#she’s kind of playing at this boxing is everything when to her it’s really not

[ptergwen]

can you do a fic where one of the peters (garfield or holland) is making out with the reader and starts to kiss and bite her neck and the little sounds she makes drives him insane

three strikes

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w/c: 655

warnings: making out, suggestiveness

a/n: i went with tasm!peter hehe, def a fluffier approach to it but so so adorable & i hope you enjoy! keep the reqs coming y'all <3

winter in the city is magical. everything in the park is covered in a light dusting of snow, all the stone pathways and the trees, couples hand in hand and kids playing. then, there's peter. he's looking up at the sky with his tongue stuck out. he's so focused on trying to catch snowflakes that he doesn't notice you digging your hands into the snow, collecting a handful.

something hits peter's chest; a snowball. he looks across the way, where you're smiling mischievously. he brushes the snow off his jacket, chuckling. you're already making another snowball.

"i dunno, babe. i wouldn't do that if i were you."

despite peter's warning, you aim your arm to throw.

"you're playing with fire, you know that?"

"no, i’m playing with snow."

"oh, that's cute. really cute."

you promptly hit peter with the snowball. he raises a challenging eyebrow, and you know you're in for it. you start to run away, giggling, peter chasing after you. he's quick to catch up. he grabs your waist and pins you against a streetlight, breathing out smoke into the cold air through laughter.

"you wanna try that again?"

peter's gaze darts between your eyes and lips. you bite back a grin.

"kind of."

"what a shame. it'd be strike three."

"what happens after strike three?"

"you wouldn't get this."

peter leans in and kisses you. you loop your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. he hums in content, hands squeezing your waist and lips trailing over to your cheek. he pecks both your cheeks, your nose, just above your lips, peppering kisses all over your face until you're giggling and trying to push him away.

"no, no, no, stop! that tickles!"

peter kisses down your chin and back up, across your forehead, over to your temple. you grin despite yourself, tugging at his locks that are damp with snow.

"i’m serious, pete! stop it!"

"no can do, babe. can't help myself, you're just too damn cute."

peter pecks your cheek a few times, earning a noise of protest.

"so cute i could eat you up."

"nuh uh."

you pull the zipper of your jacket all the way up so it's covering the lower half of your face.

"yeah huh."

peter leaves big, lingering kisses on your forehead, each one punctuated with a mwah. when you realize he's not going to let up, you finally concede. you uncover your face and capture his lips with yours, the only way to make him stop. your nose nudges his, head tilting to look at him.

"are you done?"

"not even close."

peter kisses you again. you kiss him back, smiling into it. he moves your jacket out of the way and continues his kiss attack, this time on your neck. you let him have his fun, enjoying the feeling of his lips on your skin. you squeal when he finds one particular spot and nips at it.

"pete! what're you doing?"

"i told you, eating you up."

he playfully bites at your neck between a series of kisses, arms locked around your waist, drawing the most adorable sounds out of you that he can't get enough of. you thread your fingers through his hair.

"don't forget we're in public, mister."

your tone doesn't match your words, unconvincing, and you're resting your head on the lamp pole so peter has more access. he smirks.

"i know, they're just love bites."

he starts to suck at your neck. the pressure is light, but enough to leave a hickey. you play with his fluffy hair, letting out a noise between a sigh and a moan. you feel the vibrations from peter laughing. you feel something poking at your thigh, too.

"and you're telling me we're in public? whew, i think we'd better get you home."

"you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

peter answers by holding you in place and kissing down your neck, making you breathless from laughter.

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[like-a-clock]

This take so much time.

So. Much. Time.

And it's all my fault. I was in total block. I can't write, I can't drawing..only working. Feeling so bad for this. But it is time to restart. Don't mind if I can't go over the drawing block. I have the necessity to write something fluff and comforting. So, Kugo.

Warning: fluff, mention of pregnancy.

You and Kugo have been together for a while now. You have been an integral part of his family for some time now, his parents treat you well and consider you as a daughter.

They were really happy to meet you, and they were even more so when they realized that you were the right one for Kugo: patient, loving, kind, willing to listen, but firm in your choices, strong and determined.

And because of your decision, you organized a lunch in the house you share with Kugo. His parents had already expressed for some time the desire to visit the island of Okuto, where Gang Orca plays the role of director of the local aquarium. So you hosted them for lunch. "I hope everything was to your liking. y/nationality cuisine can be very particular" you say smiling as you collect the plates. Kugo's mother nods smiling "It is very different from anything I have ever tasted, but it was really a great lunch. You are a great cook, y/n, aren't you dear?" Mrs. Sakamata turns to her husband, who nods and smiles. "Can I get you some coffee?" I ask. Kugo takes the plates from my hand, indicating the chair. "Rest, you made everything. I'll take care of these, and the coffee."

Your Partner heads for the kitchen, only to reemerge a moment later carrying a tray of coffee cups for himself and his parents. Soon we move to the porch.

Kugo stays behind, picking up a box from one of the living room cabinets. “Are you guys having fun? What do you think of the aquarium?” he asks his parents. You smile at him, knowing full well what the box contains. He casually places the box on his mother’s lap, who looks at him in confusion. “What is it?” he asks. Kugo answers as he sits down next to me. “Open it. It’s a surprise.”

Mr. Sakamata leans toward his wife, who is taking the lid off the box. I squeeze Kugo’s hand, smiling happily. He looks at me, enamored. He rests his forehead against mine and then look back at his parents to study their reactions. Mr. and Mrs. Sakamata’s eyes open in surprise as the realization hits them; with shaking hands, she lifts the baby rattle from the box and looks at us, tears in her eyes, smiling. "Really?" she asks, as her husband reaches a hand into the box and pulls out the ultrasound. "Really," Kugo replies, nodding. The mother covers her face and starts to cry happily, while the father stands up and hugs his son and you, congratulating us. "Does your brother know?" "No, we haven't told him yet." Sitting down next to Mrs. Sakamata as I take her hands, I smile, happy to have ended up in this family once again.

Ngl I really just found your headcanons and post and fall in lovee💕(I don't know if this is open or you rake request so if is, sorry for bothering I'm kinda new there!!)That is why I want to ask about Kugo's parents reacting to you being pregnant and what type of grandparents will be? I just think about it is cutee sAaAaaAAAA😭💕

sorry for my english is not my first language and the Whale man need more love fr

OMG! Thank you so much! Kugo nerds really more love ♥️ I was just thinking about writing something fluff and sweet. I will work on this!!

[male-duckk]

thinking abt joe/carlos

[pucksandpower]

Shameless

Charles Leclerc x Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: you + Lestappen + a sex tape leak + one very unamused head of communications … need I say more?

Based on this request

The Red Bull Racing communications office smells like stale coffee and impending doom. Portia, the team’s head of communications, sits stiffly in the center of the storm, knuckles white around her phone. She stares at the video playing on her laptop, horrified but unable to look away.

The footage is intimate, explicit — grainy but undeniably clear. Three people, tangled up in sheets, moaning names, gasping into each other’s mouths. Max Verstappen. You. And, unmistakably, Charles Leclerc.

Her inbox is a dumpster fire of urgent PR memos, emails with subject lines in all caps, and press releases that have already been revised half a dozen times. She hasn’t even responded to half of them yet. No point.

This is beyond damage control.

The door swings open violently, smacking into the wall. Max strolls in first, looking every bit as casual as if he just finished a training session. You follow behind him, your hair in a messy bun, holding a half-eaten croissant. Charles is the last to enter, chewing gum like this is the most ordinary thing in the world.

Portia blinks at the three of you. “… What the hell?”

Max plops into the chair across from her, sprawling out like he’s just arrived at a friend’s house. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Portia repeats, incredulous. “You-” She gestures frantically toward her screen. “The video. The world just saw everything, Max! You, her, him-” She throws a desperate look at Charles, who only shrugs.

“Yeah. We saw,” Charles says casually, pulling out a chair and sitting down next to Max. “Kind of funny, no?”

Portia makes a strangled noise in her throat. “No! It is not funny, Charles. None of this is funny!” She can already feel the migraine creeping in, sharp and mean behind her left eye.

Max leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Listen, it’s not like we were hiding it. We’ve been-”

“Friends,” you interject, your voice calm as ever. “Very close friends.”

Charles grins. “Really close.”

Max winks. “Super close.”

Portia pinches the bridge of her nose. “Stop saying that.”

“You’re the one freaking out,” Max says, as if that makes any of this better. “It’s not a big deal.”

Portia throws up her hands. “Max, it’s not just a sex tape. It’s a scandal. Sponsors, shareholders, media outlets — everyone is calling. Red Bull is losing its mind, Ferrari is fuming, and the internet-” She gestures vaguely toward the air, as if the internet is some wild animal loose in the building. “-is losing its collective shit.”

Charles leans back, folding his arms behind his head. “The internet always loses its shit.”

“True,” Max agrees, glancing at you. “Remember when they thought we broke up because I didn’t post anything for two weeks?”

You hum thoughtfully, finishing the last bite of your croissant. “They were so mad.”

Portia stares at the three of you like she’s trapped in some bizarre fever dream. “Are none of you remotely concerned about this?”

Max shrugs. “Not really.”

“It’s out now,” you say, wiping your hands on a napkin. “What’s the point of stressing?”

Charles nods like you just delivered the most profound truth of the century. “Exactly. It’s not like we can put it back in the box.”

“Oh my god,” Portia mutters, pressing her palms to her temples. “You’re all insane.”

Max flashes her a charming smile — the kind that usually gets him out of trouble. “Come on, Portia. You handle worse than this all the time.”

“Not this, I don’t!” She groans. “I mean, sure, we’ve dealt with crashes, team infighting, broken engines, drunk interviews-” She shoots a pointed look at Max, who grins unapologetically. “But this? This is next level.”

Charles checks his phone, seemingly unbothered by her panic. “The fans seem to love it, though. Look-” He flips the screen toward Portia. It’s a Twitter thread full of memes and heart-eye emojis, captioned with things like Lestappen and Y/N living their best lives and Honestly, goals.

Portia glares at the phone like it just insulted her family. “This is not helping.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Actually, it kind of is.” He points at the screen. “If the fans are cool with it, the sponsors will calm down eventually.”

“Sponsors are not fans.” Portia slams her laptop shut, as if doing so will somehow make the problem disappear. “Sponsors are very rich, very conservative people who do not want their logos anywhere near a video of you having a threesome!”

Charles clicks his tongue thoughtfully. “Technically, it’s not just a threesome.”

Portia shoots him a death glare. “I swear to God, Charles-”

You stifle a laugh, covering your mouth with your hand. Max notices, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he nudges you with his elbow. “See? Even Y/N thinks it’s funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” you admit, which only makes Charles beam with satisfaction.

Portia looks like she’s on the verge of a breakdown. “This is not funny. None of this is funny.”

“I think you need to relax,” Max says, as if that’s the simplest solution in the world. “It’s not like we committed a crime.”

“It might as well be,” Portia snaps. “Do you know what Ferrari is going to do with this? They’re probably drafting some moral code violation complaint as we speak.”

Charles waves a hand dismissively. “They can’t fire me. I bring too much to the table.”

Portia gives him a flat look. “Charles, you are the table.”

“Exactly.”

Max turns to you, his hand casually resting on the back of your chair. “Do you think we should put out a statement?”

You consider it for a moment, then shake your head. “Nah. Statements are boring.”

“Agreed,” Charles says, pulling his phone back out to scroll through more tweets. “No one likes statements.”

Portia exhales slowly, as if trying to summon every ounce of patience she has left. “Okay, so let me get this straight. Your solution to this PR nightmare is ... to do absolutely nothing?”

“Exactly,” Max says with a satisfied nod. “We just let it blow over.”

“Like Austria,” you add.

Portia stares at you, aghast. “Austria? You cannot compare this to a racing incident in Austria!”

Max looks thoughtful. “I don’t know. I think it’s kind of similar. People get mad for a while, then they forget.”

Charles grins mischievously. “By next week, someone else will do something stupid, and no one will care about this.”

Portia groans, dragging her hands down her face. “You are all ... impossible.”

Max reaches across the table to pat her shoulder. “You’ll see. Everything will be fine.”

“Max,” Portia says, her voice low and dangerous. “If this mess costs us a single sponsor — just one — I swear I will make your life a living hell.”

