatic, empathetic, and dedicated—everything the recruitment team needed. Every morning, he would thank you profusely, and at least twice a week, he would insist on buying you an overpriced coffee. It took some time for you to convince him that he didn't need to do this.

But there was something else you couldn't help but notice. The sheer number of job interviews Joshua had to lead, the late nights you'd see him at his desk with tired eyes, and how he always seemed a little lonely, even though the team welcomed him with open arms.

Joshua would rarely show up to the department's happy hours on Fridays or the company parties, and even then, he would only talk about work. There was no relief, no relaxation. You found yourself listening to him until the end of the night, as the rest of the team started to ask if he would even bother coming anymore, knowing he probably wouldn't.

You couldn't help but feel for Joshua. He was clearly passionate about his work, but at what cost? You watched as he isolated himself, unable to find that work-life balance that so many of us strive for. It made you wonder, what was driving him to push himself so hard, and at what point would the stress and loneliness become too much to bear?

As his friend, you couldn't help but worry about his well-being. You'd seen him cancel plans, skip social events, and even miss out on family gatherings, all in the name of his career. It was admirable, sure, but also concerning.

You could consider reaching out, inviting him for a coffee or a quick chat. Maybe he just needed someone to listen and remind him that there was more to life than just work.

But then again, who were you to judge?

Everyone has their own path, their own motivations. Still, you couldn't shake the feeling that Joshua was heading for a burnout. You wondered if there was a way to help him find a better balance without undermining his ambitions. It was a tricky situation, and you weren't sure how to approach it.

As you glance at the clock, the hands indicate it's already 3:35 pm. Your stomach growls, reminding you that you've been so absorbed in your work that you've skipped lunch. Deciding it's time for a much-needed break, you gather your phone and wallet, heading towards the exit of the department.

But just as you're about to leave, you spot Joshua, his fingers dancing across the keyboard in a blur of movement. You can't help but let out a small sigh, knowing he's likely putting in extra hours again. Turning around, you make your way over to his desk, standing beside him.

"Joshua, it's past 3:30. Don't you think it's time for a break?" you say, your voice laced with concern.

Joshua looks up, blinking a few times as he registers your presence. "Oh, hey Y/N. I'm just trying to get this report finished before the end of the day," he explains, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You can't help but smile at his dedication. "Come on, you've been working non-stop. Let's go grab a bite to eat across the street. My treat," you offer, hoping to coax him away from his desk.

Joshua hesitates for a moment, glancing back at his computer screen. "I don't know, Y/N. I really need to get this done..."

"It can wait, Joshua. You need to take a break and recharge," you insist, your tone gentle but firm.

With a sigh, Joshua nods and starts to gather his things. "Alright, you win. Let's go," he says, shrugging on his blazer.

You can't help but feel a sense of triumph as the two of you head towards the elevator. "So, how are the apprentice interviews going?" you ask. "They're going well, actually. The candidates are all so eager and eager to learn," Joshua replies, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You chuckle, nodding in understanding. "That's the best phase, but I hope they don't overwork themselves in the future, right Josh?" you say, casting him a knowing glance.

Joshua ducks his head, chuckling quietly. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you," he says, the hint of a smile still playing on his face.

As you step out into the bustling street, you feel the sun's warmth on your face, a pleasant contrast to the cold, sterile office. You turn to Joshua, a playful grin spreading across your face.

"Alright, Josh, here's the deal. If you talk about work during this break, you'll owe me an ice cream," you declare, wagging a finger at him.

Joshua laughs, a genuine sound that lightens the mood. "Deal. Though, to be honest, I'd buy you an ice cream anyway," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Don't you forget it. And remember, I'm serious," you say, trying to keep a straight face as you give him a mock-stern look.

Joshua raises his hands in surrender, still chuckling. "Alright, alright, I heard you loud and clear."

As you both find a cozy little café, the smell of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee envelops you. You choose a table by the window, and as you settle in with your meals, the casual chatter of other patrons creates a comforting background hum.

"Did you hear about the latest drama?" you begin, leaning in conspiratorially. "The director's wife found out he was cheating on her because her strawberry jam kept disappearing from the fridge—and the director doesn't even like strawberry jam!"

Joshua's mouth drops open, his eyes wide in disbelief. "No way. Seriously?" he exclaims, staring at you.

You nod, your face a picture of exaggerated exasperation. "Yup. She noticed it was going down way too fast and started putting two and two together."

Joshua shakes his head, still processing the story. "That's wild. You know, during the last interview I led, they actually put some strawberry jam on the table so the candidates would—" He stops abruptly as your glare pierces him. He laughs, holding up his hands again. "Sorry, sorry! No work talk, I remember."

You can't help but smile at his sheepish expression. "Thank you. So, back to the story. After she figured it out, she didn’t just confront him. Oh no, she went all out. She invited him to a romantic dinner, complete with candles and, of course, strawberry jam."

Joshua raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "And then what happened?"

You lean in closer, lowering your voice. "She waited until he took a bite of the dessert she made—some fancy strawberry tart. And then she calmly asked him if he enjoyed it as much as his 'office snacks.'"

Joshua bursts out laughing, nearly choking on his food. "No way! That’s brilliant. What did he do?"

You grin, enjoying his reaction. "He turned beet red and started stammering. She didn’t even wait for an explanation. She just got up, left the table, and moved out the next day. Took the jam with her too, just for good measure."

Joshua laughs so hard tears form in his eyes. "I can't believe it. That's some next-level pettiness. Good for her."

You noticed Joshua seemed more relaxed after your lunch together. He even managed a smile when you passed by his desk later that day. However, during the week, your attempts to repeat the lunch outing were met with resistance. Each time you invited him, he had a different excuse.

"Hey, Josh, want to grab some lunch today?" you asked on Tuesday, hoping to replicate the success of your last outing.

"Sorry, Y/N. I need to lead the apprentice interview," he replied, not looking up from his computer.

On Wednesday, you tried again. "How about lunch today? There is a pasta sale going on at the mall."

Joshua sighed, shaking his head. "I wish I could, but I need to filter the job applications. We're getting so many, and I need to find the best ones."

By Thursday, your frustration was evident, but you kept it in check. "Lunch today, Josh? You deserve a break."

"I'd love to, but I need to solve the issue with the employees' late salaries," he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "It's causing a lot of stress for everyone."

Joshua was developing into someone who rarely took a break from his work. Today was Friday, and as you were leaving with your coworkers, all you wanted was to taste a cold beer and find some refuge from the rough week. The whole department was eager to hang out together, and the air was filled with energy.

You were refreshing your makeup at your desk as your coworkers trickled out, laughing and chatting. Glancing over, you saw Joshua standing by the printer, watching the curriculums pile up.

"Josh, you coming out with us tonight?" you called over, hoping to finally get him to relax.

He looked up, "I don't know, Y/N. I have these curriculums to go through, and then there's the report I need to finish."

Tired of trying, you sigh in defeat, the weight of your concern for Joshua pressing heavily on your shoulders. He notices, his eyes meeting yours briefly, but you turn away and walk out. You knew you didn't have the responsibility of checking on him every single time—it was his choice to work himself into exhaustion. But how could you not worry? He was a great friend, and the thought of him breaking down alone between the dividers of his desk was unbearable.

As you sip your beer, trying to enjoy the happy hour, the image of Joshua's lost eyes lingers in your mind. The laughter and chatter around you fade into the background as your thoughts drift back to him. After a few hours, the night winds down, and you remember you forgot your keys at the office. Debora, your coworker, offers you a ride back so you can retrieve them before heading home.

The office is dark and silent as you and Debora step inside, your footsteps echoing softly on the tiled floor. Only one light is turned on, casting a dim glow over a single desk. You immediately recognize it—Joshua's desk. But he isn't sitting there.

A sense of dread fills you as you approach, the cubicle dividers blocking your view. As you round the corner, you see him—Joshua, sprawled on the floor.

You gasp, rushing to his side. "Joshua!" you scream out, your voice trembling with panic. You carefully lift his head and place it on your lap, your hands shaking as you check for signs of consciousness. He's unresponsive, his face pale and drawn.

"Debora, call an ambulance!" you shout, your voice tight.

Debora fumbles with her phone, her fingers trembling as she dials. She quickly explains the situation to the operator and then rushes to find building security for additional help.

You gently shake Joshua, trying to rouse him. "Come on, Josh, wake up," you whisper urgently, but he remains still, his breathing shallow.

Minutes later, which feel like an eternity, the sound of sirens pierces the silence. The paramedics arrive, and you reluctantly let go of Joshua as they take over, assessing his condition and preparing to move him. You insist on riding with him to the hospital, unable to leave his side.

As the ambulance speeds through the city streets, you hold Joshua's hand, your heart pounding with worry. Outside the building, a few employees gather, watching the scene unfold with concern. You barely notice them, your focus entirely on Joshua, praying silently that he'll be okay.

You don't know exactly how many hours you've been by Joshua's side as he lies in the hospital bed. You watched the morning light grow brighter through the window, dozed off, woke up to find him still sleeping, went to the bathroom, and grabbed something from the cafeteria. When you return to his room, you see Joshua awake, a nurse measuring his blood pressure. An uncomfortable silence settles in as the nurse finishes up and leaves.

You sigh, walking next to him and turning your back to him.

"Are you mad at me?" Joshua asks, his voice still weak.

You shake your head, the words snapping out before you can stop them. "No, I'm letting you rest, since you don't do it yourself."

He sighs deeply, and you close your eyes, immediately regretting your harsh tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to give you this much trouble," he says softly.

You shake your head negatively, looking down. "I found you on the floor, Josh. The only reason I was there was because I forgot my keys. What if I hadn't come back?"

Joshua struggles, but he manages to reach out and catch your hand that is hanging by the bedside. His cold touch makes you glance at him. His eyes are full of exhaustion.

"Please, don't make me this worried again,"

Joshua squeezes your hand weakly. "I'll try, Y/N. I really will. I'm sorry for pushing myself so hard and for pushing you away. I didn't realize how bad it had gotten."

You nod "You don't have to do everything alone, you know. We're all here for you. I'm here for you."

He nods, his eyes glistening. "I know. And I appreciate it more than you know. I just... I need to find a better balance."

"Promise me you'll take it seriously this time," you say.

"I promise," he whispers, his grip on your hand tightening just a bit, weakly. "I'll take better care of myself."

You sit down next to him, your hand still in his. "Good. Because you can't go through that again."

You didn't like the rumors circulating around the office about Joshua while he was away. It bothered you to hear whispers about his collapse, especially since everyone in his department knew how hard he worked and yet pretended everything was fine.

As the days passed, Joshua's desk slowly filled with Post-it notes and snacks, contributions from you and other departments. Joshua's sudden health scare was a wake-up call, touching more hearts than just yours.

When Joshua returned today, Friday, you watched from your desk as he walked in, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his desk. Messages of encouragement and little treats were piled high.

His face goes red as he glances around, catching the subtle glances of his coworkers. They quickly return to their tasks, but you see the corners of their mouths twitching with barely concealed smiles.

He worked at his desk, and his department members spared him from taking on too much. As the windows started to show the darkening sky, some people had already left to go home. Unlike regular Fridays, there was no happy hour planned for tonight.

Seungkwan approached Joshua's desk, a concerned look on his face. "Hey, Josh, you should really think about not doing extra hours today."

Joshua shook his head, "I'm going to take it easy for now…" a small smile formed as he looked at you. "Also, I have a happy hour for two tonight, so no extra hours."

As his friends gave you sly glances and teased you with their smiles, you felt your cheeks blush.

"Looks like someone's got a date," Seungkwan said, grinning.

How did you two end up on a date? It started in the hospital. Joshua was still recovering, lying in bed, holding your hand. The room was quiet, the noise from machines was the only sound.

"How can you forgive me?" he asked, his voice soft.

You shook your head, a gentle smile on your face. "I'm not mad at you, Josh. But it would be cool if you took a break every now and then. Maybe we could go to a happy hour someday."

Joshua licked his lips, still holding your hand and giving it a weak squeeze. He looked up at you, all flirty. "Would you be open to having a happy hour with just you and me?"

You blinked, shocked. "What?"

He blushed, looking down for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "Come on, it's so difficult for me to take a break. I'd love to have you as the motive for my breaks."

You scoffed, attempting to conceal the warmth that spread throughout your chest. "You should take breaks for your health and my sanity."

Joshua brushed his thumb against your hand, a playful grin grabbing at his lips. "Don't scold me, Y/N-nie, I'm sick," he teased.

You stared at him, a shocked smirk on your face. "You're taking advantage of me."

"Yes," he said, his smile growing. "Using the advantage, so you accept having an encounter with me."

The memory of that conversation makes you smile as you walk out of the office together, the evening air cool and refreshing.

"So, where are we going for this happy hour?" you ask, trying to lighten the mood.

Joshua chuckles, his eyes bright with excitement. "I thought we could try that new restaurant around the corner. I've heard good things."

You nod, feeling the tension of the week melt away. "Sounds perfect."

As you both enter the bar, the atmosphere is lively but not unpleasant. You find a cozy corner table and settle in, the soft murmur of conversation and clinking glasses creating a comfortable backdrop.

Joshua looks at you, his eyes filled with gratitude and something else that makes your heart skip a beat. "Thanks for convincing me to take a break."

You smile, raising your glass. "To more breaks and less stress."

He clinks his glass against yours, a genuine smile on his face. "To more happy hours with you."

After dinner, you find yourself sitting in the passenger seat of Joshua's car. The air is filled with a comforting silence, both of you soaking in the cozy warmth of the evening. As he pulls the car up in front of your house, you pause for a moment, your heart quickening in your chest as you struggle to gather the courage to look over at him.

Instead, you direct your gaze out the windshield, staring at the street ahead of you. The dim glow of streetlights paints the night in soft hues of orange, casting shadows on the quiet neighborhood.

"Do you want to come inside?" you ask, your voice hardly above a whisper.

Joshua turns your face toward his, his touch gentle as he lifts your chin with a soft touch. "You want me to go inside?" he enquires, his tone soft.

You nod, your gaze drawn to his mouth. "Yes."

"Then tell me," he teases, "what exactly are we going to do inside?"

You gulp, your mind racing. "We can... we can..." you stutter. You didn't have an answer on the tip of your tongue.

Joshua leans in close to you, his smile growing wider as he whispers against your skin, "I'm going to come inside, but go easy on me," he says, his breath warm and sultry, "I'm not quite recovered yet."

You shiver at his words. "What do you mean?" you ask, your voice still low and quiet as you look up at him.

"What do you think I mean?" he replies with a smirk, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "I mean," he murmurs, his mouth brushing against your ear as he speaks, "that you might have to take it slow with me."

"Slow? How slow?" You're whispering, not because you're afraid of being loud, it's because you're so horny that your voice is strained.

Joshua's lips curve into a smirk as he sees the effect he's having on you.

"Slow," he whispers back, his voice low and seductive. "Slow to the point where you feel yourself starting to drip."

He closes the gap between you, his lips hovering just millimeters from yours as his hands slide up your hips.

"Are you sure you want me to come inside?" he asks, his mouth so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath on your skin.

Your mind could only focus on the two last words. Mind foggy. "Come inside?"

Joshua widens his eyes slightly, then a cocky smile spreads across his face as he registers the double meaning of your words. "Hmm look at you, how nasty... I guess we can do this too..."

His lips crash against yours, no longer gentle but filled with urgency. His tongue delves into your mouth, exploring, tasting. You gasp, the wet noises so sultry inside his sleek car. His hands unclasp your seatbelt, and one slide from your knee to your thigh, slipping under your pencil skirt to feel the lacy panties you wore.

"Slowly, like this," he murmurs against your mouth, his voice too sultry.

His hand moves to the front of your panties, and you instinctively raise your hips as he pulls them down, discarding them onto the car's floor. The air inside the car starts to feel foggy, just like your senses, and your breathing becomes more rapid.

Joshua's hand returns to your now bare skin, his fingers teasing and exploring the wet folds of your pussy. You moan softly into his mouth, your body reacting to every touch. And slow, just like he said, he starts to circle your clit with his finger, making you instantly melt against the seat as you spread your legs wider for him.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark and intense, filled with fascination as he watches your reactions. Your mouth can't correspond to the wet kisses anymore, your hips roll against his hand, your legs spasm as you try to keep them open, and your skirt rises, revealing your sopping cunt glistening.

You find yourself pushed back against the seat, your body arching as you grow more desperate for him. His eyes never leave yours.

“I can feel how much you want this.”

You can only nod, your breath coming in ragged gasps as his fingers speed on your swollen bud.

“So open, so needy.” he murmurs making you feel that sharp stitch in your belly一your horniness growing.

His words make you moan, and he chuckles, his voice filled with a gloomy promise. “I want to hear more of that,” he says, his fingers teasing your entrance before slipping inside. You cry out, your body responding instantly to his touch, your head thrown back.

“Joshua,” you gasp, your hands clutching at his shirt as you try to ground yourself.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your neck. “Yes, Y/N? Tell me what you need.”

“More,” you manage to say, your voice trembling, “I need more.”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a fiery intensity. “More? I can give you more.”