Max’s grin widens. “You already do.”

You burst out laughing at that, and even Portia can’t suppress a reluctant smile, though it’s clear she’s fighting it with every fiber of her being.

“This isn’t over,” she warns, but there’s no real bite in her voice.

“It never is,” Charles says breezily. “But that’s half the fun, no?”

You lean into Max’s side, content and completely unbothered, and he drapes an arm around your shoulders. Charles glances over at the two of you, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “See? We’re all good. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Portia shoots him a murderous glare. “Do not say that.”

Max laughs, the sound low and easy, and for a moment, it feels like the world outside the room doesn’t exist — no scandals, no cameras, no angry emails. Just the three of you, stuck in the strangest mess, but somehow, perfectly fine with it.

And, really, isn’t that all that matters?

***

A few weeks later, Portia is sitting at her desk, sipping her second coffee of the morning, when her inbox pings with a new email. She glances at the subject line, hoping it’s something routine — maybe a press update, or an invitation to a sponsor event.

Instead, her heart drops.

URGENT: New Video — Verstappen, Leclerc, and Y/L/N on Beach Vacation

She groans audibly, slamming her head down on the desk with a dramatic thud. They didn’t listen to her at all.

Opening the email, her stomach churns as she scrolls down to the attached link. The video loads instantly — there’s Max, Charles, and you, sun-kissed and carefree, lounging on beach chairs somewhere tropical. The sound of waves crashing in the background is almost soothing.

Almost.

And then, without warning, it escalates — hands everywhere, tangled limbs, kisses that start off playful but quickly turn into something else entirely. A bottle of rosé tips over in the sand as Max pulls you onto his lap, and Charles leans over, dragging his mouth along your shoulder with a grin.

Portia shakes her head in disbelief, muttering under her breath, “I’m going to kill them.”

Another ping. This time, a text from Max.

Saw the email. You’re gonna love the next one.

She screams into her coffee mug.

[wonusite]

Endless Adoration

❝ Mingyu has been irrevocably in love with you since he was in high school. He decides to keep this a secret until he can move on since you’ve only ever seen him as your best friend’s brother. However, his plan goes awry when you ask him to take your virginity and teach you about sex—as a friend, of course. ❞

PAIRING: kim mingyu x female reader

GENRE: best friends brother au, friends with benefits au, fluff, smut

WORD COUNT: 7.2k

WARNINGS: bestie’s brother!mingyu, virgin!reader, secret pining, suppressed feelings, discourse of how to pronounce caramel, mingyu is the textbook definition of down bad, loss of virginity, oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, mirror sex, riding, squirting, multiple creampies, cum eating

A/N: this fic is my contribution to the fall season and part of the fall-ing for you collab! hope you all enjoy! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

It’s no secret that Mingyu is an affectionate man.

Acts of service and giving out his affection is his love language, and everyone knows it. Which is why no one really questions his behavior toward you. If he laughs a little too hard at something you said or always comes to your defense even when you’re wrong, it’s not really suspicious because he’s just a kind and gentle guy.

His little sister, however, does not see it that way.

Minseo knows her brother, and while he may be a walking green flag and a gentleman among beasts, he’s not that nice. Vernon argues that it’s only because you two are best friends that Mingyu treats you just a bit better than anyone else. It’s a viable argument, yet the little telltale signs point to Mingyu’s actions being more than common curtesy.

Like now as you’re arguing with Seungkwan during game night about the correct pronunciation of your favorite candy.

“It’s caramel.”

You scoff, eyebrows furrowed defiantly as you glare at Seungkwan. “No. It’s caramel.”

Vernon and Seokmin watch the exchange with amused smiles while Minseo watches her brother. He wears a similar expression, except there’s a subtle emotion in his eyes as he’s looking at you. It’s been there since you slapped down your last two Uno cards in repulsed shock when Seungkwan mispronounced caramel.

Ten minutes later, neither of you are willing to concede to the other and Mingyu still looks like a lovesick puppy.

“In what world is it caramel?” Seungkwan screeches, rising up from his spot on the couch.

“Mingyu.” You call suddenly. “Is it caramel or caramel?”

Two pair of heated eyes look over to him pointedly. The room goes silent as everyone waits for the answer that will possibly get you two to stop arguing. Minseo watches her brother carefully as he puts down his nearly empty beer bottle. The move seems casual, but she knows he does it to distract himself from the fact that you’re practically saying take my side.

“It’s caramel.”

“Ha!” You yell in victory, pointing a smug finger at a sulking Seungkwan. “I told you!”

Your friend’s pout is bitter. “That’s not fair! You only asked Mingyu because you know he’s going to agree with you no matter what!”

It’s true, and the rest of your giggling friends know it. Minseo doesn’t miss her brother’s bashful smile, and it makes her realize that there might actually be something deeper than just a crush. So she waits until all the guests leave to confront her brother about his not-so-subtle behavior.

“Is there something going on with you and Y/N?”

Now, her brother is naturally clumsy and pretty terrible at hiding his feelings, but Minseo didn’t expect him to drop all the board games he was carrying. He scrambles to pick up all the scattered pieces, pointedly looking at the ground and not up at her with a pout like he would’ve usually done.

“I—” He coughs awkwardly as he haphazardly shoves random pieces into the wrong boxes. “What are you talking about?”

It’s almost insulting that he thinks he can hide the truth from her. “I mean that I already know everything. So quit playing, and tell me how long this has been going on.”

Mingyu’s broad shoulders slump in defeat. He should’ve known that Minseo would find out (she had a knack for finding out everything), but he honestly didn’t expect her to find out this soon.

“Fine.” His tone is resigned as he puts the precariously stacked board games on the coffee table. “It’s true that I took Y/N’s virginity, but I swear that I only did it because she asked—”

“You what?”

His sister’s sharp tone makes him pause. Minseo’s mouth is dropped open and her eyes are almost popping out of her head. Belatedly, Mingyu realizes that his little sister is not referring to the favor you had asked him to do weeks ago. An uncomfortable chill goes down his spine.

Fuck.

You were going to kill him.

It’s not Mingyu’s fault.

When you came to him and asked him to teach you how to have sex, he was rendered powerless to your pretty eyes that shined with so much trust. He knows it’s wrong for him to take his little sister’s best friend’s virginity, but ever since you were kids, he’s never been able to tell you no. Years later, nothing has changed.

“Spread them wider, baby.” His voice rasps as his hands go to pry your thighs apart until he’s left with the sight of your glistening cunt.

Mingyu’s cock twitches at the sight of your pretty pussy. Fuck. You’re dripping in your own arousal, and all he’s done is kiss you and mark up a few places on your body. And yet, there’s already a messy web of arousal covering your puffy lips. His groan is deep and almost animalistic when he sees your pretty cunt clenching with need.

Minseo be damned, he was going to absolutely ruin you.

You mewl softly when Mingyu presses his middle and index fingers against your cunt to spread your lips apart. The heat from his fingers feels different from when you touch yourself. It feels so much better, and you have to bite your lip to stop the moans and whimpers from escaping like they want.

Your best friend’s brother has always been unfairly attractive, but he’s never looked hotter to you than he does now, licking his pink lips while looking at your pussy.

Mingyu glances up at you with a raised eyebrow. “You’ve really never done this before?”

The beefy puppy between your legs thinks he might actually come untouched when you pout at him. That exact look is what got him into this situation in the first place. Your adorable pout always brought him to his knees.

“Gyu.” You whine, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment. “You said you wouldn’t tease me.”

He loves when you call him that, and it takes everything in him to hold himself back from shoving his cock inside you and fucking you roughly like he wants. That would have to be for another time.

“I’m not, baby.” He assures you before he presses a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. “I just need to know how far I should take this.”

The frown you give him is oddly determined. “You said you’d teach me everything.”

Fuck.

Mingyu wonders if you actually know what you’re asking for, but then he has to remind himself that you’re only inexperienced, not stupid. You came to him because you trust him, and he wouldn’t ever betray that trust. If you happened to be uncomfortable with anything, he would stop right away. Though, it seems like you have no intentions of telling him to stop.

The soft moan you let out when Mingyu starts to gently toy with your dripping slit is like music to his ears. He thinks you can’t get any hotter, but then you buck your aching cunt into his hand as if to say get on with it. Ever powerless to your desires, Mingyu slips two fingers past your folds. He curls them experimentally, feeling your warm, wet cunt stretch around his long fingers. Just as he thought. Virgin tight.

“Fuck.” His growl is deep and has you clenching down on his fingers. “I need to taste you.”

Arousal is clouding your mind and making you feel drunk. The way Mingyu is looking at you like you’re the thing he’s wanted the most in the world has you gushing all over his fingers. His hot mouth latches on to your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. You cry out loudly as his fingers slowly start to fuck your hole, stretching you out to prepare you for his cock.

“Gyu!” You cry out as you arch you back, grinding your cunt into his face in search of release.

Your moans become broken when he forces his tongue into the tightness of your pussy. The groans he lets out makes you release more juices into his awaiting mouth. It’s almost embarrassing the way his room is suddenly full of the wet squelching sounds coming from your cunt, but you feel too good to actually care.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Mingyu groans into your sopping cunt. “You have the sweetest little cunt.”

All you can focus on is the way his tongue is fucking into you with a force that has you seeing stars. He runs his soft tongue along your aching folds skillfully until all you can do is cry out for him. Mingyu smirks into your folds, fingers slowly massaging deep inside you. The wanton cries you’re letting out make him scissor his fingers so you’ll be prepped enough to take his cock.

When you look down and see Mingyu’s pretty eyes looking up at you with unadulterated desire, the coil building in your stomach abruptly snaps. Mingyu moans along with you as you come all over his face. His cock twitches against the sheets when you keep rocking your hips to grind your cunt into his mouth. With a low groan, he keeps going, using his tongue to fuck you through your orgasm.

You’re a panting mess by the time he pulls away. His chin is covered in your release, and you briefly wonder how someone can be so fucking attractive. Mingyu licks his lips before he smashes them on yours. The taste of your own release makes you moan into his mouth, loving how his lips feel against yours.

You chase his lips when he suddenly pulls away. It’s almost cruel of him to laugh when you whine petulantly after he doesn’t give you what you want. But you can’t truly be mad. Not when it concerns Mingyu.

“Are you ready?”

Your attention is quickly drawn to his throbbing cock. He can’t deny the pleasure it gives him to see you gaping at it. It makes Mingyu think about the face you’ll make when he’s splitting you open.

“It’s...” Huge. You swallow nervously. “Will it fit?”

You can’t take your eyes off his monstrous dick. He’s stroking himself slowly, smearing the precum dribbling from his fat tip all over his veiny length. You can only watch in fascination like you’re in a trance, pussy clenching in desire. The only dicks you’ve ever seen are the ones from porn, but even those don’t compare to how thick and pretty Mingyu’s looks.

“Don’t worry, pretty girl.” Mingyu licks his lips, mind clouded with a lustful haze. “I’ll make it fit.”

The face you make when he uses your arousal to get his dick wet nearly makes him come right then and there. After years of fucking his fist to the thought of you, he finally has you underneath him looking more irresistible than ever.

“Ready, baby?” The pet name continues to fall from his lips so easily, and it’s making you unreasonably more horny than you already are. “Remember you can tell me to stop anytime.”

“Okay.” You breathe out in anticipation. Instead of being nervous, you’re just eager, and you know it’s because you’re doing this with Mingyu who actually cares about you.

Mingyu shudders in pleasure as he slowly sinks his leaking tip into your tight pussy. Your warm and wet and already gripping him so tightly that he wonders if he’ll come once he gets the rest of cock inside you. The choked gasp of pleasure you let out makes him throb with pride and arousal. Your pretty mouth is dropped open in a silent moan, and he has to swoop down to give you a sweet kiss.

You whimper into his mouth, starting to feel the stretch burn as he continues to slide in deeper. Mingyu pulls away to place tender kisses along your jaw, whispering into your heated skin about how good you’re taking him. A soft moan is pulled from your throat when he rubs gentle circles on your clit. It eases the sting, and soon enough pleasure cancels out the pain.

“G-Gyu.” You mewl as he finally bottoms out, heavy balls resting against your ass. “Fuck. Your cock is so big.”

Your fucked out whine makes his dick throb. Mingyu only offers you a shy chuckle, thumb still working your sensitive clit. Your hot cunt is pulsing and gripping him so tightly that he knows the slightest movement will have him busting inside you. And while that’s one thing he’s dreamed of for a long time, this was about your pleasure not his.

“Like it?” His voice is seductive and not teasing at all which just turns you on more. “Tell me, pretty girl. Let me hear you.”

His hips shift, and it makes his cock curve into your sweet spot that makes you arch your back. The moan you let out is louder this time, hips bucking in need. Your arousal is drenching his cock and spilling down to coat his heavy sack.

“Feels so fucking good, Gyu! Please move!” You whimper desperately as you wrap your legs around his waist.

Mingyu moans into your skin, hips moving upon your command. He starts to thrust in and out of your hot cunt with precise yet slow movements. His hands trail up to your bouncing tits, gently caressing and rubbing your hardened nipples. You moan again, turned on by how tenderly he’s touching you.

“Told you we’d make it fit, pretty.” His grin is so attractive that it makes you tighten impossibly and stain his cock with more cream.

Mingyu’s hips start to snap a little more desperately now. His cock seems to swell when he looks down to see how tightly you’re gripping him. Strings of arousal cling to your skin and his as he continues to stretch out your tight little cunt. His heavy balls slap against your ass as you continue to moan in pleasure.

“You’re dripping all over me, babe.” He grunts, feeling like he’s in heaven. “Am I making you feel that good?”

Just like outside the bedroom, Mingyu likes to be praised. Your heart swells with fondness, unable to believe how cute he can be even as he’s splitting you open on his cock. It makes you want to oblige him all the more.

“So fucking good, Gyu.” You moan wantonly as his cock continues to spear into you.

You’re sensitive, mewling and whining in pleasure as he snaps his hips at the perfect speed and intensity. Mingyu lets out a deep groan when your thighs start to quiver. Your eyes are rolling back as his cock keeps slamming against your sweet spot, and he’s enjoying every second of it.

“God, you’re pretty.” Mingyu moans as you squeeze his cock tighter. “Prettiest little thing ever.”

Your entire body heats up, and you can’t help but pull him down for a passionate kiss. Mingyu moans into your mouth. His soft lips move against yours with a need that makes you ravenous. You start to meet his thrusts, eager for more of him.

The sound of wet skin slapping fills the room, and you don’t ever want it to end. Mingyu’s mouth, hands, and cock are too addicting for you to ever want anything else. With the way his throbbing dick keeps fucking into you desperately, you’re pretty sure the feeling is mutual.

When he reluctantly pulls away from your sweet lips, he trails wet kisses down to your neck. You moan out his name when you feel him start to mark you up. The ache in his cock grows when he feels your nails dig into his shoulders. Your sensual moans of his name sounds like music to his ears, and he knows he’ll be fucking his hand to the memory often.

Your orgasm is close, the coil in the pit on your stomach on the verge of snapping. All it takes is for his long fingers to smooth over your wet clit, rubbing fast circles on the sensitive bud for you to come undone. Your back arches off the mattress as you gush all over his cock with a loud cry of Mingyu’s name.

The erotic and breathtaking sight of you coming on his cock is something that leaves him breathless. It’s all Mingyu needs for his own orgasm to rip through him. He stills with a low groan of your name. You can feel his cock pulsate inside you as he shoots thick ropes of cum into your pussy. The two of you are moaning and whimpering as your walls spasm around his aching cock.

“That’s it, baby.” Mingyu moans as he rolls his hips to fuck you through both your highs.

You’re whimpering in pleasure, milking him for every last drop of cum he has. The way he fucks it back into you makes you feel delirious with pleasure, and your cunt gets tighter with need at the thought of doing it all over again.

Mingyu holds you close as you both pant—spent and satisfied. He gently coos at you, sweetly caressing your face as he keeps his cum plugged inside you with his still-throbbing cock.

“How was it, baby?” He wonders, big puppy dog eyes searching your face for any signs of discomfort. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You wrap your arms around his muscular back, bringing a hand up to gently play with his hair. The gentle hum you let out eases his worries. “You were amazing.”

The smile he gives you is bright and makes your chest jerk with affection. Mingyu gently caresses your body, telling you how good you were for him. It makes you burn for him all over again.

Before you can convince him to fuck you again, he gets up and goes into the bathroom. You watch curiously as he brings back a wet towel. It’s warm against your skin as he starts to clean you up. The act is somehow more intimate than him stuffing you full of cum, but you don’t hate it.

Once he’s done, he gets back into bed with you. It takes you by surprise when he pulls you on top of him. Mingyu caresses your naked back, basking in the feeling of your weight on him. His heart jumps when he feels you start to trace small patterns on his chest.

“Can we do that again?” Your voice is coy, and he really fucking loves it.

“Yes.” He promises. “I’ll order some takeout for us first then we can do it again. Unless you want to do it now.”

You stay silent for a moment before nuzzling your face his sculpted chest. With your eyes closed, you let out a content sigh. “Let’s just stay like this for a little while.”

Mingyu caresses your head with a love stricken smile you can’t see. “Okay.”

In retrospect, Minseo should’ve realized it sooner.

The signs were there—have always been there, apparently. It’s almost embarrassing that it took her so long to realize something was going on. Especially when she thinks back to the annual camping trip that took place a week ago.

It started off like all the other trips, except Mingyu insisted that you drive with him since he wouldn’t subject you to being a third wheel to his sister and Vernon. This was only the start of Mingyu’s unwarranted clinginess toward you. Minseo didn’t think too much of it because no one liked being the third wheel, and her brother always has a way of guilt tripping like no one’s business.

The campground looks beautiful covered in hues of red and yellow. Mingyu has brought along his camera and is already taking pictures and candids of everyone setting up their space. He especially captures some of you taking in the beautiful autumn scenery. You always looked so pretty when you had a look of awe and wonder on your face.

“I didn’t see you taking that many pictures of me.” Seungcheol teases as he peeks at the camera screen Mingyu is smiling fondly at.

His friend’s neck burns, and before he can think to say anything back, your voice grabs his attention. Seungcheol snickers quietly. It’s this simple action that Minseo’s attention again.

“Gyu.” You whine, holding up the tent you brought in frustration. “Help me.”

Her helpful brother goes over to you immediately like a puppy being called by its owner. Minseo should’ve thought more about the way he hands over his prized possession to Seungcheol like it’s nothing. The smitten smile he directs at you doesn’t seem that way to her in the moment, but again—hindsight.

Mingyu’s tone is playful as he asks you what you need. You don’t answer him because in the next second he tells you to follow the instructions in spite of the fact that he’s already starting to put the sticks together to actually lift the tent off the ground. Mingyu goes on to say that you should’ve gotten a smaller, one-person tent instead of a large dome tent big enough to fit five people inside.

“The guy at the store told me it would be easy to set up!” You whine with a frown. “And it’s not my fault the instructions are impossible to understand.”

Mingyu’s laughter is full of affection and adoration. He shakes his head fondly as he continues to build your tent for you. “You need to learn how to do these sorts of things.”

“Why? That’s why I have you.”

Once again, she should’ve thought more about the bashful look on Mingyu’s face and the way his ears and neck turned red. Instead, she chose to make sure that Vernon was setting up their own tent correctly because she had also bought one very similar to yours.

By the time everyone has their tents set up, the sun is starting to set. Mingyu helps Seungcheol start the fire while everyone else helps prepare the snacks and drinks.

The vibe is peaceful as you all settle around the fire. Mingyu claims the spot next to you, and you’re all too happy to have him by your side. It goes unnoticed, but now the image is clear in Minseo’s memories.

“Here.”

You look over to see Mingyu handing you a stick with a perfectly roasted marshmallow at the end of it. Maybe it’s the way the setting sun hits face or maybe it’s the fact that he was careful not to burn the marshmallow since you didn't like that. Either way your chest throbs with something you’re sure is not appropriate to feel for your best friend’s brother.

“Thanks, Gyu.” You smile at him before you start making your s’mores.

The night progresses like this, with Mingyu roasting your marshmallows and you happily making the s’mores. Vaguely, you wonder if it’s right to keep doing this with him. He’s so sweet and attentive that sometimes this line you’ve drawn gets blurry. The worst part is that you don’t mind if that line isn’t clear because being with Mingyu is like having a cup of hot cocoa when it’s cold—comforting and appealing.

For now, you decide to enjoy the moment. Evaluating feelings and this deep affection you feel would have to wait.

Fall has always been a special time for Mingyu. The leaves always change to beautiful red and golden colors, the weather turns the kind of crisp that’s invigorating, and it’s a time when family gets together. And possibly the most important reason: it’s the season when he met you.

He was only nine years old when you two met. It was a random autumn day meant to uphold the lifetime tradition of his parents taking him and Minseo to the pumpkin patch. Picking out pumpkins was something he looked forward to all year because it was a time where his entire family was together.

Mingyu vividly remembers being caught by surprise when his sister brought along an unexpected guest. She was holding the hand of a girl with a solemn expression that was a great contrast to her own bright one. Minseo cheerfully introduced the unknown girl as her best friend. You had offered him a barley-there wave that had him wondering how his sunshine of a sister could possibly like someone so closed off.

It was a misconception on his part because on the car ride to the pumpkin patch, he realizes his sister couldn’t have found a better friend. Minseo talks possibly more than he does, but you listened to every word attentively, like actually listen. Also, you offered her (and Mingyu after some shy contemplation) the snacks in your bag.

Your overly cautious attitude reminded Mingyu of his cousin’s unfriendly cat. Trying to get you to open up was a challenge, but you slowly started to warm up to him as the evening went on. He truly won you over after he offered to carry the heavy pumpkin you chose. The unsure pout you directed at him was adorable, and his heart just soared when you quietly thanked him.

“Here.” You huffed out, feeling embarrassingly shy as you stuck out your small hand.

Mingyu’s grin soothed the bashfulness. He thanked you for the candy you gave him, claiming that the caramel you put in his hand is his favorite.

Looking back on it, that was the first time you tugged on his heartstrings.

Of course, it was completely innocent back then. There was no way you could’ve known that Mingyu held on to that piece of candy for as long as he could until he forgot it in a pair of pants that his mom threw in the washer. Nor could you have known that as you two got older, it killed him just a little bit every time you referred to him as Minseo’s older brother.

These feelings don’t make sense in his mind, but it all becomes clear to him the fall of his junior year.

Just like all those years ago, you found yourself at the pumpkin patch. Except this time you don’t have either of the Kim siblings by your side. Minseo was hanging out with her almost-boyfriend and of course Mingyu hadn’t joined you two at the pumpkin patch for years now. You weren’t uncomfortable being alone, but it did feel odd picking out a pumpkin without Minseo inspecting it to make sure you picked one suited for carving.

In your lonely search, you meet Lee Chan. He too had been left alone after his friends went off with their respective partners. What you don’t realize is that your resident puppy boy is watching this kindred meeting from afar. Unbeknownst to you, Minseo had texted her older brother asking him to keep you company because she still felt sorry for leaving you alone.

At the time, Mingyu can’t explain why his chest feels strangely heavy. It feels like he can’t approach you despite knowing you wouldn’t be unhappy to see him. So he doesn’t even though it’s arguably one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do. Later that night, his mom helps him come to the conclusion that this icky feeling is none other than petty jealousy.

As a teenage boy who loved his little sister more than anything, this realization was devastating. It was very likely that Minseo would be upset if she ever found out her brother had a crush on her best friend. The fear of what would happen if his feelings ever came to light was the reason Mingyu decided to keep it a secret.

After all, it was just a small, harmless crush.

Unfortunately for Mingyu, this teeny tiny crush soon blossomed into something more intense that he’s not ready to acknowledge. Time goes by, and yet his feelings haven’t gone away even when he starts to date. It makes him feel icky, and most likely the reason why none of his relationships ever last.

When it’s time for him to leave for college, he thinks that maybe he can move on. Only, you never give him that chance.

“Why don’t you ever bring enough clothes?”

It might seem like Mingyu is scolding you, but he’s actually only worried that you seem to value fashion over practicality. Your heart jumps when he takes off the scarf he’s wearing to put it around you, making sure it covers your neck and looks pretty with the outfit you’ve chosen. He doesn’t seem to notice that your eyes shine with endearment as he adjusts it to cover your mouth.