With that, he increases the pace, his fingers moving inside you making the squelching wet songs, louder. He watches you so closely that you feel embarrassed; it is as if he reads everything about you and knows every secret you keep.

“Every little touch, every little tease… you’re soaking it all up.” He coos, and you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer.

You can only whimper in response, your body trembling with the need for release. He leans in, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. The taste of him, the feel of him, it’s all too much, and you can sense that you are nearing collapse.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he whispers against your lips. “Let go.”

His words are your undoing. With a cry, you shatter, your body convulsing against his leather seat. Joshua holds you through it, his touch possessive, trying to keep you still so you can feel the waves better. As you come down from the high, you find yourself panting, your body still trembling non-stop.

His fingers are soaked, glistening in the pale light. With a teasing grin, Joshua brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a satisfied pop. You immediately turn your face to the window, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you try to straighten your skirt. His chuckle fills the car, rich and warm.

“Shy now, are we?” he teases, his voice low and playful.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your hands fumbling with the fabric of your skirt. But Joshua isn’t done with you yet. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “We can resume this inside. What do you think?”

You nod, finally daring to meet his gaze. He gives you a quick peck on the lips before stepping out of the car. You watch him circle around to your side, suppressing a laugh when he catches the glimpse of your knees trembling as you exit the vehicle.

“Did you get this horny?” he can't hide the amusement in his voice.

The walk to your front door feels like an eternity, your fingers fumbling with the keys as Joshua’s need becomes more apparent. He’s pressing his bulge against you, his hands roaming over your body as he kisses your neck, making it hard to focus on unlocking the door.

Finally, the door swings open, and you grab Joshua by the collar of his white shirt, pulling him inside. Your mouths collide in a desperate kiss, his hands clutching your hips as you stumble toward the bedroom. You don’t care about the noise or the awkward angles; all that matters is the friction among you, the urgent need to be closer.

With outstretched arms, you brace yourself against the wall, your body arching toward his as he presses against you. His hands are everywhere—sliding under your blouse, unhooking your bra, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. You moan into his mouth, your hands clutching at his hair while you're absorbed by the feeling.

“Bedroom,” you manage to gasp, your voice breathless and needy.

Joshua’s response is a low growl, his hands gripping your waist as he guides you through the hallway. You barely make it to the bed before you’re pulling at each other’s clothes, the fabric tearing in your haste to be free of it. His shirt falls to the floor, followed by your skirt, his pants, your blouse—until there’s nothing between you but skin and heat.

He pushes you gently onto the bed, his body covering yours as he kisses you sloppy. His hands continue their search, teasing, caressing, making you frantic with need. You arch against him, your fingers digging into his back as you pull him closer.

His cock lays heavily against your belly, a warm, wet spot forming on your skin from his precum. You grab his throbbing length, feeling it pulse under your touch. Joshua shudders, moaning needily against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you and adding to your own arousal.

Your hand collects the sticky lubrication, spreading it along its entire length. You begin to stroke him, your other hand tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. His eyes flutter open, trying to stay locked on yours as you speed up your strokes. His gasps and whimpers alimented your hunger, making you feel yourself oozing more and more.

At a certain point, he lets out a high-pitched squeak, hiding his face in your neck. "I need to be inside you," he says, his voice strained and desperate.

You close your eyes, the heat of his breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine. "Open this drawer," you murmur, nodding towards the bedside table.

Joshua extends his arm, fumbling slightly as he opens the drawer and finds a couple of condoms. He picks one up, glancing at you with a teasing smile. "Always prepared, huh?" he says, tearing open the shiny packet.

His hands move with such practiced ease that it makes your breath catch when you watch him slide the rubber down his length. His cock looks even more inviting now, sheathed and ready for you.

He positions himself at your entrance, pausing for a moment to look into your eyes. Slowly, he pushes inside, filling you inch by inch. You gasp at the sensation, your pussy stretching to accommodate him. Joshua’s groan is deep and throaty, his hands gripping your hips as he bottoms out.

For a moment, neither of you moves, so you adjust to his side, but thankfully his fingers prepared you well in his car. Then, he begins to thrust, his pace is slow at first, his eyes locked on yours, watching every reaction, his ears alert to your every moan, and every wet sound from your stretched little cunt.

You arch your back, meeting his thrusts, your hands clutching his shoulders. “Faster, Joshua,”

He complies, his pace quickening, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The room is filled with the sex sounds—the slap of skin against skin, the mingled moans and gasps, the creaking of the bed. You feel yourself climbing higher, the knot on your belly desperately wanting to blossom.

Joshua’s rhythm falters for a moment, his grip on your hips tightening. “I’m close,” he whispers, his voice strained.

“Me too,” you reply, your nails digging into his back.

Joshua takes his cock out of you, positioning himself a little further back before slamming all the way in again. The sudden movement makes you grab his forearm, while his other hand lays on your belly. Each thrust is powerful, hitting that perfect, spongy spot inside you that makes you sob with pleasure. You grow tighter around him with every second, the stimulation driving you both wild.

"You're perfect," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

"Am I?" you manage to gasp between his thrusts.

"Absolutely," he praises, his words going straight to your core. "You're so tight, so wet. You're perfect for me."

The praise sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making you arch your back and cum for him. Joshua smiles at the sight of you unraveling beneath him—Your legs try to close instinctively, but his hips keep them wide apart. Your eyes roll back, your pussy gushing as your fingers curl around the headboard.

He finds your clit with his thumb, rubbing it just as your orgasm peaks. It shatters you, making you curse.

"Fuck, Joshua! You're so deep... don't stop... please, don't stop. God, you're going to make me cum again."

"You're so fucking tight," he groans, his pace quickening. "I can feel you squeezing me. You're gonna make me cum so hard."

"Keep cumming for me, baby," he whispers, his own voice shaking.

His moans grow louder, his pace more frantic. Your dirty talk pushes him to the brink, and with a final, powerful thrust, he cums hard. His loud moaning, combined with the sensation of his cum filling the condom, makes your head spin.

Joshua leaves you shaking for the second time that evening, fully exhausted and completely satisfied.

Joshua falls on his side beside you, his breaths coming hard and fast. You can't help but tease him, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Are you going to faint here too? Should I call an ambulance? After all, you weren’t as slow as you said you would be."

He laughs, his chest heaving. "I’ve got enough energy to fuck you all night if you want to, leave your bed all drenched," he says, kissing your cheek and playfully slapping your clit, making you shudder.

"All night, huh?" you tease back, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. "Big talk for someone who just collapsed next to me."

Joshua grins, his eyes sparkling. "You doubt me?"

"I’m just saying," you reply, your tone playful. "Maybe you should pace yourself. I wouldn’t want you passing out on me."

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "I’m not going anywhere. And if you think that was all I’ve got, you’re in for a surprise."

You chuckle, your fingers dancing down his stomach. "Promises, promises," you whisper, your hand inching closer to his now half-hard cock. "Let’s see if you can keep up."

Joshua groans, his body responding to your touch. "You’re going to regret challenging me," he murmurs.

"Bring it on," you whisper back.

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roosterforme · 1 month ago

Text

Aim for the Sky Part 33 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley can't wait to learn if Rose is going to have a younger brother or sister. Planning for the baby means planning for the future, but Bradley can feel that you're unhappy. With help from friends, he finally figures out why.

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo, pregnancy, jealousy, vomiting

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

You'd been quiet for days, chalking it up to exhaustion from work, but Bradley was a little concerned. He was missing out on a lot of cooking and cleaning at home, as well as responsibilities with Rose. Most days, he was collapsing in bed right after you, body tired and brain overworked. But he was close to advancing a few of his pilots to the next stage in their careers, and he didn't want to let up just yet.

Truthfully, he was enjoying many aspects of his day-to-day at work. He loved making decisions that would benefit his group. When he had a compelling answer for his superior officers, it made him feel so good about himself. He didn't even mind putting in the extra hours. But it was clear that Indigo wanted to be his class pet, and he wasn't quite sure what to do about that.

She was weighing on his mind a lot, most likely because she was constantly invading his office hours. He wanted to tell her she didn't have to try so hard to be the best aviator in the bunch when she just simply was the best one. But that would be feeding her ego, which probably wasn't the smartest option right now.

"Are you ready?"

Bradley looked up from his desk to see you standing there, and he jumped to his feet. "Of course I'm ready," replied with a smile, pushing all of his paperwork to the side and logging out of his computer. "Been looking forward to this."

You smiled softly, hand resting on the slight swell of your belly as you shifted your weight from one booted foot to the other. "Me too," you whispered, and Bradley grabbed his keys, wallet and phone from his desk drawer. He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers between yours and headed out into the sunny October afternoon.

"Time for our final guesses," you said. "Do you think it's a boy or another girl?"

Bradley looked down at your face, the perfect curve of your cheek catching the sunlight. You were beautiful. Every bit as stunning as the day he first laid eyes on you in one of the classrooms he passed on a regular basis. "Sweetheart, if there's anything good or just in this world, it better be another girl. Then I'd have three of you to look at."

"Rose looks like you, Bradley!" you insisted immediately, breaking out in the biggest smile he'd seen on your face in weeks.

"Rose looks like you. Everyone thinks so. She's adorable." He pulled you to a stop and leaned down to kiss your cheek. "And her face already has this exact curve that I'm fucking obsessed with."

Bradley let his lips linger, loving the way your cheek warmed as you stepped all the way into his embrace. You seemed on the verge of telling him something or asking a question, your posture never quite relaxing. He'd noticed that recently. Like you couldn't let yourself completely go with him like you always did. He wanted to ask you what was going on, but he was more than willing to wait until you were ready to say something on your own.

"We'll be late if we don't get a move on," you whispered. Bradley responded by kissing along your cheek to your lips. "I'm serious, Roo," you mumbled.

"Let's go," he sighed. "Dr. Morris already thinks I'm an idiot. I better not add tardiness to her list of complaints about me."

A short drive later, and the two of you were walking into the waiting room right on time. You barely sat down before a nurse was calling you back and handing you a hospital gown.

"It's weird without Rose here," you said as you got undressed. Bradley held out the gown for you to slip into, shaking his head.

"Nah. This is just for us. She can hear all about it later after work."

He was just about to close the distance to stop you from tying the gown closed so he could get another look at you, but Dr. Morris strolled in.

"How are we all doing?" she asked, shooting Bradley a look on her way past. It wasn't like he was capable of knocking you up again, but she was looking at him like he might have.

"Fantastic," he replied at the same time you said, "Okay."

He shot you a look as you eased yourself up on the table. He wasn't sure what he could do to make you happier. A conversation was clearly necessary now, but he didn't even know how to initiate it. If finding out more about the second Nugget today wasn't enough to make you smile, he didn't know what was.

He dropped down into the chair at your side, wrapping his big hand around yours as Dr. Morris spread that warm gel across your belly and asked you an array of questions. He listened to your answers as his heart beat a little faster. He was excited about this. Soon you could talk about baby names and nursery themes. He couldn't wait to meet his second child in the spring.

Bradley kissed your fingertips, watching intently as your doctor isolated some ultrasound images. Then she asked, "Do you want to find out the sex?"

"Fuck yes," Bradley gasped, scooting his chair a little closer. "I mean, please."

You and Dr. Morris were both wearing smirks as he squeezed your hand. He was so excited, it was hard to swallow. He didn't care if it was a boy or a girl. He felt the same way last time around, too. He just wanted a healthy kid he could dote on.

"It's a girl."

He was up out of his seat, sending the thing screeching across the floor as he hooted. Okay, so maybe he did have a bit of a preference for another daughter, but he would have been happy either way.

"Another girl!" he shouted while you smiled up at him. "Just me and my three beautiful girls."

Bradley let his lips collide with yours, kissing you until he got his fill. Dr. Morris and the rest of the ultrasound and everything else could just wait a few minutes while he soaked in this pure perfection.

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

Bradley had been inundating your text thread for days with links to various nursery themes, but meanwhile you and he hadn't even decided which room would be your second daughter's.

"A second daughter," you whispered at your desk. Your parents were excited; you got to watch your mom and dad cry over FaceTime. Rose was too young to care, but one day she might have an opinion about her sister. You, on the other hand, felt like a mixed bag of emotions.

You wanted to be happy. You really did. But it was too hard. Somehow letting your sadness ebb and flow was easier. Especially whenever you ventured too far away from your lab or your office. Indigo was always around. It was like she knew were to find you. And perhaps she did. Your name was in the directories around base. But it felt like she was mocking you. She obviously wanted your husband, and he was either oblivious or hiding something.

When you managed to let your intrusive thoughts win out, you checked his phone only to find pretty much nothing untoward. Other than ruining the surprise of what was probably supposed to be an anniversary gift, all you found was one unanswered message Indigo sent to him a while ago. It bordered on flirtatious, and you were a little concerned that he gave her his phone number, but there was really nothing there.

But she was in your face on base enough that you kept to your office as much as you could. Of course, today was the day you were absolutely starving, and you left your lunch at home. You could pop down to the cafeteria, grab a sandwich to appease yourself and the baby, and then bring it back up here to eat it. Should be a piece of cake.

Hot turkey sandwiches were on the menu, and you almost cried tears of joy as you had one packed up in a container with extra gravy and a side of mashed potatoes. It smelled so good, you couldn't wait to take a bite.

When you were waiting for the elevator, you froze with your lunch in your hands. You could see Indigo and Spice heading out of the cafeteria, and there was hardly anyone in the lobby for you to try to hide behind. You felt absolutely ridiculous as you stood there eavesdropping.

"What kind of progress have you made?" Spice asked, voice carrying over the sound of conversation around you.

Indigo smiled and laughed, showing off her perfect teeth. "Well, I can't give you details here, but... it's no wonder he's willing to spend so much time with me after hours. Anyone with eyes can see his wife let herself go this time around." Your cheeks burned as she added, "He's more than happy to help me with absolutely anything I need."

You sucked in a deep breath, certain she was talking about Bradley. And you. When the elevator arrived you ducked inside, jamming your finger against the button for your floor. As the doors slid shut, Indigo's gaze connected with yours, and she stood there proudly with her friend like she'd actually managed to steal Bradley from you.

A sob escaped your lips, and you tripped along to your office door. You really did look awful. Your skin was broken out, and you were going to need to start wearing the maternity tent well before your third trimester. Your belly was already tender, and then the baby decided this was the perfect moment to kick hard enough you thought you were going to wet your khakis.

"She's right," you whispered, tossing your lunch onto your desk and running for the bathroom. One glance in the mirror as you ran for an empty stall left you sobbing in the ladies' room. You looked awful. It was no wonder Bradley was paying extra attention to her. The fear that looking at Indigo had already turned into touching her was eating away at you. When you flushed the toilet, you turned and gagged before emptying the meager contents of your stomach into the bowl.

When you finally made it back to your office, your stomach couldn't handle a single bite of food. You dumped it in the trash.

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

Bradley was just wrapping up a meeting with Maverick when Indigo cornered him outside his office. "Can I help you with something?" he asked, trying to keep the amusement from his voice. She was getting to be relentless.

As she shook her head slowly, she laughed. "I already told you, Sir, I can think of countless things you could help me with."

"Well why don't you run some of them past me?"

Her eyes widened as she licked her lips. "We could do that at the Hard Deck? I could still buy you that drink?"

Bradley sighed, hands planted on his hips which somehow drew her in closer. "I can't let any of you buy me drinks. Sorry, but that's not going to happen." He nodded toward his door. "But I have about fifteen minutes if there's something I can help you with."

She nodded. "Fifteen minutes would probably be more than enough, Sir."

Indigo stepped inside his office, glancing back at him over her shoulder, but Bradley saw another familiar face turn the corner in the hallway.

"Hey, there, hot shot," said Natasha, making Bradley smile. "You have a minute?"

"Actually, no," he replied, watching as his best friend looked inside to see who was waiting for him. She made a face, gaze snapping back to his. "Can it wait until later?"

Nat pressed her lips together like she was fighting off a scowl. "I wanted to see if you were free to workout with me later," she whispered. "I could stop by after dinner, and we could do some reps in your garage?"

"Absolutely," he replied. "See you around seven?"

"Yeah."

She took one more look at Indigo before marching back the way she came, leaving Bradley with nothing to do but take a seat behind his desk.

"Do you want me to close the door?" Indigo asked, voice laced with hope as she half stood.

"Leave it," Bradley replied, once again showing no hint of favoritism. "Now, what did you want to talk about?"

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

After dinner, you excused yourself to Rose's nursery to feed her and make a phone call to your parents. Bradley kissed you on the forehead before doubling back to the bedroom to change into gym clothes. When he let you know Nat was coming over to workout in the garage, you seemed almost relieved.

He started setting up his weights and bench press when he heard the sound of a familiar engine pull up to the house. A minute later, Nat was strolling in wearing bright pink spandex with a matching gym bag.

"I could spot you a mile away," he told her, and she chucked her bag at his chest. They both laughed when he caught it.

"You know what I can see a mile away?" she asked.

"What?"

"The word dumbass written across your forehead."