“Come on.” He absentmindedly grabs your hand, not realizing his touch is making your heart pound. “The cafe is only open for another hour.”

Mingyu had insisted that this new cafe had drinks to die for. So he waited until you got off work to go with you together. You’re glad his scarf covers the lower half of your face because you’re sure every single emotion you feel for him would be very obvious as he hands you a warm cup.

Walking in silence with Mingyu isn’t ever uncomfortable, but it does leave you to contemplate how you’re going to confess to him. He’s been nothing but sweet to you, and you hope he won’t be upset at your sudden feelings since you’re the one who insisted the sex between you two would be strictly platonic.

“What are you thinking so hard about?”

It kills you that Mingyu can look so pretty while he’s tilting his head at you curiously. You let out a nervous breath. It was now or never.

“You told Minseo you took my virginity.”

The air goes still, and you feel like smacking yourself because that’s not at all what you were planning to say—not like that, anyway. Mingyu’s eyes practically pop out of his head as he feels a blush crawl up his neck and suffuse throughout his face. You don’t seem angry, but he can’t really tell with his scarf covering your face.

“I’m sorry!” He rushes. “I didn’t mean to, but—”

“I’m not mad.” You assure him with a laugh.

“You’re not?”

“No.” You let out a fond laugh. “And Minseo isn’t either.”

Before Mingyu can fully process your words, you crush him with a hug. His eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you and press himself closer to you.

“I like you, Mingyu.” You confess, feeling like your heart is on the verge of exploding. “I like you so much.”

He stills in your arms. Slowly, he pulls away to look at your face. His expression is one of pure shock, and before you can brace yourself for any kind of rejection, Mingyu is kissing you.

The movements of his soft lips are needy and full of undeniable want. You moan into his mouth, returning his kiss with just as much vigor. It all feels like a wonderful dream, especially when you whisper against his lips that you want to go back to your place.

If this is a dream, Mingyu wishes it could go on forever.

Having you kneeled between his parted thighs, worshipping his cock in the exact way he’s shown you how has him coming apart quickly. You’re slobbering all over him, saliva slipping down the sides of his dick to lubricate him.

“Fuck, Gyu. You have the prettiest cock ever.” You gush, entire body hot with arousal and want.

The way he actually blushes as you praise him has your cunt dripping with more juices. You can’t wait to wreck him and have him writhing in pleasure. His cock is throbbing as you continue to lick and stroke him with your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his leaking tip, licking into the slit which causes him to let out a guttural groan. The moans you let out run through the length of his dick in the most pleasurable way.

Mingyu feels completely fucked out at this point. He can’t believe how good you’ve gotten at sucking his cock. And now, he’s going to be the only man to experience what that pretty little mouth can do.

“Y/N, fuck.” He cries out as his orgasm abruptly hits.

As always, Mingyu looks absolutely breathtaking when he comes. His mouth is dropped open as a pretty blush covers his entire face. Dark eyes are unfocused and dazed as he keeps releasing thick ropes of cum into your mouth. The way you keep pumping and sucking him to squeeze more cum out of him is starting to make him tremble.

You pull off his cock with a satisfied grin. Mingyu’s chest is heaving as you go to straddle him.

“Wait!” He pants out, slowly coming out of his euphoric bliss. “It’s your turn—”

“I want you to fuck me now.”

Mingyu groans when he feels your creamy folds slide over his twitching cock. “But I really want to taste you.”

He’s so cute, you think as your cunt leaks with arousal. You hum in pleasure as you rub your aching cunt over the length of his dick. His fat tip is enveloped between your warm lips every time you grind forward while his heavy sack is slowly getting soaked with your arousal.

“Tell you what, puppy. After you fill me up with your cum I’ll let you eat it out of me, okay?”

You feel his cock throb at your words as your cream covers him entirely. Mingyu nods cutely, and that’s all you need to grab his pulsing cock. He’s hot and heavy in your hand as you tease him by circling his tip against your slick entrance.

Mingyu moans loudly when you sink down. A choked whimper is forced out of him as you take him entirely, puffy lips brushing against his pelvis. His thick veins drag against your hot walls deliciously until his heavy balls are flush against your ass. It’s like all the air is being shoved out of your body to make room for his cock.

“God, Y/N. I need you to move. Please.”

You slowly grind on his cock, juices dripping down to his big balls and making a mess all over him. It’s probably really hard for him not to fuck his cock up into you, and it really turns you on that he’s trying so hard. You can tell he’s on the verge of breaking. Literally you can feel it. His cock keeps throbbing inside you like it’s on the verge of exploding.

“Show me what I’ve taught you, baby.” His voice is sultry and tempting—something you can’t say no to.

Immediately, you start to gyrate your hips. You two moan in sync as your pussy clenches tightly on his cock. Mingyu sucks on his bottom lip, completely beginning to lose his composure. His hands go to your waist, slowly guiding you as his imploring eyes gaze up at you with unmatched desire.

“Fuck, Gyu!” You cry out. “You’re so deep!”

The sound of your pleased cry, Mingyu starts to move his hips to thrust up into you. He groans lowly because it feels like his aching cock is hitting the hilt of your sopping pussy. Your soft hands smooth over his naked torso, crying out his name as you feel every inch of his muscular chest.

“Mmmh, pretty girl.” Mingyu hums in pleasure as his big hands smooth down your body to grab your ass. “Fucking my cock just right. Feels so fucking good.”

When he starts to kiss and suck on your neck as his cock spears into you, the coil in your stomach snaps. You moan his name loudly as you come all over his dick. Loud squelching fills the room as he continues to bounce you on his lap. His thickness is stretching you deliciously, the unmistakable sound of his heavy balls smacking against your ass mixing in with your moans of pleasure.

Mingyu fucks into you a few more times before you feel his hot, thick cum spurt inside you. His euphoric moan is as pretty as ever, and you can’t help but move your hips to fuck him through his high.

You sag against him, and it’s silent for a moment until you bring your lips to his ear. “I want more of your cum, puppy.”

That’s how you find yourself on your side with Mingyu behind you. Your back is pressed against his beefy chest as he lifts your leg up to expose your soiled cunt to the cool air. He nuzzled his nose into your neck before he trails it up to your cheek. Your body shivers as his arm breath fans against your ear.

“Watch how your pretty pussy stretches open for me.”

You wonder what he means until his other hand lifts up your chin delicately to look at the full body mirror he bought for you a week ago after you told Minseo you wanted it. His fat cock is teasing your entrance, and the filthy sight makes your cunt flutter in need.

Without a word of warning, Mingyu thrusts his thick dick inside you, heavy sack flush against your creamy cunt. You whine out in pleasure, feeling completely full and stuffed to the brim. It’s impossible to look away from the mirror because you can see how tightly your pussy is gripping him.

Mingyu’s cock throbs inside you as his skin tingles with desire. He starts to thrust slowly. The lewd wet sound coming from your cunt is erotic as it fills your room. You moan again when the hand that isn’t spreading you open comes up to play with one of your tits. The sensations of his cock hitting your sweet spot while his fingers pinch and pull on your erect nipple have you close again.

If you weren’t so drunk on the pleasure Mingyu’s throbbing cock is providing you with, you’d tell him to let you record because the sight of him doing you like this is one you want to remember forever. His thrusts start to pick up as your moans get louder. He’s groaning into your ear as his fat tip slams against your cervix.

Mingyu pounding into you while in this positions feels like he’s tearing your pretty little pussy apart. He messily kisses your jaw as start to tremble in his hold, grunting when you tighten around him once again like you’re trying to milk him.

“You look so pretty like this, baby.” Mingyu’s moan is low, but you hear it perfectly. “Sweet little pussy was made to take my cock.”

Your eyes roll back as you whimper out a nearly incoherent agreement. So lost in pleasure, you don’t realize your second orgasm is one thrust away.

“Mingyu!” You moan as your orgasm hits.

Juices spurt out obscenely and cover his entire cock and the sheets bellow you. Mingyu groans as he holds your legs wide open. He keeps fucking your messy cunt as you squirt all over him. All you can make out in your euphoric haze is Mingyu calling you pretty while his twitching cock keeps ramming deep into you.

“Fill me up.” You manage to mewl out as you turn your head to give him a sloppy kiss.

Mingyu moans into your mouth, thrusting into you deeply before he stills. He forces his tongue into your mouth as he floods your sloppy cunt with his cum. You swallow each others moans as he stuffs you full to the point where you can feel it leak out of you. The feeling of his cock pulsing inside you is one of your favorite feelings which is why you’re eager to feel it at least one more time.

It’s why Mingyu is quick to put you into a different position, your legs pressed into your chest as he rams his aching cock inside you once again. Your fucked out eyes are the prettiest, and he knows that he’ll never get tired of that stare. He loves how your gaze never loses the affection you feel for him. It makes him feel like you’ll never leave him.

“You feel so good, Gyu.” You whimper as his big cock spears into you.

Mingyu roughly pounds into your ruined cunt, not holding back since he’s determined to fill you up one last time. His cock throbs as your mouth drops open in a silent scream. Your pretty mewls and whines mix in perfectly with the sound of skin slapping. It only makes him fuck you harder.

His dick forces out an obscene amount of juices from your fluttering pussy. Mingyu is so deep that it almost feels like he’s in your guts. You always feel so full when he fucks you like this, and all you can feel is bolts of euphoria dancing across your skin.

“Come for me, pretty.” Mingyu urges sweetly as he hooks your legs over his shoulders. “Come all over my cock and cover me with your sweet cream.”

Somehow he feel just as deep from this angle. He keeps railing your tight cunt, splitting you open to fully claim you as his. Your senses go into overdrive when he slips his fingers down to your puffy clit to rub gentle circles. At this point you’re trembling beneath him, all thoughts gone as he thrust harder and deeper inside you.

Mingyu’s eyes are locked on the way your tight pussy swallows his thick cock. The way your cream covers him completely make him more ravenous. He’s hitting your spongy spot with mastered precision, and it only takes a few more thrusts for the coil in your stomach to snap.

Your moan is pornographic as your walls contract and your juices squirt out everywhere. Mingyu’s pace doesn’t falter as you cover him with your orgasm. He groans loudly, loving how you can only seem to chant his name.

“God, you look pretty when you come on my cock. So pretty. Every. Fucking. Time.” His words break off into a guttural groan that bounces off of the walls.

Hot streams of his seed flood your insides, stuffing you full until the white pours out from around the thickness of his cock. Mingyu slowly releases your legs and goes to give you a passionate kiss. His hips move slowly as he fucks his cum back into you. With one last peck he pulls away and slowly eases his cock out of your messy pussy.

You moan again when he suddenly starts to lap up the mess between your legs. You’re too fucked out to stop him. That, and you did say he could eat his cum out of your pussy after you were done (plus it just feels so fucking good). He licks and sucks on your clit until there’s nothing left to lap up.

When he crawls back up your body, your insides clench at the erotic sight of him licking his lips. “So fucking sweet.”

You pull him down for another kiss. The taste of you two mixed together is so filthy yet so addicting that you have to lick every inch of his mouth. Mingyu pulls you flush against him as he continues to kiss you like he never wants to breath again.

Minutes later, you two are still in your bed, cuddling and unwilling to separate from each other.

“This feels like a dream.” Mingyu sighs into your hair.

You hum, running your finger tips along his biceps. “It’s not a dream. I really do adore you, Kim Mingyu.”

He buries his face in your neck, mumbling into your heated skin that the adoration he has for you is endless.

taglist: @duolingofanaccount @felix-3002 @junhui-recs @asjkdk @dani41 @kageyama-i-want-tobiors

[coldfanbou]

Fair is Fair

We get to learn a little bit about Mina in this fic. Turns out she's a little needy.

Length 2.3K

Mina X Mreader

Previous Part

Once Chaeyoung had left your home, you lay on the couch, wanting nothing more than to relax when your phone began vibrating. It was a series of messages. “Why did Momo get a turn?” was the first one that got your attention. You wonder who would know about your night with Momo and Jihyo. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you open your messages. You scroll to the top and realize it’s Mina messaging you. The rest of her messages were her complaints about being left out.

“I’m not the one that decided that,” you reply.

“Well, I want a turn; it’s been so long since I’ve been with someone.” She texts back before she begins calling your phone. You pick up the phone and instantly hear Mina's voice come through, “It’s not fair that Momo gets to have fun with you. We share everything, and she shouldn’t be able to have fun with you alone.” she repeats, her voice high. Mina’s whines were odd to you. From the small amount of time you had spent together, she had acted much more like a lady, so her complaining like a bratty child was weird, for lack of a better word. 

“Mina, things just happened. What do you want me to do about it.”

“Tonight, you and I are going out, no ifs, ands, or buts.”

“Mina,”

“No, we’re going out.” Mina whines, the soft pounding of something heard in the background. On the other side of the phone, Mina kicked her feet against her bed, cheeks full of air as she pouted. “I want to go out tonight, and then we can spend the night at your place. Chaeyoung got to fuck you last night, why can’t I?” You question the last part, your mind working slowly until you figure out that the friend Chaeyoung had been talking about was, in fact, Mina.  “Chaeyoung was showing us pictures last night, and I couldn’t believe it was you. I want my turn now!” She whined, kicking her feet again. 

You reluctantly agree, too tired to put up a fight. “Alright, fine, but you plan the date.” 

“Really?” Mina almost shouts, the glee in her voice ringing out.

“Yes, give me the details, and I’ll meet you there.” You were already tired of the situation. You place your phone on the coffee table before shutting your eyes. 

When you wake up from your short nap you have several messages on your phone from Mina, including the time and place for your date. You check the clock and realize there isn’t much time left. You get yourself ready, already regretting giving in to Mina so easily. You head to the address Mina had sent you. Arriving at the address, you double-check to make sure it’s the right place. You question Mina’s choice of a Lego cafe, but soon enough, you see her arrive, standing outside the cafe and typing something out on her phone. Your phone buzzes a second later, “Where are you?” 

“Okay, guess this is the right place.” You say to yourself before getting out of the car. You walk up to Mina, who smiles when she sees you. She’s dressed casually, wearing oversized jeans and a hoodie.

“Let’s go!” Mina says, taking your hand and heading inside, grabbing a table for the two of you. 

“What kind of place is this Mina?”

“It’s a Lego cafe,” Mina says, stating the obvious.

“I know that, but why here? Why have the date here?”

“It’s fun,” Mina says, pulling out a set of legos from under her sweater. You feel like you’re in another world as Mina begins playing with the set. Looking at the box, you see it’s a car she’s building. You’re more confused than anything else; you never would have thought Mina would be interested in something like this. Seeing her pull a box set from under her sweater was another can of worms in and out of itself. You watch the young woman smile to herself as she puts the pieces together. It was cute, almost innocent. You feel out of place as she continues to build the car. “We’ll get you a set,” Mina says without looking up at you. 

As the waiter comes around, Mina takes charge, ordering coffee for both of you and a Lego set for you to work on. You sighed briefly, “I didn’t expect this would be our date. I thought you’d want to do something else.”  You pick at the set Mina had chosen for you; it was a set of flowers, something simple.

You build your set while watching Mina work on hers, “Do you do this often?”

She nods, focusing intently on the tiny stickers she had to place on the Lego pieces. “Yeah, I think it’s fun building these sets. Most guys don’t really like it, though; they think it’s childish.”

“It kind of is, but if you enjoy it, you should be able to share that.” You reply as you look through the instructions. “If they don’t like it and don’t want to date you because of it, that’s their problem.” Mina glances up from her set, looking at you before continuing to build it.

“Thanks,” she murmurs. “It’s peaceful building these,” Mina pauses as the coffee arrives, taking her time to sip from the hot cup before returning to her build.

“I thought you would just want to get straight to business. Not go on a date first.”

“I-well, I thought it would be rude to go to your house and do it.” Mina stammers, “I thought this would be better; besides, I wanted to build this set. I’ve had it for a month.” Mina says, trying to give another reason for the date. She hoped you wouldn’t see the price tag on the box. She had bought the Lego set before coming here. After your call with her had ended, she got flustered and went out to buy it. 

“So what else do you like?” 

“Games, video games,” Mina says, drawing out another question from you. “I like Minecraft; it’s a lot like Legos. I like building things more than going on adventures.” You nod along and continue asking Mina questions about herself. She slowly grows more comfortable as the date goes on, and once she finishes her build and you finish yours, the two of you decide to leave.

Mina places her little car in the back seat, with your plant, staring at them as you drive home, hoping nothing happens to them.

As you arrive in the parking lot, Mina slips a pill into her mouth and swallows it, preparing herself for a long evening. The effects are immediate as she feels her body begin to heat up. Walking to the door, Mina grows anxious, her body growing needy.

Reaching the door, Mina throws herself at you, wrapping her arms around your neck as she presses her lips against yours. “Let’s get started,” You struggle to open the door but eventually manage it, moving inside with Mina. She grabs your hands, moving them under her sweater. You feel her toned stomach as she drags your arms up her body until you reach her modest chest. Mina cranes her neck, letting you mark her body with hickeys as you lead her to the bedroom. Mina’s nipples rub against the palm of your hand, and she lets out a light moan as you squeeze her breasts. You push the door open and place Mina on the bed. You pull the hoodie off her before continuing to mark her body, her moans growing louder as you tease her nipples. Mina holds you against her chest, wanting to keep you there forever as you begin tugging at her jeans. 

Mina grabs your hands, stopping your advance. When you look up at her, her eyes are already on yours. “Before we keep going, I want to tell you something, but you have to promise not to tell anyone else.” 

“Okay, I promise,” You state to her, staring into her eyes and creating a sense of trust.

“Momo doesn’t know about this, but…” Mina’s face becomes flushed as she struggles to finish her sentence. “Can I call you Daddy? I like it better this way; please take the lead.”

For the second time today, Mina stunned you. “Uhm, sure, that’s fine.” This version of Mina was a lot different from the woman you had sex with a couple of weeks ago. Whereas when she was drunk, she degraded herself, Mina seemed more soft when she was sober. Mina giggles as she unbuttons her jeans and lets you pull them off. You become distracted, thinking to yourself how Mina has been the opposite of what you expected of her as she reaches down and rubs your bulge. 

“You’re so big,” Mina whispers, “Can I see it, Daddy?” You nod and lay back on the bed, letting Mina pull your pants off you; she slowly moves her head over your crotch, her long fingers pulling at your underwear. A smile creeps onto Mina as she tugs at your underwear, and your cock flops out. She grasps it gently, her hand moving along it slowly.

“Keep going, Mina, that feels good.” You groan.

The young woman drips her saliva onto your cock, spreading it out as she runs her hand along her shaft. “I want you, Daddy, in here.” She says, placing her other hand on her stomach. Mina stares into your eyes as she strokes your cock, her body growing hotter as she becomes more eager to move on. Mina flashes her gummy smile as she uses both hands to stroke your cock, rubbing the tip with the palm of one as the other runs along your shaft. You groan Mina’s name, the pleasure flowing through you as she leans down and kisses the tip. Mina smiles after, feeling shy. 

“Mina, I want you.” The young woman’s heart skips a beat after hearing your order. She straddles you, rubbing her lips along your cock and moaning as she prepares herself. The heat coming from your cock, makes Mina want more. She doesn’t wait long before lifting herself and rubbing the tip between her folds. Light moans escape Mina’s lips as she slowly sinks onto your cock, her walls squeezing your shaft as she slips more into her cunt. Mina places her hands on your chest as she begins to feel full. 

Mina rides you, her hips rocking back and forth as she leans back. “You’re so big,” she groans. The young woman bites her lip as she moves up and down your shaft, slowly putting more force into her bounce as she takes every inch inside her. “Mmm, Daddy,” Mina moans, her strength slowly leaving her body, leaving you to thrust into her. You roll Mina onto her back and lift her lower half, continuing to thrust into her. Mina’s moans only get louder; she grips the bedsheets, getting closer to cumming. She wraps her arms around you, holding you tightly as you ram more of your length inside her. “D-daddy, you’re so deep,” she whines, her legs wrapping around you. You kiss Mina’s neck and listen to her whimpers. Your hands grip the back of her thighs; they quiver as you push Mina closer to her climax.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum for Daddy,” you growl in a low voice. Mina’s body tenses, and she cries out as she cums. You continue thrusting into her tightening cunt, driving Mina mad. She continues to moan, “Daddy, wait!” She whines, her body becoming overrun by the pleasure. 

“I’m going to cum, Mina,” you groan. 

“I want Daddy’s cum. I want it inside me,” Mina moans, the pleasure breaking her as she feels your cock throbbing inside her. As you're about to cum you bury yourself inside Mina, your cum pouring into her cunt. “Oh, Daddy, more,” Mina moans. You kiss the young woman, shutting her up for a moment as you enjoy her body, her cunt milking you.

“Does my baby want more?” You ask, running your finger between Mina’s tits. 

“Yes, Daddy. Please give me more,” Mina says, biting her fingertip as she uses her other hand to spread her lips. “Please fuck me again, Daddy.” The sight of your seed leaking out of her cunt gets you hard again, and you slide back into Mina, gripping her ass as you begin thrusting again. 

As you fuck her to another climax, you feel something rub against your finger. Moving your hand just a little, you feel a plug. “Does my baby have a plug in her?” You whisper into Mina’s ear. 

“Yes, Daddy.” Mina says with a pout, “I want to save that for later.” she says softly. You leave it alone for now and continue fucking the young woman until you’re both exhausted. As you lay beside Mina, your chest heaving, you comment on her other side.

“This is a lot different from our first time together. So you have Sharon, and this is Mina?”

Mina looks away from you, covering her face. “It’s only when I’m drunk. I say a lot of things when I’m drunk.” She admits.

You laugh at Mina, “Oh yeah? Like ‘cum inside my slutty pussy’ or ‘fuck me like a whore’”  Mina’s mind flashes back to the first time you had sex, and she grows more embarrassed. “So, which do you like more?” You lean in closely to Mina’s ear and run your hand along her body, pushing two fingers inside her cum-filled cunt. “Or is it both?” You ask her, “Are you my slutty baby?” Mina gasps, and her body shivers. She bites her lip and nods.

“I like both,”

[kabuki-writes]

The Laugh of Nero

chapter: 4 chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 5

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: General Acacius faces the consequences of his conspiracy, while his daughter unexpectedly meets Emperor Caracalla alone for the first time.

warning(s): mention of violence | mention of alcohol | swearing | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: -

word count: 3.6k

Romans loved the story of old philosopher Seneca. He was once the teacher of Emperor Nero almost 200 years ago and although body was dead, his life continued through writings: one of it being the drama 'Octavia'. It was a popular play in the amphitheaters of Ancient Rome and beyond. And it was a favorite of yours.

The plot focused on three days during which the Emperor divorced and exiled his wife Claudia Octavia and married another, his lover Poppaea Sabina. It was indeed a tragedy, that gave the audience a glimpse into the madness of Nero, the wisdom of Seneca and the tragedy of Octavia. Oh how you could relate to Octavia. The divergence between her fear, hatred and sadness against her will to withstand and be wiser than what was thrown against her, it intrigued you. Somehow you felt the same in your current situation. On the one handside you feared the future and displeased the attention of the Emperors on you, yet you wanted to do everything to persevere. In a way, the stoic nature of Seneca's character in this play gave you some kind of guidance too. Stoicism, maybe you needed to stick to that even more as you were not able to control your surroundings as it seemed?

You took your seat in the upper-ranks of the amphitheater, accompanied by two of your closest friends. Cicero was one of the grandsons of senator Gracchus and now served as one of the senate’s transcriptors for as long as he was not old enough to candidate for a political mandate himself. The other one was Lydia, the daughter of General Britannicus, who fought alongside your father countless of times and was now fighting with his legions in the far north of the Empire. "Oh, i hope Scato is going to play Octavia this time! The last time i saw him in the role of Electra - it was just mesmerizing. He is just so handsome", Lydia sighed, as she always seemed to be that actor's number one supporter. You and Cicero laughed in response before you gave your friend a small pat on the shoulder. "I already heard that you approached him after the last play. Beware actors, Lydia. They might be charming, but they're also free spirits," you explained with a smirk on your lips, before Cicero added. "Oh everyone would run, when they hear about her father."