He rolled his eyes, dropping her bag onto one of the mats. Then he froze as he heard another engine pull up to a stop at his driveway. This one made him glare at Nat.

"Why is he here?" Bradley asked, and a split second later, Jake came strolling in like he owned the place.

Nat and Jake shared a look as Jake tossed his gym bag next to hers. "I thought I might need some backup."

Now Bradley was annoyed and also confused. "Backup? For what?"

Natasha closed the distance to him, patting Bradley on the chest with a firm hand. Her dark eyes conveyed concern as she asked, "Are you fucking stupid? Or are you doing it on purpose?"

"Huh?"

"I love you, Bradley. I really do. But I still have to follow girl code."

"Nat, I have no fucking clue what you're talking about."

The clanging of Jake adding weights to the bar made Bradley want to scream as Nat shook her head in pity.

"She wants in your pants," Jake drawled.

"Who?" Bradley asked, still unsure what they were even talking about.

"Your student with the crazy blue eyes!" Nat said, smacking him hard on the chest.

"Indigo?" Bradley asked, taking a step away from her. Both Nat and Jake were nodding as Bradley's brow creased. "She's like twenty-six years old."

"So?" Nat asked, hands planted on her hips.

"So, she's not trying to get in my pants. I'm married. Everyone knows I'm married."

Bradley held up his left hand, complete with wedding band. He rarely ever took it off, especially since it got him into hot water with you when he was deployed. But as he watched the band shine under the fluorescent lights, his lips parted wordlessly, and he stood there while both Nat and Jake scrutinized him.

If Indigo had been flirting with him this whole time, he'd written her off as an overzealous young pilot trying to prove herself. Now every interaction replayed through his mind, and he rubbed his palm over his eyes as he groaned. There was no way this was happening to him. He'd been alone with her on several occasions in his office. The door always remained open, but she'd pushed for him to close it.

Bradley's cheeks burned with mortification, and he wasn't sure he could even look Nat in the face. If Indigo really was trying to get in his pants, then he was a joke. He was an absolute joke, and none of the younger pilots took him seriously in his new role. That thought made him sick, but not as sick as the idea that maybe you'd noticed something as well.

Bradley swallowed hard. "Oh, fuck." When he swallowed again, he wanted to scream.

"Okay, there's my answer," Nat whispered, wrapping her fingers gently around his wrist and pulling his hand away from his face. She pressed herself up onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Thank god you're just stupid. It would be so much worse if you were messing around with her intentionally."

"I'm not," he barked, angry at the insinuation. "I wouldn't. I've never even touched her!"

Nat's hands were on his chest, coaxing him to calm down, but he was too worked up. "Easy, Soul Sister," she said, but he was shaking his head now.

"I'm fucking married, Nat! I made wedding vows. I have a daughter, and my wife is pregnant with another girl. What the fuck would I cheat for? What's going to be better than this?"

Bradley's chest was heaving with ragged breaths as she guided him to sit on his bench. He landed hard, jostling the weights as he looked up at two sympathetic faces.

"Nothing's gonna be better than Angel," Jake drawled. "I'm still not sure if it was dumb luck or divine intervention, but she's way out of your league, Bradshaw."

"I know," Bradley snarled. "You think I don't know that? She's fucking perfect." He tilted his head back, blinking up at the lights. "Do you think she knows Indigo was trying to flirt with me?"

"Absolutely," Nat replied, and Bradley forced himself to meet her eyes.

"Yes, asshole," Jake added. "She's not stupid like you are."

"Fuck." Bradley stood and started pacing around. He felt like his job and marriage were suddenly on the line. He didn't know what to say to you that wouldn't potentially make things worse right now. If he could think of something reasonable, he'd run across the yard and back inside the house and say it to your face.

Maybe this was part of the reason you'd been so quiet? But it didn't make sense. He never talked about Indigo outside of the context of work, because there was simply nothing else to say. But after that night at the bar, you were really fucking mad at him. He thought you were mad that he got drunk, but maybe there was more to it.

"God damn it," he groaned, realizing Nat was lifting weights while Jake spotted her. "Do you think I should talk to Mav tomorrow?"

"Yes," they both replied in unison. The fact that they agreed on something was scary enough, but that let Bradley know just how fucked he was.

But he would take care of everything. He'd talk to Mav and figure it all out. What other choice did he have?

"I'm heading inside," he murmured. "Can the two of you turn off the lights and lock up when you're done."

Bradley didn't wait for an answer. He was already walking across the backyard, craving your reassuring touch that he wasn't quite sure he deserved. When his phone vibrated in the pocket of his shorts, he pulled it out. He was met with another text from Indigo, but this time there was a photo as well. She was on the beach at sunset, the orange and pink sky somehow making her eyes look even more startlingly blue, and she was smiling at the camera. When his eyes slid down the screen to her cleavage, he almost dropped his phone. But not before he read the text.

This beach is so beautiful. Wish you were here.

Bradley couldn't decide what to do. Turn around and go back to the garage? Go inside the house? Sit down on Rose's jungle gym and cry? Smash his phone to bits? When another text appeared, he looked at it immediately.

Oops, I sent that to the wrong person. Have a good night, Sir.

Bradley squeezed his phone in his hand until he was afraid it might break. Then he opened a different text thread and pounded out a message, hitting send immediately.

Mav, I need to talk to you about something important first thing in the morning.

When Bradley noticed movement, he looked up at the sliding glass door. You were carrying Rose around the living room, bouncing her in your arms as you yawned. Getting the Nugget ready for bed was supposed to be his job. He loved it. The bedtime stories and the snuggles were the best part. He needed to have this.

Finally he walked inside, sliding the door closed quietly behind him, trying not to panic. Rose was nearly asleep, but you let him take her into his arms. Bradley kissed her all over her sweet face before forfeiting her to her crib, then he climbed in bed with you. When he reached for your hand, you curled up against him, and he let his hand rest along your belly.

"I love you, Sweetheart," he whispered, heart aching. "I love my three girls."

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

Start getting your shit together, Bradley. Indigo has shown she's relentless. Also, I thought I was solid on the baby's name, but I might put it to a vote. Stay tuned. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 34

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covenofagatha · 3 months ago

Text

Sugar, spice, and everything nice (Part 2)

Word count: 3500+

Warnings: making out, slight mentions of masturbation, sex toys

You’re on your new laptop the next day when Agatha walks into the bakery. Your face lights up and she smiles at you the second she’s through the door. Like every time you see her, she manages to take your breath away.

“Hey!” You exclaim, motioning your hands around the laptop. “Thank you so much again. You did not have to do this.”

“I know I didn’t. But I wanted to, hon,” she says. Agatha’s now stopped in front of the counter, looking at you expectantly.

“Do you want the usual?”

She smirks playfully. “Do you remember everyone’s order?”

“Only the ones that tip about 500% and buy me laptops,” you joke, but there’s some truth to it. You’ve had customers that have come in every day for a week and you don’t even realize it’s the same person. She seems satisfied with your quip and nods.

“I’d love the ‘usual,’ thank you.”

This time, though, when she holds out the typical $50, you pull out the change from the register and insist she take it. She raises an eyebrow.

“Please, Agatha, you just bought me a computer,” you say, the beg coming out a little whiny. She teasingly rolls her eyes and takes the money from you. “Thank you. Your coffee will be right up.”

“Actually, can you make it two?”

Your heart skips a beat. Who is joining her? A friend? Her partner?

And then you inwardly scold yourself for caring.

“Oh, yeah, sure. Another espresso?”

She shrugs slyly and skates a finger over the countertop. “I don’t know. What kind of coffee do you want?”

You stare at her blankly, trying to make sense of her question. She must see your puzzled expression because she tosses her head back with a laugh.

“I’m asking you to have coffee with me, doll,” she explains and the lightbulb clicks in your mind.

“Oh–oh my god! I’m sorry.” Of course you’re making a fool out of yourself in front of the most beautiful woman on the planet.

“You don’t have to.” This is the first time you’ve ever seen a flicker of doubt on her face.

“No, no, I want to. Go sit down and I’ll bring the coffee over when I’m ready.”

She sits down at the normal booth and you busy yourself making an espresso and a pumpkin spice latte. This time, you allow yourself to glance at Agatha and you feel something in your stomach when you notice that she’s already looking at you, a fond smile on her lips. There’s a tug in your gut and you smile back. You’re not sure why the older woman is drawn to you this much, but you are not complaining.

There’s something about her too. Something that pulls you in and doesn’t want to let you go.

You successfully make the coffee this time without any broken laptops and you bring them over to the table, sitting across from her before she has to ask. She looks pleased and blows on her coffee before taking a sip.

“What’s your drink of choice?” She asks, nodding at your cup.

“Oh, just a pumpkin spice latte,” you say dismissively. “I’m a big pumpkin fan.” She nods like it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever heard. “And, thank you again. For the laptop. You really didn’t have to do that. Is there anything I can do to repay you?” You don’t mean for it to sound as dirty as it does and she smirks like she hears it too.

“There is one thing you can do.” You urge her earnestly with your eyes. “Go ice skating with me tonight?” It’s getting colder in Westview and the winter festivities are being broken out, including the Winter Wonderland in the square. Complete with an ice skating rink, hot chocolate stands, a snow pit, a hill for the kids to sled down, and even more, it was a town favorite.

You frown but your heart skips a beat at the thought of her wanting to hang with you. As a date? “How is that repaying you?”

She flicks her hand. “The money isn’t a big deal. I just want to get to know you better. Unless you’re busy.”

“No, I have literally nothing to do later,” you say, shaking your head. She looks relieved. “Can I at least pay for the tickets?”

“Honey,” she scoffs playfully. “I asked, so I’m paying. If you want to pay, you’ll just have to ask me to do something another time.”

“This sounds an awful lot like a date,” you say before you can stop yourself. The corners of her mouth quirk up and she raises an eyebrow.

“Do you want it to be?”

“Yeah,” you answer almost immediately, your voice hoarse at the thought. A date. With a rich, hot, older woman. She smiles genuinely. “What time? Oh, I hope all my winter clothes aren’t at home.” You haven’t been back in awhile to your parents’ house and you only brought the necessities to make it until you go back. You’re not sure how many cute options you’ll have.

“I’ll pick you up around five-thirty? And do you have warm clothes?” She gives you a once-over. You’re in jeans and your uniform top. In the back, you have the heavy coat you wear when you have to go outside, and back at your dorm, you have sweatpants. Not exactly up to par with this gorgeous woman.

You smile and nod and try to not appear too nervous. What to wear is always a point of stress for you. She must sense this because she reaches over to pat your hand reassuringly and then pulls out her wallet from her pocket.

Before you can protest, she slaps a credit card down on the table. Your jaw drops and you look back and forth between it and Agatha.

“Go to the mall and get whatever you want,” she tells you, and there is not even a trace of a joke in her tone.

“How do you know I won’t just buy a car or something crazy?”

She laughs. “I trust you. And I don’t think you would. You seem like a good girl.” She puts a lot of emphasis on those words and it makes you feel hot. You’re sure your cheeks have turned red. “Text me your address before tonight, yeah?”

You nod because you don’t trust yourself to talk at this point. What kind of woman just casually hands over her credit card to someone she barely knows?

“Um, thank you,” is all you can muster the strength to say. She gives you one last smile before getting up from the table.

“I’ll see you tonight, doll.”

The moment you’re done with your shift, you head to the mall. You’re not exactly sure what will suffice for the date, but you hope you’ll know it when you see it.

You eventually find some black pants that make your ass look great and a cute purple sweater with a blue vest. It’s a little pricey though. You know Agatha said to get whatever you wanted, but you still feel a little guilty, especially after she’s thrown so much other money at you.

So you text her. Hey Agatha! At the mall right now. Just want to check if there was a limit to how much I could spend? I found some stuff but it’s almost $200. If that’s too much, no worries at all! You send her your address as well before you can forget.

She immediately replies. Get the stuff and anything else you want. I can’t wait to see what you’ve picked out ;) see you later.

The winky face causes heat to pump through your veins and you bite your lip. You clear your throat and head to the check-out, heart beating fast when you press Agatha’s credit card to the reader. It goes through and you breathe a sigh of relief.

You still can’t believe she just handed it over so willingly.

Is she your sugar mommy now?

The question weighs on your mind until she texts you that she’s outside your building later that afternoon. You give yourself a once-over and run downstairs to her car. The new clothes are comfy and warm and she looks at you approvingly when you slide into the passenger seat.

“Good choice,” she says.

“Thank you again,” you reply, a little breathless from the cold and your speed. You take out her card from your wallet and hand it to her. “I can’t believe you just gave your card to some random stranger like that.”

She laughs along with you. “I know you wouldn’t do anything. You seem too desperate to please.” Your face heats and you’re not really sure what to say. She isn’t wrong. There’s something about Agatha that makes you want to do whatever she says. “How was the rest of work?”

“Oh, good.” You wave a hand dismissively. “It was a pretty slow day today. Did you have work?”

She launches into telling you about her newest court case and you find yourself absolutely fascinated to the point of not even realizing that you’ve arrived. Everything Agatha says has you absolutely enthralled and by the faint smirk on her face, she knows it too.

She leads you over to the ticket stand, her hand on your lower back, and confidently buys two.

“Thank you,” you say again, a little flustered by how she hasn’t let you pay for anything. You’ll be damned if you leave without buying her a drink or something.

“Of course, doll. Do you want to skate first?” You nod eagerly, causing her to chuckle, and you both go to pick out skates. She has to help you lace them up after you fumble with them for a while since your hands have become so cold.

“Full disclosure, I’m not very good at skating,” you warn her when she’s holding onto your arm at the gate.

“I can help you, sweetheart,” she says and your heart feels so full.

She gets onto the ice first and lets go of the railing so she can grab your hands and assist you in stepping onto the rink. Your eyes widen when you almost fall after moving your foot forward and it shoots back, but Agatha catches you in her strong arms.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim as she stands you back up, never letting go of her tight grip on you.

“It takes a bit to figure out. How many times have you ice skated?”

“None,” you say, tongue poking through your lips as you look down at your feet and focus on sliding them forward. She glides backwards with you effortlessly. When you finally look up at her, she’s staring at you with something written on her face you can’t quite read. “What?”

“You could’ve told me that you hadn’t, I would’ve taken you to dinner or something else,” she says.

“No, no, it’s totally fine. I would’ve done whatever you wanted to do,” you reply half-mindedly. You’re more focused on skating around the corner. Once you do so successfully, her hands move from your wrists to only one hand holding your hip.

But her touch makes you jump, fire igniting in your stomach, and you slip and fall on the ice.

You groan in pain and Agatha stifles a laugh before squatting down to check on you. The cold has seeped into your wet pants and the humiliation burns your cheeks.

“You okay, doll?”

You nod your head defeatedly. “Yeah, just a little wet.” The moment you say it, you can see her eyes darken just the slightest. Your breath catches when you realize the innuendo and there’s a tense silence with the two of you just staring at each other while others skate around you.

“Well, let’s get you up. Want to keep trying?” Agatha asks finally. She gets back on her feet as gracefully as ever.

“As long as you don’t let me fall again,” you joke and take her outstretched hands.

“I didn’t let you fall, you did that all on your own,” she says playfully.

She carefully lifts you up and you grab onto her biceps when you’re fully standing so you don’t crash back down. Her hands grab your waist again to hold you steady and when you look at her face, she’s staring at your lips.

“Agatha,” you say, but you’re not sure what else to add because now you’re staring at her lips too. She leans in an imperceptible amount and your mouth parts involuntarily, ready for a kiss.

“Look out!” Someone shouts and the next thing you know, a three foot tall blur runs straight into you, knocking you, Agatha, and the random person down.

“Sorry!” The kid exclaims and jumps up to skate away, leaving you and Agatha wincing on the ice.

“Why don’t we go find something else to do?” She asks and you’ve never been more happy to agree.

Agatha helps you up once again and this time, interlocks her fingers with yours and slowly skates with you to the exit.

Once you’ve gotten your shoes back on, Agatha buys the two of you cups of hot chocolate and a pretzel to split and leads you over to a bench so you can sit.

“Thank you for this,” you say, shoving a piece of the pretzel into your mouth.

“My pleasure, sweetheart.”

The pet name does things to you that you can’t say and you find yourself wishing that the almost-kiss on the ice actually happened. You feel so connected and attracted to Agatha, even though you’re not sure why.

“Why do you keep tipping me so much and buying me all these nice things?” You’re finally brave enough to voice the question that’s been on your mind since the first day she came into the bakery.

She smiles and reaches over to squeeze your hand. “You deserve it. And I like spoiling you. You get this cute little look in your eye.” You blush instantly and she laughs. “Like that.”

“Well, can I take you out sometime soon? Maybe for dinner or a movie or something?”

“I’d like that. I’m free Tuesday or Thursday night this week.”

“I’ll see you Tuesday then,” you say, happy that she’s finally going to let you treat her to something. “Unless I see you at the bakery first. It seems to have become an integral part of your morning.” You’re teasing but part of you wants her to elaborate on what she’s doing.

“What can I say? The cinnamon crumb cake and the espresso are to die for,” she says with a wink. You laugh despite yourself.

Comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you sip on your drinks and eat the pretzel.

“Is there anything else you want to do?” She asks.

“Can we go on the ferris wheel?”

“Of course, dear.” She stands up and offers you her hand and you obviously take it.

The line for the ride isn’t long at all so you basically walk right into a passenger car. Agatha sits next to you instead of across from you so she can wrap an arm around your shoulders. The wheel starts turning and something on the ceiling catches your eye.

“Is that mistletoe?” You ask, pointing up at it and then looking at Agatha, who is also peering up at it, corners of her mouth quirking up.

“Looks like it,” she answers thoughtfully and then glances at you playfully. “Shall we?”

You don’t even answer, just clasp her cheek with your hand and pull her in.

It’s a slow kiss at first, just a press of your mouth against hers, but then she opens her lips and slides her tongue into your mouth. You moan into her mouth and try to pull her even closer to you so you can feel more of her. She sucks on your tongue and your teeth make a clicking noise when they clash against each other.

When you have to pull back for air, she kisses down your jaw and then gently bites on your neck. You gasp and your hips jump against nothing.

“Agatha,” you breathe and you can feel her smirking as she nibbles on your earlobe. A fire stokes to life in your stomach and your body feels like a lifewire. One of her hands dips under your vest so she can cup your breast through your sweater. You whimper and she chuckles lowly. “Please.”

“Is this okay?” She asks and you nod so hard your head hurts. She smirks and her hand slides down and under your sweater.

The coldness of her fingers against your warm stomach makes you gasp but you like it and you pull her back in for a kiss. Her hand keeps moving up under your shirt and she’s about to reach your bra—

—and the Ferris wheel stops. You let out a sigh of disappointment and Agatha laughs.

The door to your car opens and the two of you step out. You wonder if your face is as red as it seems and you hope that no one accidentally saw you two making out.

“So what now?” She asks once you’re back in the middle of the fair. But there’s only one thing on your mind right now.

You don’t care that you’re surrounded by people right now; you stand up on your tiptoes and give her a searing kiss which she returns immediately. Your hands wrap around her neck and hers find their place on your waist. You end the kiss by tugging on her bottom lip and when you pull back, her blue eyes are dark and hooded.

“Can we do more of that?” You breathe and she chuckles. You’ve never wanted anyone so badly in your life and you think if you don’t have her hands on you in the next ten minutes you might die.

“Anything you want,” she whispers and presses one last chaste kiss to your lips. “Does this mean you want to leave?”

“Please,” you beg and she smirks at how visibly desperate you are. You’ve become so wet and needy since she put her hand on your waist on the ice. You practically drag her back to the car and when she pulls back in front of your dorm, you look at her with begging eyes. “Come in?”

The moment you say it, you realize how ridiculous it sounds. Bringing a hot, rich, older woman up to your living space that’s probably the size of her closet so she can fuck you in your twin sized bed? Plus it was your first date and you’ve known her for less than a week.

She’s clearly thinking the same thing because she smiles softly and says, “Maybe on Tuesday, doll.”

And yet, you whine. “Why can’t we just go back to your place right now? Please, I’m so-” You cut yourself off before you can tell her just how much you really need her.

Her smile turns into a knowing smirk. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take care of that yourself then?” You gape and a flush climbs up your neck and to your face, but she leans in and keeps going. “Use your hand, or a toy, to think about me. Just to tide you over for a bit.”

“I don’t have a toy,” is all you can think to say with your brain short-circuiting. That shouldn’t have been the part to focus on, but Agatha pulls back with wide eyes.

“You don’t?”

And then the image of Agatha using a toy on herself inserts itself in your brain and you have to cross a leg over the other to get some sense of relief. “No,” you squeak out.

The glint in her eyes is positively evil. “Have a good night, doll.” She gives you one last kiss and then unlocks the car door. You give her a playful glare and then go upstairs.

After you’ve showered and put on pajamas, you slide your hand down your sweatpants and touch yourself.

It takes all of three minutes before you cum all over your hand, just replaying the kiss with Agatha in your mind.

You fall asleep quickly after that and in the morning, you’re surprised to see a notification saying that you have a package in the delivery room. You throw on a sweatshirt and head down and it’s a medium sized brown box with your name and an A. Harkness as the mailer.

Frowning, you take it back to your room and cut it open. Moving the flaps aside, you peer in the box and gasp.

There’s at least four sex toys. A vibrator, a dildo, a different type of toy, and then a small box. You pick up the box and immediately drop it.

It’s a remote controlled, long-distance vibrator.

Your breathing has quickened and you feel your underwear growing wet yet again because of Agatha.

And then you see a piece of paper. Hands shaking, you pull it out and open it.

Hope you enjoy ;) Maybe you can wear the vibrator on Tuesday. See you soon.

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha smut #agatha all along

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muniimyg · 2 months ago

Text

𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!yoongi (11) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ *nsfw*

series m.list // taglist closed

note: the slight angst in ch 10 was a set up for all the fluff, smut, and happiness in this ch !!! HEHEHEHE enj !!! pls lmk ur thots ,, ik i ditched this story for a bit so pls talk to me yall 🥲

warnings: making out, yoongi’s dick is big, oc’s tits are big, yoongi eats her out,, they fuck side to side/behind idk,, missionary, dirty talk, and creampie

it’s 10AM and you haven’t texted or called yoongi.

although, he should have seen this coming. you had left all his messages unread last night and he didn’t want to push his luck any further by annoying you now (the following morning)...

but it’s difficult as fuck.

he has never felt this way about anyone before.

he has never wanted to fix anything so fast. he has never wanted to pick someone up so early. he has never wanted to be with someone so bad at night.

it ached, honestly.

… when you said you didn’t want to talk.

what the fuck did that even mean? if anything, he should be the only person in the world you talk to. instead, he’s the only person in the world you’re ignoring right now.

so, yoongi sits in his office.

slumped at his desk with the hum of his computer and the faint clock ticking. his eyes skim over the files on his screen, but he isn’t really reading. if anything, he’s just blinking. every few minutes, he glances at his phone, the unanswered silence gnawing at him.

he exhales slowly, leaning back in his chair, fingers brushing over his jaw as his thoughts spiral.

you didn’t want to talk to him last night.

he doesn’t get it—doesn’t know if he’s pushing too hard, or if he’s just not getting through. you two were just fine the other day. great, even… so what gives? what shifted? what changed? was it jungkook?

are you actually into jungkook?

is that it?

before his thoughts flood in and make his anxiety grow, yoongi grabs his phone, his thumb hovering over your contact.

then, he thinks…

fuck it.

yoongi hits call and presses the phone to his ear, the dial tone humming in his chest. by the third ring, yoongi’s heart begins to beat faster and faster. as he’s about to put his phone down and end the call—

his door creaks open.

yoongi hisses from the surprise as his head snaps towards the door. before he can grumpily kick whoever is barging into his office out—his gaze softens at the sight of you.

suddenly, you step in.

you move towards him, looking a little unsure. there’s a box of tangerines cradled in your hands and the sound of your phone buzzing in your purse fills the room.

yoongi immediately hangs up, lowering his phone. he blinks, surprised, then pushes himself to stand.

“hey.” his voice is soft, warm, like you’re something he doesn’t want to scare off.

“hi.”

your gaze flickers toward him before settling on the tangerines in your hands. you pick up your pace and stand in front of him, his desk separating you two. without hesitation, you extend the box of tangerines towards him. yoongi’s hands brush yours as he takes it, lingering just a little longer than necessary.

“you shouldn’t be carrying anything heavy.”

“it’s not heavy,” you say, shrugging as you slip your purse off your shoulder.

“get jungkook to carry them in next time—here—have a seat, please.” yoongi gestures to the chair by his desk, guiding you down with a quiet insistence. he sets the box of tangerines beside him on the desk and leans against the edge, close enough to reach for you.

he wants to.

so bad.

so fucking bad.

… but he doesn’t.

instead, he stays still, hands braced on the desk, holding himself back.

the silence sits between you for a moment.

a little awkward, a little heavy.

but finally, you speak.

“i’m sorry about last night,” you say softly, looking down at your hands in your lap. “i should’ve… i should’ve been better to you. i was really tired, yes… but i shouldn’t have left things like that. let’s blame half of it on my pregancy harmones, but let’s also blame the other half on me. i should have communicated better and i should have come home. i didn’t mean to worry you or make you feel like… whatever you felt last night… if we’re on the same page about everything, i’m assuming that we both felt—”

“like shit last night?”

“like shit.”

yoongi tilts his head slightly, his eyes softening as he watches you. “___, you don’t have to—”

“i came by your place,” you interrupt, your voice quiet.

“our place,” he corrects gently.

you pause, the words sinking in before you nod.

“our place.”

you glance up at him, and there’s a small smile on your lips, like you’re testing the words.

“i didn’t sleep well last night and i don’t understand why… or how… how i’ve been falling asleep without you by my side. so, i hurried over to our place but you already left for work… i spent the entire morning waiting for grocery stores to open so i could bring you these—” you gesture to the tangerines, a little sheepish. “peace offering? apology gift? please-be-my-baby’s-daddy bribery?”

yoongi blinks, caught off guard, and then—he laughs.

it’s soft at first, but it bubbles up, warm and genuine, breaking the tension in the room.

you smile at him, a real one this time, and the corners of his mouth curve up in response. the air feels lighter somehow.

“baby daddy bribery?” he echoes, shaking his head, his laugh still lingering in his chest. “you’re unbelievable.”

“why? cos it’s working?” you tease, tilting your head as you look at him.

yoongi exhales, his shoulders easing as the smile lingers on his lips.

“you don’t need to bribe me,” he says softly, his voice steady, sincere. “you just… you just need to talk to me.”

your expression falters slightly, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

“i know.”

he sees it, and for a moment, he wants to pull you in—wants to wrap his arms around you and hold you close, to kiss your forehead and tell you it’s okay. wants to tell you that you’re forgiven before you even ask for forgiveness.

but he doesn’t.

he stays still, waiting, letting you give as much as you’re ready to.

he prepares for the wait and for the lingering ache. he braces himself but instead—

you reach for him.

you reach for him and suddenly all his walls come crumbling down. like all the pride and courage he gathered to save face mean nothing when it comes to you and the way you captivate him. he gives in. he gives in so fucking much.

your hand finds his wrist, curling lightly around it, and his chest tightens.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, and yoongi exhales, the sound soft and heavy all at once. “i was imature and i could’ve handled the situation better. i should’ve talked to you. i should’ve called. we’re in this together and i left you alone last night. i will never do that agian. i promise, yoongi. i’m really really sorry—”

“it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice gentle. “stop apologizing now.”

he turns his hand under yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, grounding you both in the quiet. before you know it, he’s tugging them to his lips. as he kisses your knuckles, your eyes water.

you can’t help it.

neither can yoongi because finally, he reaches for you. yoongi cups your face, dips his head low, and kisses you.

against your lips, he murmurs; ”did you build ikea furniture with jungkook?”

“no.”

“good,” he smiles. “i would’ve been mad at you.”

“mad at me or jealous over him?”

yoongi pulls away. “me? jealous?”

you throw your head back and scoff at him. he chuckles and quickly shifts himself back, close to you.

“you noticed?” he tilts his head.

“no,” you squint at him. “not at all.”

the box of tangerines sits between you as yoongi works, the soft sound of typing filling the office. you’re perched on the small couch in the corner, one hand resting on the curve of your belly, the other scrolling lazily through your phone.

“it’s quiet today,” you say, breaking the silence, your tone light.

yoongi hums, eyes still fixed on the screen as he types in steady, practiced motions.

“mm, i got through a few patient phone calls in the evening yesterday… just going through files and notes today. paperwork stuff.”

“maybe your patients are avoiding you,” you tease. “you know? since your resting face isn’t exactly inviting.”

he glances at you, a soft scoff escaping him.

“it’s called being focused.”

you smile, the corners of your mouth quirking up, and yoongi catches it—he always does. his gaze lingers for just a beat longer before he shakes his head and turns back to his work, the faintest ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

you let the quiet stretch again, content to watch him as you absentmindedly trace little circles over your stomach.

after a while, the stillness in the office makes you restless.

“i’m going to walk around. check on the others.”

“okay. can you check on jimin, tae, and jungkook? they’re a little quiet today. usually means they’re up to something,” yoongi says without looking up, but there’s no real warning in his tone. “... if they are; don’t join them.”

you stand with a small groan, pressing a hand to your lower back as you stretch. “me? never.”

he watches as you leave, one hand on the doorframe for balance, and his eyes soften when the door clicks shut behind you.

an hour later, you’re back in yoongi’s office, settling onto the couch again with a triumphant little huff.

“did you make your rounds?” yoongi asks, closing the file on his desk and turning toward you.

“mhmm,” you hum, reaching for the box of tangerines. “jin was chill. namjoon and i talked about what bag he should buy hyemi for their anniversary. jimin and taehyung were running lab tests… jungkook was complaining about his protein bars not having enough protein… oh, and hobi said i looked like i was about to pop—”

yoongi scrunches his nose in distaste.

“he’s an idiot. you look perfect.”

“yeah, but he’s your idiot.”

“and i’m starting to regret that.”

you laugh quietly, peeling the first tangerine with practiced hands. the sharp citrus smell fills the air, and you separate a segment before holding it out toward him.

yoongi quirks a brow.

“are you feeding me now?”

“i’m like 6 months pregnant and growing a human,” you peel another segment carefully, the sound crisp in the quiet of the office. “you think i’m doing all this for me?”

yoongi’s gaze flickers to yours—dry, disbelieving—but his lips twitch. “right. you’re peeling tangerines purely out of obligation.”

“purely. i do this for all my babydaddies…” you hold the segment out toward him, a quiet challenge in your eyes. “now be nice and take it.”

there’s a beat of silence where neither of you move, but then yoongi leans in, the edge of his knee brushing yours as he lets you press the tangerine to his lips. his eyes stay on you the whole time, half amused and half… something else.

“good job, daddy.”

yoongi freezes mid-chew, a soft scoff escaping him as his gaze sharpens.

“don’t.”

you raise an innocent brow, peeling another tangerine with practiced fingers.

“don’t?”

“don’t start.”

“why not?” you tease.

yoongi exhales through his nose, leaning back against the desk as he watches you. his long legs stretch out in front of him, the tips of his shoes almost bumping yours.

“you’re playing with me.”

“maybe so… but only because it seems like you’re easy to mess with,” you quip, holding out another segment.

yoongi doesn’t move immediately this time. he just looks at you, his expression unreadable.

“but seriously… you don’t have to do that,” he mutters.

you blink, confused. “do what?”

“... do things like this.”

something about the way he says it makes the air feel different, heavier. you hesitate for a second before nudging his hand.

“it’s just a peeled tangerine.”

“no it’s not,” he says.

you blink at him.

“okay,” you begin to confess. “it’s not. you know what it means and you know why i’m doing it. so what?”

yoongi huffs quietly—almost a laugh—but he leans forward again, this time brushing your fingertips just a little longer than necessary as he takes it. your breath catches, just for a moment, and yoongi notices.

of course he does.

the corner of his mouth twitches.

“see? you’re not so tough.”

“never said i was,” you say softly, peeling another piece without looking at him. “especially when it’s about you.”

yoongi watches you carefully, his hand sliding to rest against the couch beside you, close enough that his fingers almost graze your dress.

“you always get like this when you’re bored,” he says finally, voice low.

“get like what?”

“antagonizing me.”

you smirk to yourself, holding another segment out toward him.

“it’s called keeping you on your toes. you should thank me.”

yoongi leans in again, but this time, there’s a faint smile on his lips as he takes the fruit from your hand.

“thank you—”

the door swings open without warning.

“am i interrupting something?”

jungkook’s voice cuts through the room, and you freeze mid-motion, holding a tangerine segment up to yoongi’s mouth. yoongi sighs deeply, closing his eyes for a brief second like he’s praying for patience.

“come back later, jungkook,” yoongi mutters, but you don’t move. instead, you smirk and press the tangerine to his lips anyway.

he takes it begrudgingly, chewing as he glares at jungkook.

“wow,” jungkook says, stepping fully into the room and folding his arms. “the baby’s not even here yet, and you two are already disgusting.”

“who cares about what you think?” you quip, reaching toward yoongi again when you see a bit of juice spill from the corner of his mouth.

before he can move, your thumb brushes the juice away, and without thinking, you bring it to your mouth, licking it off.

yoongi freezes.

jungkook’s jaw drops.

“oh my god,” jungkook groans, clapping a hand over his eyes dramatically. “can you two not? in the workplace? fired.”

yoongi’s ears tint faintly pink, and he clears his throat, shooting you a look that’s half warning, half something softer.

“you came in uninvited,” he says flatly. “and i’m technically your boss.”

“yeah, well, now i regret it.” jungkook drops his hand and gestures between the two of you. “just take the day off. seriously. the patients can survive without you—i’ll handle everything.”

“we barely have any patients today.”

“see?” jungkook sighs. “i’ll send out the emails and shit. just sign what you need to sign and get out of here.”

yoongi hesitates, eyes flickering to you. you shrug casually.