"Come on! Stop it! I am just daydreaming! I know he will never let me spend time with someone that isn't a boring military officer!" Lydia turned her face away because she turned completely red, but as she did, she noticed the black armory of the Praetorian guards, who escorted one of the Emperors to the royal box of the Amphitheater. "y/n, Cicero, look!"

You quickly turned your eyes to the scene and your face went pale in an instant, when you saw the luxurious decorated robe, the blonde-ginger hair and the golden laurel wreath. That profile, the curved nose and the make up... you instantly noticed, which brother was here to witness the play of 'Octavia'.

Nero.

In that very moment, he turned his head in an attempt to take a look at the crowd and you tried your best to keep your head low, while your sight was locked to the stage in front of you.

"Is everything alright, y/n?", Cicero asked irritated, while he tried to make sense of your sudden change of behavior.

"Yes, yes i just... i've never seen Emperor Caracalla here."

"Really? He comes to the theater quite often to watch plays", Lydia managed to say, before the crowd slowly fell silent as the first actor slowly walked on stage. The young woman next to you blushed and you could feel Lydia's hand clinging on your arm as if she needed something to hold on - the actor was indeed Scato and the costume he wore was 'Octavia' - a flowing robe with a long, curled wig and extravagant make-up that captured the sadness of her character perfectly.

But you couldn't really focus. Your eyes went to the royal box, the best place to watch the play in a comfortable isolation from the rest of the spectators. Here he sat, accompanied by an entourage of 'friends' and a little monkey which sat on his lap. Suddenly his eyes went from the stage over the crowd and suddenly, he saw you. Your heart sunk to your feet and you instantly turned back to the stage to witness Scato's monologue. He had seen you... and what you were not able to witness now was how he turned to one of his Praetorian Guards, to which he whispered an order.

You tried to keep calm as you stared at the stage, where Octavia was now accompanied by a chorus, who wept for the terrible treason she had to endure when Nero decided to take another woman as his wife. Meanwhile your fingers clinged into the fabric of your toga-styled dress as you gathered your thoughts. You still recalled the words you'd talked with him at the Collosseum - the way you had his attention. Women would kill for what you were able to get if you just continue - but then you heard the words of your father, you saw his worried eyes in front of you and you knew something was terribly wrong.

You were so encaptured in your own thoughts that Lydia grabbed your arm again, but this time it was not because she was about to fall for the man on stage, but because a Praetorian Guard was standing right at the side of your seats and pointed at you. "You. Follow me," he ordered in a very demanding tone, while your friends looked at you in shock. They didn't know what you'd witnessed before, so you grabbed their hands and just gave them an encouraging smile. "Don't worry about me, we see each other soon, alright?", you whispered before you stood up and followed the guard upstairs to the place where Emperor Caracalla had his seat.

_________________________________

"y/n, what a pleasant surprise to meet you here! Please, take a seat!", you heard the voice of Emperor Caracalla as you stepped into the royal box of the amphitheater and bowed to him.

"Leave us, Go!", he hissed quickly to his entourage, who - without a word - got up from their seats and left as quickly as they could, but not without giving you a two-faced look. It was almost as if they already knew something you didn't, as if they both pitied and envied you at the same time. You hold their glances to not give in to any mockery they might've had in their minds and would speak out to each other when they were gone. Then it was only you and the young Emperor,... and his pet monkey, which was seemingly busy eating grapes from a bowl of fruit.

With slow, careful movements you approached the seats in the front and sat down beside Caracalla, his eyes never leaving you as you did. "A funny coincidence, is it not? I remember that we talked about 'Octavia' and here we are now", he chuckled, while he leaned back and for a moment, he watched the stage, where Seneca approached Nero about the divorce of his first wife.

"A coincidence, indeed", you answered and followed his glance. There he was, the mad Emperor, who complained about the unfair treatment of him through his own mother, which he cursed over and over again. At that point she was already dead - believed to be murdered by an order of Nero himself.

"You haven't fully answered me back then, when i asked why you see yourself as Nero". The question came from your mouth while you still followed the actor's movements in his luxurious decorated robes, a red wig on his head - it somehow reminded you of Caracalla.

"The play is written to portray him as a monster, am i sitting next to one?"

Maybe it was almost too bold to ask that. You already regretted speaking those words out loud, when his view instantly switched to you, his blue eyes digging into you like a sharp blade. Suddenly, he simply burst into a resounding laughter, that made your lose your breath for a moment, as you stared at him with irritation.

"Gods, you're really amusing", Caracalla grinned wide, showing off his gold tooth. Nonetheless he gave you an answer. "It depends..."

He raised his hand and let his little monkey climb on it. When he reached his shoulder, Caracalla took a grape and fed it to the animal, before it started to groom his wild hair. Not caring about it, he continued. "Everyone views Nero as mad for breaking the chains that his mother and his predecessor layed on him. He never loved Octavia, yet he had to marry her. He never wanted to be Emperor, yet he became one. His mother tried to control him, so much so, that he needed to get rid of this old hag." The last words were almost a hissing tone, as if he was speaking of something he could truly relate to.

"Now everyone is plotting against him, the Gods, his damned first wife, his teacher, all of Rome, only because he started to follow his own path and married the woman he loved. A tragedy, truly - not just for Octavia, don't you think?"

He looked straight into your eyes, waiting for your answer and you sensed that this was a key moment, where you could say something wrong. In a way, you could see what he meant, but there was something he didn't see. Nero broke the chains, yes, but he broke them with cruelty, murder and terror.

"Isn't everything in our lives a tragedy?", you asked and it seemed to please Caracalla, as his bright grin returned, before he turned to the stage once more, crawling his pet monkey while he followed the next scene.

Oh how he could relate to those words. No one could understand the tragedy of his own life, always being seen as the underestimated, 'weaker' and younger brother. But he enjoyed this talk more than he was willing to admit. And he was sure that you were able to understand him to a certain degree, the first woman to do so.

Suddenly, his pet jumped over to you, climbing onto your shoulder and taking a strain of hair to look at your curls.

"Dondus, no! Don't hurt the fair lady!" In an instant, Caracalla jumped from his seat, but before he tried to take the monkey again, he noticed your sudden yet beautiful laugh and how you reached out to pat Dondus carefully, softly, with your filigran fingers. How he wished that those fingers would touch him in that very moment, while his hands stiffened.

"It is fine, please - don't worry", you said quickly, since the monkey didn't hurt you in any way - in fact the way he climbed on your shoulders, touched your hair with his tiny fingers and groomed them with interest in his dark eyes, was very cute. And your reaction was honest.

"I think, he likes you", Caracalla mumbled, while he returned to his seat, still watching you how gentle you were with Dondus, one of his only 'real friends'. It was his own pet, his alone and caring for him often calmed his mind. Just as you did in this very moment since no word came from his mouth - he just watched. Why, just why does he have to share you with Geta soon...

Slowly he reached for his cup of wine and poured it down in an attempt to numb his thoughts over this damn fact.

"You said you see yourself in Octavia, but you could be Poppaea", he whispered, his eyes locked on yours.

"I could be," you responded, the focus laying on 'could', while you were still playing with the little monkey. In a way you started to find your path in this game. "Either way my fate would end in death then."

Caracalla laughed boisterous once again in response to your words, while he raised his cup. "And yet you would live in delight instead of agony. Let us toast to the inevitable death of us all". You took your cup and followed his toast.

"To the tragedy of us all." As you drank a first sip of your wine, you still saw how he looked you straight into the eyes. It was clear that he just waited for the next chance to say something and this time he was closer than before, leaning over the armrest of his throne. The Emperor was close enough for you to smell the scent of his perfumes and the wine on him.

"I just know we will have a lot of fun, once we see each other more often," he chuckled. His words hit you, but you tried your best not to drop your mask of neutrality. You'd almost began to enjoy this conversation up to this point. What did he mean by that?

Should you ask? No, it would be terribly impolite to question something like that in the presence of an Emperor. Only your lips parted, while you searched for your next words. Caracalla was the one to grin again, his gold tooth shimmering in the lights that came from the stage of the theater. And his next words rang through your ears like a bell.

"Don't forget to thank your dear father, once you're back home."

_________________________________

Marcus Acacius walked through the hallways of the Imperial Palace, escorted by the Praetorian Guard. He was not in chains, but wore his dark brown leather armor with the wine red whool cloak and his helmet under his arm - the armor of a General. In fact, he didn't really know why he was even here in the first place. It was quite early for a new war campaign, but he stopped to question them long ago anyways. It wouldn't be a surprise, if the Emperors had already found a new target for their obsession. The mere hunger for expansion was enough to never satisfy both Geta and Caracalla, who simply took military like Acacius and moved them on a map as if they were simple toy figures. The glory of Rome was what they promised the people, yet all the older man had seen was death and despair over and over again - even though he always came back with a victory laurel wreath on his head. What an irony.

The fact that everything was like the last times he was called to the palace, made him unobservant to the fact that he was walking straight into a trap. He was sure that his secret was still a secret - that he and the senators were safe in a way. Maybe safe enough to carry out their plan once the time was ready for it. How wrong he was on this...

When he stepped into the throne room, the guards behind him closed the door and he greeted Emperor Geta according to the protocol in situations like these. "My Emperor", he said with his fist on his chest and his eyes locked on the young man, who stood in front of one of the two elaborately designed thrones, which were placed on a platform at the center of the room.

"General Acacius! It is good to see you again. Come forward...," Geta called and his waving hand was a signal for him to move, to come closer. As he did, Marcus noticed that the other twin was missing, but this wasn't a surprise too since Caracalla was often 'occupied' with other things. In reality, he simply hated politics and rather threw himself into diffent forms of pleasure in an attempt to escape the stuffiness.

They were not alone, a couple of Praetorian guards stood at their distinct positions as they always did and therefore the general simply ignored them.

Meanwhile Geta had to force himself to keep a straight face, when the traitor approached him as if nothing happened at all, as if he was not about to put a sword into his neck with those filthy senators - just as Julius Caesar got betrayed by his kin and the senate as well. The young Emperor would not let this happen again.

"Tell me, General, why did i call for you?"

Acacius brows furrowed, while he looked to the map table, which was standing alone in front of the great window. It was untouched.

"I thought you might answer me that, your Grace. The last time we talked, you granted me a pause before i will regroup my legions in Ostia and start the next campaign in Numidia."

Geta's laughter filled the room in response to the General's words and it took him even more strength to not scream at him.

"Oh, don't worry, Acacius. This plan hasn't changed yet."

Yet. A feeling of unease creeped up his body, as he stood still, his eyes locked on the pale, gingerblonde royal, who stood in front of him in a toga of black and gold.

"But let us be honest now, shall we? I question your loyality to me and my brother, to Rome. As i know, you're meeting with members of the senate," Geta called out and even though this was true, Acacius kept a straight face, hiding his fear in trained perfection.

"As you know, my dear wife is the daughter of senator Galba. Is it now regarded as treason to meet with my father-in-law?"

Geta stepped forward, closing the distance between him and Acacius in an instant, while his jaw clenched in anger. His mind was like a volcano, ready to erupt at any second.

"Do you think we're fools!?", he hissed with an even more aggressive undertone that grew louder with each word. Marcus had to tackle the urge to say 'Yes', in fact there was even so much more he wanted to say right now. That they were tyrants, mad, arrogant and overall spoiled little brats, which he cursed at every given second of his life.

"We know what you're up to Acacius - a snake amongst the men we regarded as the most loyal to our father and to us. How dare you turn against us and plot with those maggots from the senate, even though you've seen that they were not able to rule an Empire for yourself! Have you no respect for Emperor Septimius Severus, who gave you all what you're now!?"

It was too late, he obviously knew. And Acacius was not even able to put in words how much he hated himself for not being able to keep it as a secret long enough. It not only put his own life in danger but the rest of his family too, his wife... his daughter. His jaw clenched at the mere thought of the consequences that might errupt in the aftermath of this audience. Yet he couldn't hold back what was laying under his tongue for so long: "You father still holds my greatest respect and loyalty even after his passing... may the gods grant him peace in elysium. But i've seen your shortcomings many, many times. You lack the wisdom and restraint he had, yes maybe even the love he had for Rome and its people. You and your brother are not worthy of the crowns he placed upon your heads."

Geta's eye twitched and he grabbed a dagger, placing it right in front of Acacius' throat. His whole body trembled in pure wrath at the audacity of that General's words.

"I should kill you now Acacius! I should kill you and all those filthy senators for that treason!", he screamed at him, while his opponent only responded with a cold and collected gaze. This look alone made him Geta even more aggressive and hateful towards Marcus, but killing him would only create another problem - so he went with the path he had already planned in his mind.

"My brother was right, you are a Brutus. But we're not Julius Caesar", Geta hissed against Acacius, leaning his head to the side for a moment, as he studied his stern facial expression. Oh how much he hated it that he didn't fear him. The Emperor wanted to change that.

"We should start all over again, shall we? As a hero of Rome, the people won't be pleased with you being crucified publically... But we can still kill your wife... your daughter?", he started and noticed how - even for a second - the corners of Acacius' mouth twitched, as if he wanted to say something against this. Now there was fear, something Acacius tried desperately not to show, but Geta still noticed.

A wide, knowing smile appeared on his face and he nodded in silent agreement. "Ah, now you see the consequences. Yes, i am not above killing you kin and let you watch... but it would be such a shame, such a waste... especially for your beautiful daughter. I wonder how you will explain to her, that you threw her young life away because of your pride"

The blade of his dagger was dangerously close as the tip touched his skin at his neck, while Acacius stood in an almost frozen position.

"I have a proposal for you, Acacius...it is the only option to safe your own life and the ones of those you love the most - wed your daughter to me."

Geta's word hit Marcus like a lightning bolt. His eyes widened in response to the request of the Emperor in front of him. And his heart broke in that very moment.

"I will not sell out my daughter like this", he answered with a firm tone in his voice, but Geta only smirked and leaned forward, whispering in his ear with an amused undertone. He knew that Marcus wasn't able to say 'No' in any way. He loved his daughter too much to watch her die.

"One option, General. She either becomes my wife - and i will make her Empress of Rome. Or she will be crucified alongside your pathetic senators..."

He would always choose her life, but at what cost.

_________________________________

Tags:

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[biteyoubiteme]

lemon cake

lemon drop!soobin x angel cake!reader

‧₊˚ ⋅ synopsis In a world where everything is sugary and sweet, it is always fun to throw in a little twist. Quiet and tired Lemon Drop finds himself struggling to keep up with the day to day of single-parent life. Knocking on Angel Cake's door, begging for more than just help, might take care of two of his problems.  ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ warnings 🔞!!! fairytale au, lemon drop!soobin, angel cake fem!reader, slight spit kink, spit and cum as flavored aphrodisiacs, not really but chubby reader implied bc angel cakes body is soft and described as cake (skin indents and takes a few seconds to bounce back), mentions of masturbation (f! and m!), hand job, oral (m!rec), virginity loss, breeding kink, corruption kink, biting, cumplay/eating/snowballing, no protection, creampie, prob forgot some sorry

⊹₊ ݁ . wc: 8.9k . ݁₊ ⊹

၄၃ ⸝⸝⸝ now playing: new emotion- the aces an: ive never been so happy to post a fic before! this was so very fun to work on with my moots. im honored to have worked alongside some absolutely incredible writers- actually wild that you let me in on this when you guys are just so amazing im a little dazed lol. and it was so fun to read everyones fics early and go back and forth on little ideas we found would benefit each others works. this was one of the best things to do and im so thankful for mae and her mind,,go read everyone elses fics pls pls pls they are so so good. anyways love my friends <333 [m.list] [strawberry shortcake m.list]

Angel Cake loved a routine. Most things could be broken down into a neat list of checkpoints, a simple to-do list set up like the recipe for a good day. She would get to the store early, prep the tables, and make sure all the clothes were neat enough for when she opened the door. Sometimes a new shipment would come in and she would take her time checking off every box as she added the new items to her inventory. She loved folding all the shirts up, stacking them, lining them all so neatly, and keeping them color-organized.

It wasn't until an hour later that the store officially opened for the day, the sweet buttery scent from the town's shops wafting in through the doors. Angel Cake would sit behind the register looking through catalogs to pick out new things to order, helping customers when they filtered in and lulled around the shop admiring her cute displays. Almost an hour after opening is when her favorite customer arrived. “Strawberry!”

She loved to shop, everything she wore was hand-selected by Angel, perfectly picked out from the catalog with her in mind. Even the pale blue shirt worn by Kai was bought within these four walls. The sweet blueberry boy gave a shy wave, apple dumpling, strawberry’s little sister, running right past the two of them to her favorite section in the store.

“I brought you your share from the bake sale,” the cream-colored box carefully held in hand. It was one of the small things Angel looked forward to, the soft cake and cream, the first bite of sweetness. “They took a little longer than expected to make but they turned out so good,”

Kai flushed a deep shade of blue, the color only highlighted by the blue strands of his hair. Even Strawberry was blushing, her eyes tacking onto apple dumpling to avoid looking at angel cakes questioning glance. “Berry why don't you help Dumpling pick out a new school dress, I see angels gotten some new ones in,”

It was all it took for Kai to follow after the giggling child, leaving Angel and Strawberry alone. “You won't believe the weekend I've had,”

“Was it beomgyu? I hear he went to the market for the first time in a month and acted so bitter over Cherry’s jam,”

“No no nothing like that, I just- berry and I-” If strawberry could get any more color to shade her cheeks she would, her flush traveling to her ears, “We kind of…”

“You kind of what?” Angel Cake had known for years that Blueberry had a crush on Strawberry. They spent most of their time together, strawberry baking and blueberry strumming his guitar. It wasn't news to Angel that either of them had fallen into a relationship without much effort.

“We kissed and then it wasn't kissing it was- well-” she was struggling to find the right words, the images of the night before flashing in her eyes as she stumbled through the words. “It was so much more than kissing, the both of us were just insatiable and he just- he tasted so good,”

“Tasted? Like when you kissed?” Angel tilted her head as if that would tip the right information into the right spot for her to understand. Tasting someone did not necessarily sound all too fun, she could picture the underwhelming flavor of blueberries and didn't find it appealing at all. Angel was never really a fan of how plain they could be, although she would never confess that to Strawberry who couldn't stop herself from remembering the flavor as if it was spilling right back onto her tongue.

“Not exactly-” but it was all Strawberry could say before the two of you turned to the sound of apple dumping giving a shout.

“Meringue!” the little blonde, dimpled-cheeked child, giggling as she ran to meet her friend, exclaiming just as loud, “Dumpling!”

Everyone in all of Strawberry Land knew exactly how close the two little girls were. Spending hours joined at the hip, playing games, singing songs, and laughing enough to fill the sweetest of souls with the happiness shared between the two of them. Most times lemon meringue would find herself sprawled out on the living room floor, coloring with apple dumpling while angel cake and strawberry tested recipes in the kitchen. The two little girls being the best test testers, never afraid to say when they didn't like something.

Most times meringue was over because Blueberry was the perfect babysitter, teaching the girls how to play the guitar, and finding fun ways to keep them entertained. He kept them busy while Lemon Drop, meringue’s dad, was off at the local college teaching. Lemon drop soobin was always a bit bitter, the slight tinge to his personality always brought forward with his obvious sleepiness. His under eyes slightly bruised from the late hours he spent bent over books, grading papers, and chasing after his little sweet tart. Rumpled shirt half untucked from his pants, butter blonde hair mussed, and glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Angel Cake could feel her stomach flutter at the sight, he looked unbelievably warm, the kind of person you wanted to slip into and cuddle up. His lazy blinking eyes tracked around the sweet cream shop, deeply breathing in the sugary air.

Soobin wanted a nap, the warmth of the shop hugging him the second he breached the doorway. It was the favorite shop on the strip, the scent pulling him in amongst the rest of the fruity temptations. Buttery warmth hinted with vanilla cream beckoned him in that direction every time. It was easy to get lost in thought and follow his footsteps right to your door without realizing it when he followed his instincts. With an excuse to step inside, he could settle his craving without shyly backing away from the doorway, tinted pink from the recurring embarrassment of finding the shop irresistible. It was okay when Meringue was with him, but when he was alone, gazing through the sugar glass window to see angel cake folding or hanging clothes, it was a little more awkward.

He wasn't particularly known as the fondest resident in strawberryland. He was known to fight back, the sting of his arguments leaving people with a bitter impression of him. It was something that was expected of the debate professor, teaching the people how to stand up for themselves and find the proper form to an argument.

Angel found him to always cut back the sweetness of the people who took his class, leveling out their need to please in a way that she knew people who didn't take his class found caustic. Working in such a closed shop she heard more than anyone else did in the street market, the stalls so open the voices carried over to one another. No secrets could be kept when the air picked up every sound, enough so that anyone could get burned when gossip traveled. It made her shop the gossip harbor, the walls soaking in the secrets enough so that it set the illusion that nothing would make it to the unknowing subject of conversation.

Just last week she heard the run-around rumor mill turning out stories of frosty puff and gingerbread taehyun. The occasional talk of lemon drop, he's just so sour, listing ways to prove someone wrong. Can't we all just get along and not fight? He must be teaching that poor sweetheart of his such nasty things.

It had made Angel roll her eyes. Who cared if he was giving the rest of Strawberry Land a backbone, it was needed in such a basket of softies. But Angel knew she was in the same boat, still a product of her environment, soobin had moved back after finding himself in a big city amongst the rich and decadent. Nothing like the homegrown bunch he had been born from.

Strawberry pinched angel's arm, her soft flesh dimpling at the draw to attention. It always took a second for Angel's skin to bounce back from a tight hold, easily squashed like the cake from which she was named. “It wasn’t just kissing it was- I don't even know how to describe it, we tasted each other in places I never thought to before,”

“Like where?” it felt absurd to think of putting angel's mouth anywhere besides the mouth of a lover, maybe the back of their hand. Strawberry fiddled with the loose ribbon she used to tie a bow on the shortcake box, tugging the strand until it neatly fell away. Even for her name, Angel had never seen strawberry so pink, from ear to ear as she swallowed. “Down there,” her eyes flickered down to Angel's zipper, popping up just as quickly to see if Angel understood what she was saying.

“Berry!” Angel whisper-shouted, shocked, and intrigued all at once. Angel wasn't too dense, she understood to some extent how it worked but never thought about their being a flavor, or even that your mouth was used for more than just kissing.

“Angel, I don't even know how to describe how good it tasted- better than this,” she held up the short plump cake, the sweet cream swirled on top and donned with a little strawberry heart. “And it's hard to taste any better than this, I mean it's more addictive than sugar,”

It seemed hard to believe, especially when Angel sunk her teeth into the light dessert. The warmth of the sponge still lingers in between the ripples of fresh fruit. The frosting was her favorite part, dotting her upper lip in the clear mark of overindulgence, the creamy whips making her softly moan.

The sound echoed in the shop, just loud enough to be heard under the giggles of the girls, talking out planned outfits to wear to school tomorrow, but it didn't catch Kai’s attention, only catching the ear of lonely Lemon Drop Soobin. He watched the way Angel wiped at her mouth, sucking her thumb clean before rolling her eyes, “Hard to believe,”

“Well, you won't know until you try,” Strawberry muttered, closing the box of sweets and tying the bow back up.

“Ew no, I hate to say it but blueberry is kind of a flavorless fruit-” Angel Cake started looking over to where soobin and Kai stood. Angel stuttered in her speech, cheeks flushed and shoulders straightening under Soobin’s piercing gaze. Strawberry not even noticing the hiccup, “No! Not with Kai, anyone else but him, I mean it, Angel, it was something else,”

Soobin quirked a brow, Angel's cheeks deepening in color. It didn't help that he was looking at her with her train of thought derailing in the direction of a lovely open pool of crisp lemonade. She could just smell the citrusy freshness that followed after him, the scent that made her perfectly aware of how different they were, and forced her to face the recollection that she wanted him in a horribly needy way.

She wondered exactly what he would taste like, obviously lemony, but would he be more sweet or sour? Fresh or bitter? He was the opposite of sweet little blueberry who was now clapping at the choice of dresses the girls had picked out. Lemon drop was a streak of verbena-washed clarity in a town full of half-baked sweet tarts. She wanted him to wash over her and teach her things she never would have known without him, open her pallet to more than just the sweets found in a shop just like Strawberry said. Because as much as she talked down on the people around her, she was just as close to them, still grappling with the niceties of sprouting out in a field of pushovers. But she had time to bake, enough so that she knew she wanted more than just a dollop of sweetness to finish her off. She needed the honesty of someone who would be just as bitter as she was sweet, someone who had left and come back, someone who knew exactly what she wanted and had achieved it themself. Only now all she could think about was what exactly you had to do for a taste of anything at zipper level.