“it is lunch time… what do you say?” you ask, a small, knowing smile curling at your lips. “wanna get some lunch?”

“like a date?”

“a date.”

yoongi stares at you for a moment, and you see the way his jaw shifts, like he’s trying to fight back a smile.

finally, he exhales, pushing himself off the desk and taking the box from your hands. “let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice low, just for you.

“you’re welcome!” jungkook calls as you both leave the office, the door swinging shut behind you.

yoongi’s hand finds the small of your back, guiding you out, and he leans closer as tells you;

“we gotta eat fast. he’s gonna call me in an hour near tears because he won’t know what to do with the paperwork.”

you and yoongi decide to eat at this cozy but upscale restaurant downtown.

the atmosphere buzzes with laughter and soft lighting that gives off a relaxed vibe, despite the place’s high-end feel. when the last of your plates are cleared away, and yoongi reaches for his wallet, about to ask for the bill.

"i’ll get it," you say, pulling your phone out.

but before you can do anything, the waiter comes over with a smile.

“ms ___? your meal has already been taken care of,” your waiter tells you both. yoongi blinks in surprise, looking from the waiter to you.

you make a small surprised face, catching his gaze.

“oh, did i forget to tell you? the chef here was my old junior sous chef, jiun. she’s been inviting me to eat here for a while, but i just haven’t had the time. i texted her earlier, and she insisted we try her new menu."

yoongi quirks a brow, still processing. "so everything we ate... was from her?"

you nod, giving a soft shrug. “yeah. but i swear, i had no idea she was going to cover it all.”

yoongi stares at you for a second, his expression softening into something between surprise and admiration.

“wow… you’re seriously so cool,” he praises you, unable to stop a small laugh from slipping out.

you feel a heat rise to your cheeks, but it’s not embarrassment—it’s a kind of warmth, the way yoongi always makes you feel.

then, to your surprise, he leans in and kisses your cheek.

the moment is soft, almost unintentional, but it’s enough to make your heart skip. you lean into it without thinking, his hand immediately finding your waist as he helps you stand. his fingers brush over the fabric of your dress, sending a tiny shiver through you as his touch lingers.

you both start heading toward the door, your hand wrapped around his as you step out into the fresh air, the afternoon sunlight casting soft shadows.

just as you're about to walk out, you see jiun approaching from the kitchen, her face lighting up when she sees you.

“oh my god! ___, you’re pregnant!” she practically beams, her excitement filling the space. "stop… oh my god, oh my god! babes, you’re just glowing—how are you so pretty?”

you smile, your cheeks flushing, both from the compliment and the way jiun’s enthusiasm hits you full force. you open your mouth to introduce yoongi, but before you can, yoongi beats you to it.

what do you even say?

this is yoongi, my boyfriend.

this is yoongi, my babydaddy.

this is yoongi, my friend but not really.

“I’m yoongi.”

yeah.

that’s probably good.

jiun’s eyes flicker from you to him, and a playful look flashes across her face. you catch her glance at your hand—your ring finger empty. she’s smooth with it though, and you know she means no harm. she just wants to have context without asking for it.

“oh, i see. the father, huh?” she teases, then looks back at you with a knowing grin. "___, we talked about this all the time, remember? i’m so happy for you both."

you feel your face warm at her words.

there’s no hiding your embarrassment now, especially since jiun’s been so open about how she used to listen to all your daydreams.

you nervously laugh, shrugging a little, but yoongi just chuckles and leans in to whisper into your ear, “i know.”

the three of you stand there for a moment, an awkward but comfortable silence settling between you all. you try to shake off the sudden shyness, glancing at yoongi. his hand is still on your waist, his thumb gently rubbing over your side as if to ground you.

jiun looks at the two of you and then back at you, still beaming.

“honestly, i’m just so happy for you. i remember you talking about wanting this for so long. i’m so glad it happened for you… and with someone like…” jiun pauses, gesturing for yoongi to complete her sentance.

“i’m a nurse practitioner for a dermatology practice my friends and i own.”

jiun’s eyes widen.

“holy shit,” she breathes. “you chose well, ___. can you find me a babydaddy too?”

you throw your head back and laugh. she moves closer to you, tugging on your arm. “are you still friends with that taehyung guy? the one that’s friends with the twink and the buff one?”

you roll your eyes at her.

“you guys kissed once at a party—”

“i want his babies.”

yoongi almost chokes on air.

jiun shifts her attention to him and apologies. “sorry,” jiun giggles. “hyemi, ___, and i are a little unhinged when it comes to sex.”

yoongi, noticing the warmth and tenderness in her voice, offers a small but sincere smile.

“all good,” he says, his voice soft. “he is single though… is there any way i could pitch jungkook to you?”

“the twink?”

“the buff one.”

jiun thinks for a moment. “isn’t he into milfs?”

yoongi’s smile drops.

you make a face at jiun and shake your head. she quickly catches on and laughs, trying to move past the moment.

“you know what? you two look really good together. don’t forget to invite me to the baby shower, okay?”

you nod, unable to hide your smile now. "yeah. i’m actually not sure if i’m gonna have one—”

“that’s insane,” jiun gasps. “you out of all people deserve one. you’ve wanted to be a mom for so long… yoongi, contact me for catering, okay? that’ll be my baby shower gift.”

“jiun, that’s too much—”

“okay,” yoongi accepts her offer. “let me know if you want any expenses cover though. it’s no problem.”

jiun looks back at you, her grin widening. “provider man, i see… well, wow. i love this for you, ___. you’re gonna be a great mom, and i know yoongi is lucky to have you.”

you feel your heart swell, but you try to hide your emotions with a soft laugh.

"stop, you’re gonna make me cry."

“it’s the pregnancy harmones.”

“totally.”

the three of you laugh together, the tension between you all easing as jiun’s bubbly energy fills the space around you.

"i have to get back to the kitchen, but it was so good to see you. enjoy the rest of your day guys! and i’m serious about that baby shower, okay?" jiun says, giving you both a quick hug before she heads back to the kitchen.

as she disappears inside, yoongi takes your hand, guiding you out of the restaurant.

"you really are something, you know that?" he says softly, his voice low, like he’s trying to keep the moment just for the two of you. “you have good friends.”

you grin at him, leaning into his side. “true. i mean, i’ve got good taste.”

“you do.” yoongi chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. “remember when i was your friend?” his hand moves down to your waist again, his touch reassuring, like he’s silently claiming this space between you both, soft and sure.

“awh, what does that mean? are you not my friend anymore?”

you and yoongi go home and spend the afternoon rearranging a few things in the living room, bedroom, and nursery.

there’s no rush, just the kind of slow, comfortable task that makes the house feel more like home. he’s focused, but every now and then, his eyes flicker over to you, catching the way your movements are a little slower now with the growing baby.

“you know, we should’ve done this sooner,” yoongi says with a small smirk as he adjusts a shelf in the living room, his sleeves rolled up.

you laugh, brushing your hair from your face. “we tried, remember? but i kept changing my mind. it’s the pregancy brain—”

“yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, stepping back to take in the space. “so, are you committed to this? it looks good. like really good.”

you look around the room, the warm glow from the soft lighting making everything feel cozy and welcoming.

“i am,” you breathe.

by dinner time, the kitchen smells like heaven.

the two of you working side by side at the stove, getting everything ready. yoongi’s movements are precise, fluid, and you find yourself watching him, the way he handles the utensils and moves around the kitchen with ease.

“need help with anything?” you ask, leaning over the counter, watching him chop vegetables.

“just stay out of my way, and we’ll be fine,” yoongi teases without looking up, though there’s a glint of playfulness in his eyes.

you roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“oh, i see how it is.”

“too harsh?”

you frown at him.

“just wondering where the guy that begged for private cooking lessons went.”

yoongi throws his head back and laughs. you join him and poke his sides. he squirms and tells you to leave his kitchen.

you don’t listen.

instead, you continue to annoy him.

as the meal comes together, the soft music playing in the background and the warm lighting create a slow, almost intimate atmosphere. you stand close to yoongi, your body just slightly pressed against his, and before you know it, you’re laughing into the crook of his neck as he stirs something on the stove.

he pauses for a moment, his hand resting on your hip, and his eyes flicker to you.

“you’re distracting me."

“i’m just admiring your cooking skills.” you grin, pressing a kiss to his neck before pulling away to finish setting the table.

when you finally sit down to eat, you’re side by side, the tension from the earlier moments easing as the evening settles in. yoongi’s hand rests lightly on your thigh, his thumb drawing soft circles over your skin, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the quiet comfort of the moment.

“so,” he starts, voice low and teasing, “baby names?”

you look over at him with an exicted look on your face. “oh my god. should we talk about that tonight?”

yoongi snorts, giving you a playful nudge. “why not now?”

you laugh, shaking your head. “i’ll get too excited. i won’t eat.”

yoongi’s hand gives your thigh a gentle squeeze, his lips curling into a smile.

“okay. let’s get ready for bed and talk about it then?”

you reach over, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

“oh my god, i think you just got me pregnant again.”

he raises an eyebrow, that playful glint returning to his eyes. “is that so?”

yoongi is washing dishes while you lay on the couch, munching on tangerines.

the soft scent of citrus fills the room, and your pregnant belly rests comfortably on the couch, the perfect table for the fruit.

“you know,” you start, looking down at your belly with a grin, “my tummy’s really the perfect table for tangerines.”

yoongi glances over, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he wipes his hands on a towel. “of course it is. a convenient little snack spot.”

you giggle, reaching for another tangerine, but yoongi sets the dish towel down and walks over to you, his steps slow and deliberate. he dips his head low to press a soft kiss to your lips, but before you can react, he pulls away slightly, taking a tangerine from your mouth instead.

“i knew you were saving that one for me,” he murmurs, a smirk playing on his lips as he settles down beside you.

you laugh softly, offering him the next segment of tangerine, but he shakes his head, instead pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around your body, his chest against your back. his breath is warm against your ear as he nuzzles your neck.

“i missed you,” he whispers.

“you did?” you tease, tilting your head back to look at him, your hand resting on his arm. “is that why you’re so clingy?”

yoongi laughs quietly, the sound soft and affectionate, before his lips find yours in a slow, lingering kiss. the world outside fades as you both settle into the quiet of the moment, the only sound being your breathing and his heart's soft, steady beat against your back.

everything grows more heated.

more urgent.

as he pulls you even closer, his lips moving to your neck, his hands roaming over your body with a gentle insistence. you don’t pull away, instead melting into him, your own hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt.

he pauses, looking at you with a small smile, his forehead resting against yours.

“you’re so perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with affection.

you smile, running your fingers through his hair.

“so are you.”

you’re obsessed with yoongi’s lips.

maybe that’s why you cum fast and hard as he presses, drags, and uses them to suck on your clit. he knows all the right places to get your toes curling and your eyes wincing. you grip his hair, grinding your pussy into his face more and more. his hot breath adds a depth you can’t quite explain.

it’s good.

so fucking good.

“mhmm,” you moan. “y-yoongi…”

he does a few kitten licks, slurping up the last few drops of your cum from inside your folds. looking up at you, you feel your chest tighten as he maintains eye contact.

yoongi finishes you off and you lose your breath.

quickly, he hovers over and takes his shirt off. you sit up and raise your hands. he helps you take your dress off, revealing you in just your bra.

and god…

are your tits the best thing he’s ever seen.

wow.

they’re plump and just so perfect. he practically drools at the sight of them. yoongi can’t stop his hands from cupping them over your bra. you gasp from his touch and whine;

“my nipples… they’re still so sensitive.”

suddenly both of you recall that night he came over and how one thing led to another… how he looked at you as he sucked your tits and palmed them. how he looked at you as he tugged on your nipples… how he massaged them until the soreness was gone.

how good he was at playing with them.

yoongi lowers himself and kisses your hard nipples.

“that okay?” he asks you.

“y-yeah,” you shiver from his light touch. “feels good…”

“okay,” he breathes. “i… just wanna make sure… you’re okay with this? do you want to have sex? we don’t have to. i can just—”

you reach for him and tug him close. kissing him deep and slow, you pull away and lean your forehead against his.

“yeah.”

that’s all he needs.

yoongi smiles and kisses you once more before taking his underwear off. revealing himself, your throat goes dry.

sometimes, it baffles you how fucking big he is.

no fucking wonder you got pregnant after the first time.

you reach for his cock, but he jolts away. he spits on it, keeping his eyes on you.

“don’t worry about me,” yoongi assures you. “i’ll cum no matter what.”

you scoff at him.

“but i wanna—mhmmmffffppph—”

as yoongi kisses you, he shifts his body to your side. he lays behind you, stretching his arms to cup your body. once he’s comfortable, he reaches for his cock and jerks it off a few more times before inserting it inside you. he spoons you, holding you close and resting his chin on top of your head.

when he’s fully in, you let out a moan.

“oh my god…”

“mhm?” he breathes. “is it okay? are you comfortable?”

you nod and take his hand. you move it to you breast and have him squeeze it.

“keep going, honey.”

yoongi kisses the top of your head and begins to fuck you from behind. as he does so, you feel him everywhere. his dick is so fucking big, it’s hard not to. as he fucks you, each stroke makes you feel like you’re coming to life. like, you weren’t living until he put himself inside you.

he moves slowly but surely, being careful with the way his pelvis slaps against your ass. you make cute little noises that boost his ego and all he can think is;

fuck.

he’s in love.

as he fucks himself more and more into you, you begin to lose your breath. yoongi takes his hand off your tits and moves them down to your clit. he plays with it, pinching, squishing, and rubbing it. you moan louder and louder—unable to contain how good he makes you feel.

“f-fuck,” you utter. “yoongi… oh my god…”

“yeah?” he hisses. “you like this? am i fucking you good, mama?”

“so good, daddy. so fucking good… u-uhhh! uh huh… mhmmmm!”

he hisses.

“i’m gonna cum,” yoongi pants, breathing in through his nose. “are you close?”

you gulp. “almost?”

“almost?” he repeats. “okay. let’s change positions.”

before you know it, yoongi pulls himself out and gets you to lay flat on your back. he gets on top of you, planting both his arms on either side of you. instantly, he lowers himself to kiss you. his hands move to your hair as yours wrap around his back.

you dig your nails into his skin, dragging them down. then, you lower your hands even more and find his dick. you flick your wrist, gripping on it just enough. you pump him a few times before shoving his dick back inside you.

when his cock is fully inside, you moan into his ear.

“oh god… daddy, your cock is so fucking hard. i’m so wet, so close to cumming…”

“mhm?” yoongi moans. “yeah, mama?”

“y-yeah,” you gasp. “can you cum inside me again, daddy? i miss how it feels. so sticky… so creamy. you remember, right? how tight i got when you made me cum? did you cock get rock hard when you came inside me? hmm? can you make your cum special for me?”

yoongi gulps.

“special for you? how so, mama?”

you kiss him.

“dunno,” you bite your lip. “give me a lot, please. extra creamy. extra yummy.”

he snickers, thrusting inside you harder and harder.

“i’ll do by best.”

“o-ohh,” you moan again. “mhm! j-just like that, daddy! o-ohh.. oh! oh my god. yes, yes, yes—oh my god!”

soon, your whines and moans turn into sobs.

you’re actually fucking sobbing over his dick.

yoongi fucks you so good, your pussy swells. he fucks you hard but in a gentle enough way that you two are still being cautious over the bump between you two. every so often, he shifts to kiss your tummy.

then finally, your breath hitches, and your legs begin to shake.

you cum.

“y-yoongi—”

“i got you,” he says, holding you tighter.

you wrap your arms around his shoulder blade and bury your face in the crook of his neck. his sweat smells so good to you.

as you ride your climax, yoongi continues to fuck you. he grunts, trying to push himself to the limit. he drags his dick inside and out of you—trying his best to gather all his cum.

then, he spills himself inside you.

“fuckkk…” he groans.

you feel it.

you feel his cum squirt inside you. you feel it spill out of your hole and down your folds. you feel it leak onto the bed.

“thank you, daddy.. thank you.”

“anything for you, mama.”

lazily, yoongi continues to fuck you.

you kiss his shoulders as he whimpers;

“___?”

“mhmm?” you move your hands to his hair. there’s a silence that follows, but nothing changes. he doesn’t move and neither do you.

and you feel it.

you know it.

then, he says it.

“i love you.”

and with a flutter in your heart, his cum inside your pussy, and his baby inside you… you say it too.

“i love you too.”

#bts smau #yoongi scenario #yoongi smau #yoongi fanfic #bts texting scenario #yoongi fake texts #yoongi imagine #bts imagine #yoongi x yn #yoongi x ox

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solxamber · 2 months ago

Note

Hihii!!!

Can I get uhhh Ignihyde number 6 with fluff plsw!!

(I absolutely ADORE your writing btw!!!❤️❤️)

One More Time || Idia Shroud

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "Say that again" ; Genre: Fluff

a/n: and thank you so much i appreciate it <3

It’s late—so late that Grim has probably already devoured all the snacks in the fridge without you to stop him—but you’re at Idia’s room anyway, perched on his bed while he works at his desk. The soft glow of his computer monitors reflects off the sharp angles of his face, and the hum of his servers fills the comfortable silence.

You’re rambling about your day—some chaos with Ace, Deuce, and Grim that somehow didn’t end in disaster for once—and Idia’s surprisingly attentive. Every so often, he mutters a response, glancing back at you with his usual nervous-but-curious expression.

Then you say it.

“I don’t know why, but being here with you makes everything better.”

The screwdriver in his hand clatters to the desk. You blink, confused. “Idia?”

He stiffens, his back to you, and you can just barely see the ends of his hair flicker pink. “Wh-what did you just say?”

“I said being here with you makes everything better,” you repeat, slower this time, like he might’ve misheard.

The pink intensifies, his shoulders hunching as though he’s trying to fold himself into his hoodie. He doesn’t turn around. “N-no way. That’s not… that’s not something people just say. Are you trolling me?”

“Why would I be trolling you?” you ask, crossing your arms. “I mean it.”

He's muttering under his breath, and you catch the words “broken logic” and “glitched reality.” You roll your eyes and stand up, stepping closer until you’re standing beside him.

“Idia,” you say softly. “I mean it. You make me happy.”

He freezes completely. You can hear him breathing—fast, shallow, like a bird that just noticed it’s trapped. Slowly, he turns to look at you, wide-eyed, his hair glowing pink.

“Say that again,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

“I said you make me happy,” you repeat, your voice just as quiet. “You make everything better.”

He stares at you, his mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something but doesn’t know where to start. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he blurts out, “I—I like you. Like, like-like you. Like, my whole party is wiped, and you’re the only revive potion I have left kind of ‘like.’”

You blink. “What?”

He groans, burying his face in his hands. “Oh no. I said it. I confessed. That’s it. Game over. You’re gonna run screaming, and I’m gonna have to transfer schools and change my name and—”

“Idia,” you interrupt, grabbing his wrists and gently pulling his hands away from his face. “I like you too.”

He stares at you, the tips of his hair flickering pink like a glitching neon sign. “You… what?”

“I like you too,” you repeat, a smile tugging at your lips. “And I think you're adorable.”

For a second, he just stares, completely frozen. Then his hair bursts into a brilliant shade of pink as he slumps forward, burying his face in your shoulder.

“You’re—ugh, you’re so corny,” he mutters, his voice muffled.

“You like it,” you tease, reaching up to gently pet his hair.

He groans dramatically but doesn’t pull away. “I can’t believe this is happening. This has to be a dream. Or a bug in the system.”

“It’s real,” you assure him, laughing softly.

And as you sit there, holding him in your arms, you’re pretty sure his shy, glowing smile is the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #idia shroud x reader #idia x reader #idia shroud #idia #𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 holiday event

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danveration · 1 year ago

Text

Wherever you go, I won't be far to follow

Parings: Creepy!Vox x GN!reader

Summary: Vox is obsessed with you and he uses his VoxTek to stalk you

Word count: 1437

Warnings: Obsessive behaviour, one mention of Vox getting a hard-on, Vox being delusional, jealousy, k*lling, Vox jerking off

A/N: First time writing for Vox!! I got this idea from some amazing person on discord:’) I immediately went insane w the idea and had to write it up

“I can’t get them out of my HEAD!” He yells angrily, banging his fists on the table.

Valentino and Velvet have noticed his behaviour towards you and tried to talk sense into him.

“They’re nothing special, Vox! Just another sinner. Get over them.”

“You tell us to not ruin our reputation but look at you. You’re a mess.”

“Maybe just.. go talk to them? Instead of being a fucking creep.”

Vox doesn’t listen. He wants to know what you’re doing 24/7 and who you’re doing it with. He has cameras set up everywhere. In your room, bathroom, hotel (as you’re currently living at the hazbin hotel), the street lights. Absolutely everywhere. He doesn’t want to meet you just yet, not until he learns everything about you so he can charm you off your feet.

You don’t even know him. You’ve heard of him through hell, yes. But you’ve never actually seen him face to face. Alastor has told you all that he isn’t anything to worry about, in which you believe him. Apparently he owns all the electronics in hell or something like that? You’ve seen posters of him and you think it’s kinda neat how he has a full on tv head as a face. But other than that, you never gave much thought to him.

———————————————————————

Today was just another day. You woke up, took a shower, went downstairs to have breakfast, and hung out at the hotel. Nothing of which you thought anything of, it’s just a normal boring day.

But Vox on the other hand thought differently. He thought everything you did was the most exciting, interesting thing ever.

“Oh! Fuck fuck fuck, they’re waking up.” He says, getting closer to one of the MANY tv screens he has in this room.

He looks at you in awe, touching the tv screen gently.

“So fucking cute when they’re waking up. Look at them, my god.” He whispers.

He watches you as you get out of bed, yawning. Watches you get undressed, and into the shower.

“Such a perfect body. I’d treat you so right. Better than anyone else could.” He says as he watches you wash yourself. He feels himself get a hard-on, but ignores it. He needs to have all his attention on you.

Watching you shower, learning your routine and what product you use, he stores all the information in one of his computer folders.

After you get out, he watches you choose what clothing to wear.

“Aww, that’s my favourite top on you.” He says in awe.

Then, you go downstairs to eat and hangout with your fellow hotel members.

Vox knows all your favourite foods and least favourite foods, to when you come over to live with him one day. He wants everything to be perfect. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger.

“You’re gonna haaavee..” He starts while you’re picking out what to eat.

“Fruit with cereal!” He shouts just as you pick it up.

“HAHA! Fucking knew it.” He says.

After you eat, he watches you interact with people.

He hates it. Hates when you talk to other people. What if they get too close to you? What if you like them more than him? So many thoughts cross his mind.

“Oh don’t you dare talk to-“ He starts while you’re walking up to Alastor.

You start talking to Alastor about something and Vox’s eye twitches.

He remains keeping his cool, but inside he wants to march over there and take you away. But he can’t do that, can he? That would be a horrible first impression! Even though he’s sure you’d fall for him in no time, he can’t risk it.

Right now, you’re sitting on a chair, scrolling through your phone.

Of course, Vox has hacked your phone too. He has another tv in which he can see exactly what you see.

He’s intently watching you play Angry Birds, when an ad comes up. Not just any ad, but a VoxTek ad.

You’re intrigued because this is the “Vox” you’ve heard of. You click it and Vox almost falls over.

“OH MY GOD. YOU-“ He scrambles to get as close as possible to the screen.

You start scrolling through the VoxTek website. It seems pretty cool, honestly. There’s a lot of “Trust us.” quotes, which you find kinda suspicious. But nonetheless, you’ve been wanting a new laptop since yours broke a while back. Why not give it a go?

You find a good priced laptop that actually seems like it’ll work really well, so you decided to buy it online.

Vox’s eyes widen.

“YOU- I-“ He stares in shock. You bought something from HIS website. You KNOW about him, it’s confirmed now.

He has the great idea to hand-deliver you the laptop. That’s a great first impression isn’t it?

He jumps up and goes to put on his best outfit. Making sure he looks 11/10. He cleans his screen, puts a mint in his mouth, and walks to the room where they keep all their product, finding the one you ordered.

He looks to his right, seeing the one you ordered, but then he looks down and sees one that’s 10x the money you paid for that one, and it’s their BEST laptop. It has so many features that he knows you’ll use. It’s their most high end product. He’s gotta give you that one instead. You deserve it.

He picks it up and puts it into a box, sealing it and putting a nice red bow on it. He kisses it and walks out.

“Vox? Where are you going? You’re looking quite fancy.” Valentino stops him as he’s about to walk out of the building.

“Oh nowhere!” Vox answers as he walks out. He doesn’t want Val to give him a hard time about this.

Val looks in question, but just walks off.

As Vox is walking to the hotel, he’s rehearsing his lines.

“Ah! Y/n. Hello there, I’m here to give you your laptop.” He mumbles. “No that sounds so fucking.. Hi, Y/n! Here’s your laptop.”

He mumbles a bunch of fraises when finally, he arrives on the doorstep.

He adjusts his bow tie and takes a deep breathe, knocking on the door.

You perk up at a knock on the door, you’re the only one at the hotel right now, other than Niffty. You go to answer it, wondering who it’ll be.

As you open the door, Vox’s heart stops.

It’s.. Vox? That tv guy! That’s weird, you literally just ordered a laptop from his site about 20 minutes ago.

He’s staring at you, mouth open.

“Uh.. hello?” You say with a questionable tone.

“Oh! Oh, shit. Hi! I’m here to hand deliver you that laptop you ordered.” He chuckles. “Well, actuallyyy, I got you a better one.” He whispers that last part.

You’re very confused. Do they hand deliver every laptop that someone buys?

“Oh um.. thank you! Thanks a lot.” You say, reaching out to take the box.

“Oh of course!” He says with a smile, handing it over to you.

“Do you like the bow? I picked it out just for you, Y/n.” He says.

You feel a weird sensation in your stomach when he says your name. How’d he..? I guess you have to put your name in the website when you order it. So that’s probably how he knows your name!

“Oh yeah! It’s.. a great bow.” You chuckle awkwardly.

You stand their in silence as he’s looking at you, seemingly so to be admiring you.

He realizes this is probably weird for you and takes a step back.

“Well! Haha. It was nice to meet you.” He says with a smile, sticking out his hand for you to shake.

Adjusting the box to hold it with one hand, you take your other one and shake his hand. As you do, you feel an electric shock.

“S-sorry about that.” He says, pulling his hand away.

“Oh it’s alright, don’t worry!” You answer, finding it kinda interesting.

Vox’s internal monologue is screaming. He just TOUCHED your hand. He’s never washing this hand. Ever.

He doesn’t want to leave but he knows he overstayed his welcome. It doesn’t matter though, he will see you again soon. There will be more meetings, more and more and more until you beg to see him.

“Cya, Y/n!” He waves at you, walking away with a satisfied smile.

“Bye!” You say, walking inside.

He goes home and jerks off to the hand you touched, moaning your name and cumming all over himself.

He’s got it bad for you.

#:vox #my works #hazbin hotel #vox #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #vox hazbin #vox hazbin hotel #vox habin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #vox x you #vox imagine #vox smut #dark!vox #vox hazbin x reader #vox x reader hazbin hotel

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luveline · 6 months ago

Note

hey jadee! How are you??

could you write a next part for the coworker James au?? Maybe something like them going on a date or Sirius and remus suspecting that they are more touchy with each other <33

coworker james | ty for requesting!! fem

Remus Lupin is a long list of things, and nowhere on that list is idiot. Nor gullible, nor unobservant. He sees exactly how you and James are touching one another these days, but he’s decided to keep it to himself for now.

After all, if James had cottoned on to his first tryst with Sirius there probably wouldn’t have been a second, and then a date; love is vulnerable in the beginning to embarrassment.

Still, you both must know how ridiculous you’re being where James has taken your hand under the table. You’re struggling to hide the shyness in your smile, and James is all too brash as he pulls your hand further toward him. Your desk chairs squeak in sync. Whenever Remus gets up for a drink, he can see James pressing your hand to his knee as he leans against his desk to hide it. He’s just a second too slow, because Remus is suspicious of you to begin with.

Remus gets up. Watches in gentle ridicule as his best friend of more than ten years thinks he’s convincing as James yawns and rests his head on the desk, sandwiching your hand between his knees.

It’s adorable but stupid. Remus turns back as he walks off to watch you laugh in your seat. “Stupid,” Remus thinks you’re saying. Apt.

Remus abandons James and his new sweetheart to find his own.

Sirius is a salesperson, a rare role at their water testing company, but he does it well when he’s not messing around. Remus watches from afar as Sirius readies the elastic band-pen catapult with a mento, aimed at the side of their unwitting coworkers head.

Remus creeps up behind him. “Don’t.”

Sirius flinches, his catapult suddenly aimed in the wrong place and set loose. The mento hits his computer with a thunk and bounces back into a steaming cup of coffee.

“Remus,” Sirius says, turning to him with a frown, “we talked about this.”

“You talked about this and I listened without accepting the terms. Can we go out for lunch?”

Sirius’ facade of arrogance disappears. “Well, of course we can. Is there something wrong?”

Remus would like to have Sirius get up and hug him. Like, to grab him tightly and kiss him as he would at home, only both of them might die from embarrassment, and so he’ll have to ferry him to a restaurant for a half an hour of their knees pressed together, enough touch to get him to the end of the day when he can make Sirius climb into bed with him early.

“You’re making that face,” Sirius says. “Like I’ve done something wrong. What did I do? I feel a distinct sense of injustice about this one considering we haven’t seen each other since I brought you your coffee this morning.”

Sirius is nice to look at. As they get older, there are some marked changes in their appearances no one was expecting, Remus would wager. Sirius’ hair seems to get finer, his eyes darker, where Remus’ hair is better kept shorter, his middle softer. James has turned to muscle. He’s lean, still, but solid. All these changes, and yet no love is lost.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says, gently now, his eyebrows crinkling with confusion.

“No,” Remus shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. You didn’t do anything. I’m just thinking about something.”

“Something important, it looks like.”

“It might be.” Remus puts his hand to Sirius’ neck. His hand is very familiar with Sirius’ neck and his soft hair, in the same way Sirius’ neck knows every callus of Remus’ fingers. “Lunch now?”

“Sure, my darling.” Sirius puts on his jacket and takes Remus’ arm. “Let’s grab your coat.”

“Not sure we should go back my way.”

“Why’s that?”

“I think something is actually, properly going on with James and Y/N.”

“He clearly fancies her.”

Remus slows their pace as they approach the doorway leading back toward the finance nook. “It’s a bit more than fancying,” Remus says under his breath.

James is playing with your fingers. It’s hard to see, underneath the desk is dark, but it’s like what Remus tends to do with Sirius’ hands at the cinema, two hands holding your one, twiddling your fingers without purpose. Remus stands extremely still.

“Can you send that to me?” you’re asking. “I can’t keep track of all these files. Who’s managing the account?”

“It’s Cory, I think…”

Mundane conversation, and then, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Maybe it’s my fault. We need better organisation on our end, the shared onedrive is always changing, that’s not easy for you, or anyone.” He hums to himself, a breath. “You have lovely hands.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You do, you have… They’re really soft.”

“I think you’ve rubbed the top layer of skin off,” you say, though your voice is lightening, almost thin.

“If they weren’t so nice I wouldn’t have to.”

“My fault again.”

“Isn’t everything?” James asks.

Sirius turns to Remus with a shake of his head. “What sort of indecent exposure is that?” Sirius whispers.

Remus yanks him backward just as James’ head turns their direction. They hold their breath, grinning at one another —hiding in alcoves isn’t something they’ve had to do together in years. After a few moments, they peek their heads around at the same time.

James has gotten up from his chair to stand behind you. They watch as he curls forward, wrapping and arm around your front, his lips at your ear. No clue what he’s said, but Remus can guess. You laugh and move away from James like he’s tickled you.

“Come on, no one’s here,” James says, pulling you against his chest again with visible tenderness, “Remus must’ve gone to lunch.”

“Or he’s making tea, and we’re about to be caught.”

“He left his mug.”

“But not his jacket.”

“Oh, so smart,” James croons, his nose dipping into the curve of your neck.

“And on company time,” Sirius says. “Well, you can wear my coat, handsome. Let’s leave them to it, should we?”

Remus beams. That’s why he likes his Sirius as much as he does, besides a great many shoulder rubs and gifted first editions. He’s thoughtful, and kind, and not many people suspect it of him.

Remus looks pointedly away from James where he’s tipping your head back to hold Sirius’ hand. “What do you want for lunch?” he asks.

Sirius squeezes his fingers. Somewhere in the nook, James kisses you with your face upside down.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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cheriecoke · 9 months ago

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˚₊‧꒰ა cold embrace (provenance) — fyodor dostoevsky

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. you buy a two hundred year old house with a two hundred year old painting hanging above the mantel. it's not the only thing the previous owner left behind.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. ghost!fyodor, f!reader, violence, angst, death, alternate / modern universe, no smut but it is suggestive, fyodor is kind of a pervy ghost so, wc: 6.1k

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈. this one has two titles bc it was supposed to be for my kinktober... never finished it. embarrassing ! but here is a semi-revamped version for this series! i can finally check it off my wips page <3 idk how i feel about it but i hope you enjoy

part of my summerween series !

A chime from the grandfather clock brings Fyodor out of his stupor, the sound signaling another day, another meaningless hour that will only continue his eternal misery. He’s grown used to it now—evening after evening of emptiness, of reading nothing but the same books, playing the same pieces of dull sheet music, and the lifeless chess matches against himself. The house is cold with only his presence, dusty without a housekeeper and a life to make it a home.

There are a million things in Fyodor’s life that he must have done to deserve this misery, but he can’t pinpoint which one solidified his reward of a lamentable, endless cycle.

He’s certain hell is better than this. It’s something he wishes for every day, if only to have an eternal companion with the devil, a challenge to overcome.

Though, even with this boredom, Fyodor refuses to let anyone live in his home. They’ll only serve to be another pain, something that would, surely, push him past the brink of sanity.

The centuries old décor will get replaced with gaudy twenty-first century items, ones that will be nothing more than an eyesore. There are a few already scattered around his home from previous tenants, but only things that he believed useful enough for him to keep; a few books from authors he didn’t live to read, a television from the nineties, a computer that he watched one couple scroll on before he murdered them in cold blood.

Perhaps he is two hundred years dead and gone, but he refuses to be an ignorant ghost, one that is unaware of anything beyond these four walls, caught forever in the past.

Although now, it’s been a while since anyone’s tried to move in, and he’s certain the only reason the house hasn’t been torn down is because its preserved nicely, an eighteenth-century home that has withstood the test of time.

Fyodor, in his lowest moments, wishes they would tear it down. Maybe then, and only then, can he be set free. Or maybe, he’s forever trapped in this exhaustive lot, doomed to decay, even when there’s nothing left of the foundations but soil.

He pushes a pawn forward on the board, putting himself in checkmate for the millionth time in a row. It’s been so long that he’s used to his own tricks. Even the computer, which he’d come to understand quickly, is no match for him. It’s far too exhaustive to play against a machine that utilizes an algorithm he can so easily decipher.

Out of nowhere, the front door unlocks, and Fyodor glances over at the sound, dark hair falling over his eyes. Seconds later, he notices an older realtor with a clipboard leading you around, a woman he’s never seen, dressed up nicely with a darker shade of lipstick smeared across your mouth.

He’s been through this before. It’s a miracle the realtor hasn’t given up on this house yet, a mansion she is determined to sell despite the endless horrors that have been committed by his hand.

“Here it is,” she says, nervous, gesturing around the expansive hall, the crystal chandelier and staircase that immediately follows. “It was built in 1731, but one of the owners remolded it in the style of the mid-nineteenth century. The structure has been stabilized; it’s safe… enough.”

The two of you chat, but he doesn’t bother to listen in. It’s all questions of: when can I move in? can we negotiate? — things you will come to regret once he sets his sights on killing you.

Then, the realtor is sighing, wringing her hands together as she watches you spin around the house in awe. It’s clear that you’re impressed by the layout, the rich furniture and colors that have been used.

That, at least, satisfies Fyodor. Everyone else who has moved in was looking to upgrade it to a modern style, rid the place of its aged grace and charm.

“I’m truly sorry,” she says, brushing curly hair away from her cheekbones. “But I am legally obligated to tell you that every person who has lived here before has suffered a terrible, terrible fate. There have been gruesome murders that cannot be explained, done in ways that I don’t even want to tell you about.”

You laugh, eyeing her with skepticism. “Are you telling me it’s haunted?”

The realtor shrugs. “That’s what people say.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” you answer, and Fyodor rolls his eyes, scoffing as he floats to the second floor, unable to listen into the unreasonable conversation anymore. It’s been the same story for decades. No one believes in ghosts, but it is always a ghost that kills them.

He returns to the chess board, irritated, though unable to consider the game any further. Your face is stuck in his mind. For some reason, he can’t remember the last time he’s ever seen anyone with such beauty.

Fyodor stops; your ageless elegance doesn’t matter—it can’t, and it won’t. You’ll be dead by the end of the month, when you gather all your things and invade the bedroom that was once his own. Even if you are beautiful, you are a nuisance, a threat to Fyodor’s eternal torment and quiet existence.

Still, he can’t help but wonder if it would be nice to have something other than his own thoughts to distract him from the endless misery.

You move in on the thirteenth of June, nothing more than a few boxes and a decade old car to keep you company. He guesses you’ve traveled a long distance to get here, and you’ve gotten rid of half of your life in the process.

A good thing for him. That means things can be over relatively quickly, and all your belongings can be disposed of easily after he kills you.

You spend the entire first day unpacking, and Fyodor waits patiently, allows you time to get comfortable in his home. He watches as you bring a stack of thick novels into the waiting room, which once boasted large parties, and place them on a shelf below those that have his name within the covers.

You take a few calls as you hang up your autumn coats, ones that won’t be needed for a few months. The voice on the other line sounds frantic, worried. A local, most likely. You only seem annoyed by his continuous string of anxieties.

When the sun sets, and you grow tired, you rub your eyes and head to bed. The first night you will spend in this place that Fyodor likens to Hell.

It’s the time he’s been waiting for—a moment to catch you off guard. You are so unsuspecting, already so at home in the mansion, that you have no fear of anything hurting you in the middle of the night.

While you get ready for bed, Fyodor slips into your room, observing the pieces of your life that have conquered his bedroom. A soft classical piece plays from your phone, one that he recognizes from his mortal life. Clearly, you are fascinated by the period he once lived in. A shame, really, he won’t be able to tell you more about it.

You leave the bathroom, come back towards him to change into a pair of small shorts, a large shirt hanging over your frame.

He’s forgotten how long it’s been since he’s seen a woman, how long since he’s touched one.

Fyodor finds himself distracted by your body, the smoothness of your skin. His eyes travel over your legs, your hips, the fullness of your breasts and ignores how much he desires to let his thumb graze over your flesh. There is something so soft about you, so gentle and innocent.

Perhaps, that is where his fascination stems from: he has always been the opposite. Even in his human existence, Fyodor was not a kind man, and he doesn’t plan on becoming one now that he is dead.

He shakes away the vision, the thoughts that swirl within his mind. It has been far too long since he has experienced any sort of pleasure, and maybe even a man as cold as himself is not immune to the desires that course within his veins.

Though he tries to be. He ignores his arousal desperately in exchange for a renewed bloodlust.

You climb into bed, put your phone on the white cord, and shut your eyes. Thirty minutes later, you’re sleeping soundly, soft puffs of air leaving your lips as you sleep.

It’s the opportune moment. The silver knife gleams brightly in his hand, streaks of moonlight tracing over the slanted point. It’s the same blade he’s killed every other new tenant with, their screams still echo in the halls like a harmonious melody each time he bring the knife down on another unknowing victim.

He stands before you at the side of the bed, watches as your chest rises and falls, the evidence of your life undeniable. You are a lovely image like this, something to be painted and adored; more beautiful than many of the women he’d met in his time, even those who were of the finest elite in the country.

Fyodor presses the blade to your throat, contemplative. He considers how much lovelier you will look with the scarlet stain of blood seeping down your neck, spraying across the room and ruining the fresh sheets. Will you awaken, gasping as you claw at your throat, or will you drift away without even understanding what has become of you?

He pictures it, and digs the blade close to your throat, nothing more than a pinprick of blood flowering there.

You don’t awaken; but you a little sound leaves you, something between a gasp and a moan, and you shift away from the knife gripped between his pale fingers. It’s a sound that has him pausing, musing, as he regards your vulnerable state, a beautiful figure there with no clue that such a murderous man is also a resident in her home.

You make another one of those pretty noises in your throat, and Fyodor, against two centuries of murderous intent, pulls the knife away. He watches as you roll on your stomach, your shirt scrunching, moving up your body to reveal the undersides of your breasts. Your hand shifts towards him on the bed, reaching in his direction, before you still. Then, your breathing is back to normal, evened out completely.

Your lips part blissfully as you sigh in your sleep.

He can’t stop looking at you, can’t stop wondering what his name would sound like leaving the perfect swell of your mouth, if you’d sound just as pretty when you orgasm as you do when you’re asleep.

Surely, he can find a better use for you—it would be a shame for such a pretty thing to go out so early.

As he draws back, Fyodor notices the chess board on the side table, the pieces arranged nicely, each on the correct square. He can’t tell if you play. You could just have it for decoration, or perhaps it was a gift given to you from a lover that he hasn’t seen pictures of, the one that he’s certain someone as lovely as you must have.

The board is aged; not as old as the one in the drawing room, but a nice set, nonetheless. Fyodor glances back at your sleeping form once more, smiles coolly to himself, and shifts a pawn forward.

The chess piece is the first thing you notice in the morning.

It’s almost ridiculous how easily it catches your eye, a tiny little movement within the chaos that was your brand-new room. A pawn is on a different square, leering at you from the other wall, as if smiling, a flashing sign above its head, calling to you, hoping you’ll pay attention.

You almost think nothing of it; things can move, can’t they? Perhaps there was a shift in the earth overnight… Though, that makes little sense when you think about it rationally.

It’s strange, that much is certain. You remember the realtor telling you about the ghosts, and though you aren’t inclined to believe in haunted houses and scary stories, you find a part of yourself questioning the logic of the chess piece.

You are certain it was on the correct square before you slept.

It’s the only thing on your mind as you get ready, suffer through a tasteless breakfast, and throw on a rain jacket to combat the dreary weather. You’re meeting a friend for lunch—the only friend you have in this town. Sigma is the sole reason you decided to move here, instead of the other arbitrary cities that you’d been desperate to escape to.

Still, the board won’t leave your mind. You take one last glance at it before, on a whim, pushing the opposite color pawn forward as well.

Then you leave, hoping that a conversation with your friend will take your mind off the strangeness of that happenstance, the anxiety you feel about moving to a new place, a new job where no one knows you, a home that stays cold, despite the heat that reigns with long summers.

The walk to the cafe is short, but with the wind and the drizzling rain, you are miserable, your hands wrinkling from the dampness, even within your pockets.

Sigma is waiting for you, his lavender and white hair loose over his shoulders as he peruses the menu, eyes darting across it like he’s never read it before.

You sit, offer him a greeting, and though your conversation is cordial, the two of you catching up on your day, you eventually ask the question you’ve been dying to know.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Sigma stops, puts the utensil back down on his plate, and regards you with a thin frown. “Did something happen?”

You think of the chess piece, wonder if another will be moved when you get home. “No, but—”

“I told you not to move into that house,” he says, eyes narrowing. Sigma refuses to step into that mansion, grows anxious every time you mention it. “Over ten people have died there. Do you want to get murdered?”

“No particularly,” you say, staring at him flatly, your mouth pulling into a line. “But I’ve made it one night already. I’ll be fine.”

A hard laugh leaves him, as he shakes his head, unamused by your cheekiness. “That’s what they all say, isn’t it? Then they all die.”

“Very dramatic.” You take a long sip of your water. Sigma’s features don’t crack in the slightest as he stares at you, waiting for you to continue. “I’m not scared. I just want to know if you believe in ghosts or not… Because I don’t.”

Sigma’s eyes flit across your face, searching for any hint of a lie, for any signs of fear. When he finds none, his hands stretch across the table, lacing them together as he glares. “Whether you believe in ghosts or not doesn’t matter. There’s something evil about that house, and you’re putting yourself in danger by living there.”

The conversation with Sigma weighs on your mind for hours after, when you return home, still thinking about the chess board. It was just as you’d left it, two pawns moved forward, staring each other down menacingly. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You sigh and finally put it out of your mind. It was just a coincidence, that’s all. The piece was probably on the wrong square all along, and you’d been too tired last night to notice it.

Instead, you focus your sights on unpacking, and contemplate what to do with the portrait hanging above the mantel.

It’s a dusty old thing, one that the previous owners had, for some reason, never taken down. It had hung over the mantel for centuries, the corners faded from the sun, but the sinister grin of the subject never losing its effect.

You tilt your head, stare at it from a different angle. Looking at it that way, you could, perhaps, see why the painting appealed to them. It’s old, with a style from a different century, and the man composed of deep shadows and pale colors is undeniably handsome. He seems out of place in the portrait, trapped there, too otherworldly to be captured on such a canvas. His features are sharp, molded out of something tougher than diamonds, something more beautiful than this plane is able to comprehend. His deep eyes seem to know all as they stare at you, trace you across the room.

For minutes, you are hypnotized, before a wave of disgust washes over you, and you turn away, unable to look at it any longer. You’ll sell it, you decide. Maybe it will be worth a pretty penny.

That evening, you decide to look into it, but the search into a local art dealer doesn’t get far. When you sit down at your laptop, beginning to type your question into the browser, the lid shuts on your fingertips.

It takes a moment for you to register what had happened. A faint sting dances along the back of your hands, your knuckles tender as you lift the lid back up. Lines bounce along the screen, as if the imprint of your hand had made its way into the pixels, matching the pulse of your nerves.

You curse lowly, hoping that a reset will fix the issue.

The lid had just fallen, nothing serious. It was a newer model, but those things could happen. Issues with the manufacturing, with the way it was assembled. Technology fails you all the time.

You hold the power button, irritated, and upset, when a horrible, screeching noise echoes from the computer. Nothing but a shrill scream, the speakers begging you for help. You slam it shut once more, and the noise stops, but your heartbeat doesn’t slow down.

Shit.

Tomorrow, you’ll have to take it in, and see if anyone can discern the issues. It’s not ideal, but there’s so many things to still need to do, and a broken laptop makes those things very difficult.

You sigh, pushing the chair back into the table. The portrait looms above you as you retreat back to your room, hands shaking. It’s irrational, you know it is, but you swear his eyes follow you all the way up the stairs.

It doesn’t take long for you to start believing in the ghost that is haunting your manor, the one who has let you live for a week and who plays a new game of chess every time your back is turned. Whoever it is, they are much better than you; so far, you’ve lost twice—haven’t even gotten close to winning.

He hides things from you, items that you are needing for the next day, papers that you can’t submit to work on time because the important files have been stashed away.

You find your books opened to paragraphs the ghost seemingly finds interesting, your sheet music scattered in a mess when you return. The candles get blown out unexpectedly, and doors slam when you’re not suspecting it.

If he’s trying to scare you—it isn’t working. You remain in the house, sometimes talking to him like he’s a friend, whispering amongst the walls that know all of the secrets in your home.

You stop at the library on your free weekend, flipping through a dusty copy of the local legends, only stopping when you find your home. There’s a copy of the painting there—your painting, the one that still hangs above your mantel, despite your better judgment.

Beside it, there’s a painting of your home, done when the house was first built. The outside of it is a differently color entirely, the garden in front blooming with pink and yellow flowers. It looks cheerful; the home of a warm and loving family, inviting and kind to each of the neighborhood children. Nothing like the dark manor it is today, with a dead garden in the front and shutters that keep even an ounce of light out.

You read the pages proceeding the painting. The first owner had been a kind man, but the next were not such. After the original owner lost his wealth, he sold the house, passed it to a line of greedy men, ones that were focused only on their money. For a century, it went on this way—until a man named Fyodor Dostoevsky purchased the home for twice as much as it once was.

He was the one who changed it, renovated it, upgraded it to his own personal style, ensuring that it fit in with the times and his own opinions of luxury. Fyodor was charming, but ruthless, deadly with his own intelligence, owning half the town as they lost their money to his schemes.

Fyodor’s rein came to an end when he was poisoned by his closest friend, perhaps the one man he had trusted. It was the first murder in a string of ones to follow within the house.

You close the book, unsure if you regret the knowledge you’d gained or not.

The house feels colder now that you know the history of it. As if you can see the cruelty etched into every wall. Colors of the home bleed into each other, a pastel yellow of warmth and light, and the next room empty, almost uninhabitable, with its royal purples.

You stare at the portrait as you make dinner, feeling like you can never escape the gaze of those oil painted eyes. He has a name now—Fyodor. It feels even more disarming now that you know more about him than he’ll ever know about you.

And though Fyodor watches you, every night, from every angle, you convince yourself it’s just the way that the painting is situated. It would be foolish to think that he’s really watching every move you make, irises pinned on your form, unblinking.

The oven heats up behind you as you cut up your food, humming a soft tune to yourself. It’s getting hotter outside – you’d almost forgotten how miserable the summers could be. You forget every year, even though you’ve lived many.

Just as you’re getting lost in your thoughts, going through a list of things that need to get done in your fixer-upper home, you hear a scratch behind you.

It’s a quick sound, so quick that you almost think it was only your imagination. It’s enough to give you pause, your humming fading out into the night as your eyes dart around your house. Although you’ve tried not to let urban legends get the best of you, you’re paranoid in this aged mansion now.

A few seconds pass. You listen to the sound of your own heartrate, feel it pounding in your chest as you will it to calm down. It’s just enough time for you to convince yourself that it was nothing, that you’re far too nervous about silly ghosts to think rationally.

Though as you turn, a knife flies from the counter, just grazing your cheek, but enough to cause a scratch to open up against the skin. Your finger draws away scarlet as you press it to the wound, staring at the painted crevices of your fingertip.

You can’t move. Despite every cell in your body begging, screaming at you to move, you’re frozen, trapped in the four walls of that kitchen as you stare at your bloodied hand.

It’s all a dream, you repeat to yourself. A dream.

One that you don’t wake up from.

Time passes strangely, when every muscle in your body is on edge, your head pounding from the anxiety that spikes throughout your nervous system. A bead of sweat drips from your temple, and though you aren’t sure how long you stand there, nothing else happens. The knife remains lodged in the wall behind you, and the ghost makes no other attempt to lodge one into your stomach.

It’s quiet. There’s no noise, save for the music that plays softly from your phone.

After you regain control of your racing heartrate, you realize that the song playing isn’t what you’d put on originally. It had switched to a gentle, classical piece. Tchaikovsky, you think… or something similar. Something that a man from a different era would be familiar with.

“Who’s there?” You find yourself saying, perhaps stupidly. “What do you want?”

There’s no response – of course there isn’t. You’re talking to the air. To a ghost. No one had gotten inside the house. You’d checked more than enough times, just as you always did.

“I live here now,” you offer, thinking that, perhaps anger is not the best course of action. Neither is fear, though, if the scary movies you’d watched as a teenager had been any indication. “But I’ll leave, if you want me to.”

There’s no answer to that either.

You sigh, and deflate once more, trying to make yourself believe that there was a logical explanation to knives flying and playlists changing. Just as you’d made yourself believe that everything the “ghost” had done before was just a game, innocently played.

Perhaps, there was never a ghost at all. It could be that stress is driving you to insanity.

With a glass of wine in your hand, you finish up dinner, feeling like you are at your wit’s end. How is it that only a few weeks in this house has already singed your mind, turned you into a believer of things that you are not?

The portrait feels like an omen, staring at you with violet eyes, as you wonder where Fyodor is now. Does he watch you when your home, cooking, as you shower, a vicious gaze tracing over each curve of your body, with a sickening thought of all the things he wishes to do to you?

You shiver. It’ s been a while since anyone’s looked at you with a hint of desire. The feeling has become foreign, now, but you can still recall the gratification that comes with being wanted, how it makes you feel, if only for a moment, comfortable in your own skin.

That thought alone quickly snaps you out of your irrational behavior. Thinking of a ghost wanting you? A man that had been buried in the earth for so long that his body would be nothing more than bones?

This house was making you sick, you concluded, wrapping your leftovers up in plastic and tinfoil, placing them in the fridge. Your nervous friend was right – you never should’ve moved into this house, and you never should have stayed this long.

Your hands shook along the banister, heart racing around every corner. You expected that, maybe, you would see a dark-haired spirit there, his body translucent, but still corporeal. Though, there was no spirit hiding within the depths of the shadows, lurking in the places where he still belonged. No sounds startled you, caused you to jump as you brushed your teeth, completed the one last routine of your day.

The bed was colder than usual as you climbed into it, like a flush of a cold spot had settled within the sheets. You remembered what they said about temperatures and ghosts—how they changed, nothing able to survive in the places that they haunted, as they were not of this world, but something in between, something unnatural.

Your lamp flickers as you turn it on, and it’s just one more red flag you choose to ignore. In houses as old as this one, there are issues like that. The wiring is faulty, the electric needs to be monitored, a laundry list of items you will probably never resolve.

There are a thousand rational conclusions, though, and only one irrational one, which puts your mind at ease. Things like flickering lamps and cold spots can be explained simply, even if knives flying at your face cannot.

Still, you settle into bed, deciding that you will talk to the realtor again soon. You’ll move in with Sigma if he’ll have you. Anything to put your mind at ease for good.

That night, you dream of Fyodor, as if he is there right in the room with you, looming above you with those deep, violent eyes. His fingers, long and pale, trace across your cheekbones, as your eyes flutter open, consciousness coming back to you.

He says your name – it’s no surprise he knows it, after living with you for so long. It’s spoken softly, with a hint of possession behind it, like you belong to him. And yet, you’ve never said a word to him, even if all this time, he’s gotten to know you better than anyone else ever has.

You expect a scream to leave your throat, some hint of surprise, of fear, even, to see a stranger in your bedroom. To see him watching you with those familiar eyes, hair falling over his pale forehead as he gazes down at you from the edge of the bed.

No sound emerges.

Your mind feels a little fuzzy, hazy at the edges as you blink at him, closer to a state of intoxication, than you are alertness. Despite that awareness, you can’t seem to snap out of it; maybe you don’t want to. Instead, you sink deeper into the warmth, the honeyed feeling that comes with turning off your rationality. Everything feels as if it’s coming through in blurred, rosy glasses.

“Fyodor,” you mouth, instead of the scream that you’d anticipated, his name coming out in two wistful syllables.

You should hate him – there’s something in your instincts pushing back at you. A flash of a knife, the days of chaos and uncertainty, where you were sure you were losing your mind, come back at you.

But none of that seems to matter now, as you trace your finger across his cheek, feeling the sharp indent below the high bone. His eyelashes are a shade lighter than his hair, soft as they flutter over his forehead. The portrait of him didn’t do him justice… or perhaps, it is in death that he has found his purest form.

“I’m too tired.”

You’re not sure where those words even come from. Calm, like this is nothing but routine, and waking up with Fyodor beside you is the closest thing to normalcy.

He smiles at you, leaning over you again on the bed, lips pulled tightly together in a morbid grin. It does little to sour your mood, to scare you into action, even if you can’t quite understand why.

“I know,” he replies.

It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak, a deep, accented sound smoothing against your ears as he traces his gaze against each of your features; musical, almost. His voice calms you, lulls you back into a meditative state.

You reach for him, in a trance, and twirl a strand of his hair between your finger, just to see if he’d let you. After the hell you’d been through the past week, well – was it really that miserable? He seems content to watch over you, observe the gentle movements of his dark hair coiled up around your pointer finger.

“Why are you here?” you ask, your voice softer than a whisper, carried away by the wind until it never existed at all.

Fyodor never disappears from your line of sight, even when you try to blink, to close your eyes. He’s there, gazing at you with a lustful fondness, one that’s dangerous, perhaps even malicious. If it’s a dream, it sure feels like a vivid one.

“You wanted to leave,” he says, taking your finger away from his face, before bringing it to his lips. The kiss is barely there, and his mouth is cold, chapped, from the brutality of the afterlife. “I couldn’t let you do that.”

“Hm?” You try to sit up. It takes more effort than it should’ve – you’re so relaxed, so weak, that you fall back down, letting yourself sink into the plushness of the pillow. “Why?”

Fyodor releases your hand, before touching his own finger to your mouth. It’s slender, like a piece of ice, gently parting your lips before grazing your chin, hovering over your neck. Then, he drops his touch to your collarbone. He stakes a claim on every inch of your skin, pausing as he reaches your chest, still covered by the blankets.

Your clothing is thin – it wouldn’t take much effort to get his cool hands on your bare skin. But he refrains, still smiling before answering your question, tucking his hands together onto his lap. “It’s been so long.”

It doesn’t make sense, but you can’t muster up the effort to question him, not when he’s contemplating every word, like he’s hesitant to scare you away. You let him think, watch him ponder, as you stare, too exhausted to move a muscle.

“I thought you’d be like all the rest,” he says, taking a seat next to you on the bed, nearly touching your hip. “They were nothing but filth, stains in these halls. It’s a crime for them to ever think that they belonged here. In my home.”

You blink. “It’s my home, too,” you say, suddenly filled with an immense amount of dread. It crawls up your neck, chokes you, and nothing leaves you but garbled sounds, as you panic.

Fyodor doesn’t move – there is no twitch in his features, as he watches you with disguised adoration, a kind you didn’t think a ghost capable of revealing. “Of course it is, darling,” he says, so softly, it could’ve been mistaken for kindness. Fyodor leans down, presses his cold, dead lips to your cheek, a kiss of death. “That’s why I couldn’t let you leave. It’s your home. You belong here.”

“Right,” you breath, steadying yourself, before nodding. “My home.” Once more, you gaze around the room, your eyes flicking over every surface. Things are exactly as you’d left them, nothing out of place. “With you?”

The ghost smiles, and reaches out to you, finally helping you into a seated position. Your neck is so stiff, in pain, and you roll it around, feeling nothing there when you expect shifting bones. “With me,” Fyodor confirms, running his icy fingertips across your throat, tangling them with your hair.

He leans into you, pressing a lingering kiss to your mouth, one that catches you off balance, before you accept it with an eagerness that surprises you further. It doesn’t feel unfamiliar, instead, it’s as if you’re coming home, like the man you’ve never seen until now was always meant to find you.

A thought that should’ve scared you, even though it doesn’t.

Fyodor pulls away, right as you begin to shift forward, maneuver yourself onto his lap. “You should rest,” he replies, keeping you at a distance. “It might take some time to adjust.”

“Hm? What do you mean?” you blink, holding onto his wrist as your gaze shifts from his impossibly dark eyes to the mirror across the room.

There, in the darkness of the evening, shrouded in moonlight, you can see your reflection staring back at you, eyes vacant, lifeless. You expect to see yourself as nothing but exhausted, but when you draw your gaze across the image of yourself, there is blood seeping from your neck, a stream of scarlet. There is thick gash across your throat, slashed so deep that it would’ve killed you instantly.

The expression on your face shifts from one of calm to horror, as you scrape at your neck, trying to clear off the blood that isn’t really there, the permanent wound that will follow you even into your death.

“What did you do?” you scream, tears rolling down your cheeks, even though you can’t feel them, can only see them in the mirror. “What did you do to me?”

Fyodor smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. Though you fight against him, he takes you into his arms, and you are too weak to fight him off. “I told you,” Fyodor says, shushing you, running his palm over your head as you scream. “I couldn’t let you leave.”

thank you for reading !

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scarlethexelove · 7 months ago

Text

Shapeshifting

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 1844

Summary: When you are overstimulated, what will you do when the one person you want for comfort isn't around.

Warnings: Reader is overstimulated, Reader can shapeshift into animals, Comfort, Small talk of Hydra and experiments, Fluff, Comfort, Mutual pining, Making out, Naked Reader, Just all around cute

A/n: I had seen a photo yesterday that inspired me to write this and I just had it. On days that Reader feels overwhelmed they shift into a cat as a form of coping. Reader looks for comfort from Wanda, turns into confessing feelings.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

Today is just one of those days. You wake up already feeling overwhelmed, the world is too loud, your clothes feel itchy. It’s all too much for you to handle today. So you do what you always do on these days. You strip down before you transform, your clothes not exactly being able to shrink down with you. Though Tony has made you a suit that forms to whatever form you take it isn’t ideal for you to wear at home and if you're already feeling overstimulated it won’t make it any better. But your body slowly morphed into one of your favorite forms, the one that gives you the most comfort, a small black cat.

You wouldn’t normally thank Hydra for all that they put you through but on days like today it’s nice to have a form of escape. Being a cat is both a comfort to you and the rest of the team. The team quickly learned that this was your escape, you can still mildly communicate with them but you don’t have to actually fully communicate if you don’t want to. Tony has made it to where even FRIDAY knows certain cues from you that will automatically open and close doors for you. You’re always thankful for the understanding and support you get from the team.

You scratch lightly at your door signaling for FRIDAY to open it for you. As the door swings open you scurry out your tail lightly flicking back and forth. You make your way down the hall searching for the one person who gives you the most comfort. Searching all over the compound for Wanda but you can’t find her anywhere. You even went as far as looking in the meeting room. With your head slightly lowered in defeat you head back towards the common area hoping that maybe she just went to the store or something and will be right back.

Clicking on a keyboard alerts you to the fact that someone is already in the common area. Sitting on the couch you can make out the form of your best friend. Natasha sits there slightly hunched as she types fiercely on her keyboard, more than likely working on reports. She’s another person that you feel comfortable with. Having been the one to save you from Hydra’s clutches years before. Finding something that once was broken and helped put you back together. In the process becoming a trusted friend and sister.

“Hey Y/n/n.” Nat chuckles as you headbut her leg. “Feeling out of it today?” She questions you. You meow at her as you jump up on the couch next to her, nudging and rubbing your head against her hand. She opens her hand and you nudge the top of your head against her palm. She smiles as she begins to lightly scratch your head with her nails. It brings you comfort and a sort of peace at the form of affection. You curl up next to Nat in a little ball as she continues to scratch your head and pet you, content on working with her other hand.

Time passes as you drift in and out of sleep. You stretch your legs out as you wake from your little nap, before moving your head and placing it on Nat’s leg looking up at her computer. On the screen you spot Wanda’s name. Maybe Nat knows where she is and why you couldn’t find her. You would have expected to wake up if she had come home. You quickly spring up to Nat’s surprise and swat at her hand to keep her from clicking off the screen. “Hey!” You ignore her as you climb on her lap and get closer to the screen, making sure that you don’t make contact with any of the keys. “Y/n/n what are you doing?” She questions you curiously. You get close enough to where your nose almost touches the screen. You use your nose as a way to point out Wanda’s name on the page. She tries to push you away but you just swat at her again.

Nat doesn’t get what you are doing at first as you continue to nudge lightly at Wanda’s name. But as she realizes that you are trying to point something out to her she peers around your body and reads the spot on the screen. “Wanda?” She questions to make sure she knows what you want. You do a chirp as a confirmation, turning around and sitting staring at her. “Wanda got a last minute mission this morning.” Nat tells you. Disappointment fills you as your ears and tail fall.

It hurts Nat to see how disappointed you are with the fact that Wanda wasn’t around. Everyone knew that you two liked each other, well other you two. Both of you blind to the others' stolen looks and longing expressions. So to see you craving Wanda’s affection on a hard day and her not being there breaks her heart. You so quickly deflate at the realization.

You jump off Nat’s lap and slowly make your way back towards your room. Nat doesn’t call after you, she doesn’t quite know what to tell you. She just hopes that Wanda returns soon. The disappointment weighs you down as you reach your door, scratching at it lightly. FRIDAY opens the door, once inside closing the door behind you. Jumping up on the bed settling in on the decision to take a nap. Curling into a ball on the end of the bed settling in before drifting off to sleep.

A light knock on the door pulls you from your sleep. Your head raises as you listen patiently for who might be at the door. You hear a click as the door creaks open. Wanda’s head pops through her eyes searching for you before spotting you on the bed. She fully opens the door and makes her way in. You jump off the bed letting out an excited chirp. You stretch out before getting to Wanda rubbing up against her legs back and forth. “Hi sweetheart.” She bends down scratching at your head causing you to nuzzle into her hand. She smiles at the gesture. “I heard you were having a rough day and wanted to check on you.” Wanda gives you a soft smile. You meow as you bump your head against her hand.

You stand on your hind legs stretching out and lightly pawing at Wanda’s knees, requesting for her to pick you up. She smiles at you reaching out and lifting you into her arms. She makes her way over to the bed with you as you nuzzle more into her hold. She knows exactly what you need as she lays down on your bed having you beside her. You stretch out next to her as she scratches your head keeping you close to her chest.

Everything starts to melt away. You finally have what you have been searching for today. Wanda can feel as you relax more, the tension melting away. You begin to purr, a soft sound that few get to hear. Wanda is your comfort. The two of you have grown close after she joined the Avengers, bonding over the fact that both of you were experiments for Hydra. She knows your torcher and your terrible past and you know hers. Helping her as she joined the team after the loss of her home and brother. You became the person she seeks out in a time of need and comfort. Neither of you realize that you both want more, but too scared to ruin what you already have. Love and understanding of the other.

As you relax you don’t notice how your body shifts back. Now eye to eye with Wanda. The soft and gentle moment leading you to do something you never expected. Leaning in and joining your lips with hers. Wanda wastes no time returning the action, turning the kiss slow and sentinel. Basking in the feeling of now. Wanda’s hand on your hip as you snake yours up and cup her cheek. It’s all you could have ever hoped for and more.

The need for air becomes apparent as your lungs begin to burn. You pull back just enough, leaning your forehead against Wanda’s. Both of you lightly panting as your breaths mingle in the air between you. “That was…” Wanda pauses. “Wow.” You finish. Neither of you have ever felt a connection like this with another person. “I love you Wanda and not just as a friend, something more.” You mumble terrified of your own feelings but feeling like there is no other time than now to confess. Wanda blushes at your words. “I love you too Y/n/n. I’ve loved you from the moment I met you.” The surreal feeling of mutual love makes your heart swell.

Wanda’s thumb gently rubs against your waist as you calm down a bit. But slowly the realization washes over you. Something neither of you had focused on until now. “Oh fuck! I’m sorry.” Your naked body pressed against her clothed one. You quickly jump out of bed trying your best to cover yourself. Wanda stifles a laugh as you run into your closet. You're exiting the closet in no time now with clothes on. Wanda speaks up when she sees you exiting. “You know you have a really cute butt detka.” Wanda smirks, heat rising to your face and you look down in embarrassment.

“Come here detka.” You look back up and see Wanda reaching out for you. You make your way back over to the bed and before you know it Wanda is pulling you into her body. She wraps her arms tightly around you. You nuzzle your face in her chest, her hands gently scratching up and down your back. The calmness returns to the room as your embarrassment washes away. The room is filled with silence as you listen to Wanda’s heart beating.

“Feeling better?” Wanda asks, breaking the silence in the room. “Mhmm.” You hum. After a beat of silence you pull back a little looking up at Wanda. “What does this mean now?” Your voice is small. Though you both confessed you don’t know where it goes from here. Wanda gives you a reassuring smile. “We can take this however slow you want to. I love you and just want you to be happy.” A blush dusts your cheeks. “I-I want you to be my girlfriend.” You lightly stutter. Wanda smiles and kisses all over your face causing you to giggle. “I would love nothing more.”

You settle back in and nuzzle back into Wanda’s chest. Her nails are still gently scratching at your back. Who would have thought that a day that starts off so overwhelming would finally lead you to confessing your love for Wanda. Becoming one of the happiest days of your life. You’re now with the love of your life and will forever be able to find comfort and support in her arms.

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