“You know, I heard he's looking for a sitter, especially because Kai is helping me so much at the stand. It's great to have Dumpling around but sometimes following her and meringue is a bit much,” Strawberry added, looking right past soobin to where Blueberry was fussing over apple dumplings shoelaces.

“Really?” soobin had broken eye contact to tend to little lemon meringue, carrying the outfits she's picked out in one arm and pushing back his hair with a ruddy knuckled hand. She watched the two of them like she was memorizing her favorite recipe, taking the time to run over every line, connecting the little bullet point dimples the two of them shared. Even when Strawberry took her bunch with her out the door, leaving the two of them alone at her counter, she couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her features.

“Don't you just love it, angel? It's so bright and pretty and does a perfect twirl when I spin,” meringue is nearly a spitting image of lemon drop, the only difference is her hair doesn't have the classic butter blond but a sun-washed version, the roots starting as a toasted tan color before fading out. But even then it's impossible to say they weren't related. Holding onto the edge of the checkout counter, hand still fluttering over the dress she's picked. Soobin reaches into his back pocket to pull out his wallet, grinning with the edge of his mouth as he watches her look up at Angel with her big brown eyes, dimple so deep in his cheeks she's sure she can swim in it. “It's perfect,” Soobin mutters.

For someone who has been pushed into the bitter pile by the rest of the town, Angel finds it hard to believe someone like the man before her could be anything but comforting. It was in his name, lemon drop, so nostalgic, in and of itself an acquired taste.

“I know you think that but I was asking angel,” meringue scrunched up her nose in that little kid's way, the light dusting of faded freckles tucked into the creases like a bunched blanket.

“I love it, would it even be a good dress without a perfect twirl? It's why I make sure all of the dresses in here look good when you spin,” Angel folds the items neatly sliding them into the gift bag. “Here you go,”

Soobin passes out the exact change, hand brushing angels as he lets the money go, surprised by the warmth radiating off the soft contact. Just as comforting as the alluring scent in the streets he shouldn’t have expected any less. Meringue is elated to be handed her bag giggling to herself as she thanks Angel and her dad. “Next time I see you I hope I can see your perfect twirl and soob- lem-” Angel stumbles over the right name, never really having spoken to him personally besides a few light greetings in passing.

“Soobin is fine,” his grin was a mix of amusement and arrogance that whipped Angel around in a mix of unrelenting jealousy. The ease with which he found himself walking through life was something angel only wished to grasp, and here he was, with confidence written into a single smile.

“Okay, soobin, if you ever need help after five I'm always free to watch her when you need work done. Strawberry was just telling me you could use a hand, "Angel says it so innocently, eyes blinking up to him in a way that he can't think about too closely. It takes everything in him not to look down at the very hand she speaks of, even if it's metaphorically. Because he could use a hand, specifically hers wrapped around him revealing the stress he was feeling in ways that he knew only she would be able to take care of. But it was too much to ask in a place like this, too much to think about when he was in public, and certainly too much when his child was waiting by the door for him to take her to her playdate.

“Thank you I could- um- really use the help,” he didn't know what to do with his hands, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose only for them to slip right back down, hand running through his already messy hair. It was the most angel had ever seen him discomposed, more like a stuttering school boy instead of a college professor who made school boys cower.

“Okay just let me know, you know where you can find me,”

It was only a few days later when soobin came by to ask for Angel's assistance, meringue hot on his heels as he shuffled into the shop right before closing. “I know it's last minute but Kai was supposed to take her to Strawberry’s house but turns out he cant and-”

“It's okay,” Angel chuckled, “I know the two of them have been so finicky with plans recently it's no problem at all. I just need to make sure the doors are locked up and then we can go,” and so they waited while you twisted the key, checking the knob twice, and shuddering from the slight chill in the air. In only a few days, Angel knew the gingerbread cobblestones would be coated in the thin glaze of the first frost, dollops of shoveled snow pushed up against her shop looking like misplaced piles of spilled frosting.

Lemon meringue ran ahead, her ballet flat-covered feet skipping between each stone like a made-up hopscotch map only she could see. Instinctively, Angel walked a step closer to soobin, bumping his arm with every other step they took toward his house at the end of the lane. Angel knew this was one of the reasons why he was accepted more than his other bitter labeled fellows, he lived in town, and went to town meetings even if he didn't add to the majority opinions. If he lived down on the outskirts, house kissing the woods or worse buried deep inside them, he wouldn't have a chance of being accepted in the way that he has been. It gave Meringue the best opportunity to find friends and build a relationship with the community before they ostracized her for being anything but sweet because of the name she carried.

Pushing open the door to their modest place, Angel was surprised by the solace laced into the brown woods and honey-colored accents thrown around the house. Stacks of leather tomes litter tidy shelves, and little dolls, and figurines placed by meringue are known only because of how high each item reaches. It smelled of freshly picked lemons and the cozy baked smell of warmed sugar. It was just late enough for the sun to be setting in through the gauzy curtains, casting the room in a warm golden glow. Angel wasn't to bask in the light, curl up like a kitten on the plush couch, tucked in with the knitted blanket tossed over the back like an invitation.

Meringue shot forward, hand wrapped around Angel's wrist tugging her past the living room and to the overly saturated room that could only belong to a child as happy as her. “Look, angel! I can show you all my princess dresses, we can do a fashion show!” She pushed open a trunk decorated like a little carriage fit to wheel a queen in, the lid holding back all the tulle and silk, only to now spill out like an overstuffed donut.

Soobin chuckled by the doorway, knowing exactly how his daughter was. She would keep Angel entertained enough for the both of them, needing no help to find something to do. It was the only thought in his head until he caught sight of Angel's wrist, his little meringue’s handprint still indented on her soft skin. He watched in amazement the way it slowly rose back into shape like a cake filling the tin in the oven. The thoughts running in his head were nothing to be proud of, images of his hands on the plush of angel tummy driving him mad. He had to turn away, leaving them alone in the room to focus on the stack of papers he had on the edge of his desk to dull the image of his handprint on the crease of her hip, dented into her thigh.

It was hard to get work done as is, his mind always fluttering through the tasks at hand, the next paper to grade, the time to pick up meringue, when he would be able to fit in the time to sleep. Now all he can think about is sweet cream dotting the smooth expanse of buttery cake. He hardly got through the few papers waiting for him, red pen in hand, staining the tips of his fingers as it sat motionless waiting for him to write. Hours passed, the soft laughter and chatting heard through the cracked door, every so often a glimpse of yellow and pink crossed in front of his field of vision, both angel and meringue going from the living room and back.

It made soobin happy to not worry that Meringue was having a good time, sometimes she fell shy especially when not near Apple Dumpling. She even had to warm up to Strawberry, only becoming her bubbly self when she and dumpling were alone, hiding behind her closest advisers in the face of someone new. But Meringue had always wanted to talk to Angel Cake even before they had known her to be best friends with Strawberry. His sweet lemony girl's eyes go wide and glittery seeing the expanse of clothes held in Angel's shop, do you think she gets to try on anything she wants? Look at how cute she dressed Daddy! I wish I had her job.

Every little comment only showed how deeply Meringue wanted to play dress up, more so play with Angel. He's sure even if he had asked for Angel to watch meringue in the shop she would have just as much fun as she was having going around the house now. He loved how comfortable Meringue found herself around Angel, and how Angel accepted his girl with open arms.

Time slipped past soobin without realizing the laughter had faded into hazy silence, more than half his stack of papers cleared through and marked to be returned to waiting students. He ran his fingers under his eyes, glasses set askew from the rubbing, sighing into the empty study. Soobin didn't notice Angel until he smelled her, that wonderfully delicate sweet smell of vanilla sweetness making him hold back his groan. He had thought it had only been the smell of the shop. The cake-like walls were made to pull in customers like the cinnamon scent of a bakery wafting through the streets, beckoning all who breathed in the air. Maybe Angel smelled so delicious because of working all day, the scent rubbing off and sticking to her hair, her clothes, her skin.

“She's fast asleep, knocked out almost as soon as she laid down to read her bedtime book,” Angel leaned against the edge of soobins desk, hip digging into the wood, fingers sprawled over the skewed pages of work. To Soobin, she was a dazzling masterpiece of messy hair and flushed skin, dress short enough for him to see the way the desk was pinching her thigh.

“Thank you,” the words twisted into a whisper from how dry his mouth had gotten just from looking at a single strip of skin. Licking his lips he tried to swallow, finding something to say besides the hollow echo of words he had managed.

“Oh it's nothing really, she's a doll,” Angel's eyes danced over the pages at her hand, “you lived in the city right?” even just the mention had soobins mind going back to the dull colorless house he found himself in when studying for his degree. It made him sick to think about raising meringue in a place like that, she was why he had moved back home, not caring how off-put the rest of the town was about him now.

“Yes, I did,” he sat back in his chair, one elbow still resting on the desk and the other laid out on the armrest. He was half turned to angel, lower because of sitting and now having her tower over him. And her damn thigh was there right next to him, knuckles twitching to brush over the smooth expanse of skin.

“Did you like it?” Angel had tipped her voice down to a whisper, the dim light needing the change when she had decorated the question in enough hope and worry. It wasn't as if Soobin’s answer would change much, she knew she dreamed of a city out there bright enough to blind the thought of home but it was hard to leave when it was all she ever knew, she didn't even know if she truly wanted to leave.

“I liked it enough,” soobin bit at his bottom lip, worrying over the question. It was as honest an answer as he could give. “But it wasn't home, not for me, not for meringue. There is nothing quite like the comfort of home,”

“Like this place you have here,” Angel lifted her chin, looking around the packed study with even more books and bobs. “That couch of yours looks too cozy not to nap on,”

“You should see my bed,” it was a quick response, one that didn't pass the filter connected to the bit of his mouth that kept him from saying anything embarrassing. “I- I didn’t mean it like that-”

But Angel didn't get the innuendo embedded into the words, she just nodded, “I should, I bet it's just as warm as the rest of this place, you have it at just the right temperature,”

The lack of sleep was making him loose, his finger drifting out to press right into the outside of Angel's thigh, pushing against the soft plush of her skin just enough to feel the heat from her, “you sure it's not you? You seem to keep warm enough,”

“Oh no, take it from a cake to know exactly when they walk into the right level of warmth. This is perfectly cozy,”

“You do feel…lively,” soobin drags his finger up Angel's thigh, reaching right to the hem of her dress, stopping right before it could go any further. The line he had drawn was like the roadmap to the realization that he should not be touching her like this. But it was incredibly hard to remember his mind when he felt this hazy; drunk off the lack of sleep and the sweet smell of sugary cake.

Angel felt the pad of his finger slip right up her spine, sink into her nervous system, and cloud her mind. Even if he had pulled away, flexing his hand as if that would sink the feeling of her warm skin into his palm, she could swear the touch was tattooed right there forever now.

She couldn’t forget it, not on the walk home, not when she showered the day away, not even when she climbed into bed. The moonlight slipped in through her lacy curtains, the soft gleam pulling her mind right back to the study. Her finger pressed right where she remembered him, circling the spot like she was tracing the shape of the yellowing moon on her thigh.

Even the moon made her think of him, a little lemon drop in the sky, her bed warm enough to picture what it would be like to snuggle up in his. Her fingers were too soft and not at all how she needed them to be to pick up her illusion. Pressing them harder into her thigh she felt an ache between her legs, centered right at the heart of her.

Angel had never felt such a pull to touch herself, not until the butter blonde boy was there just out of reach, so close to palming her thigh instead of just using the tip of his fingers. She wanted his hands all over her, they didn't even need to be warm, she just needed him. Needed his finger pressed on the tormentor's bud that called for him. But for now, she would have to make do, her hand pushed into her shorts feeling along the wet seam of herself never knowing that her body would crave someone so bad without even having tasted them like strawberry had said.

But the only thing on her mind was lemon drop, her hips rolling into her hand, the soft moans drawn out from a mouth so unfamiliar with this sound. Her body told her the way to move, and where to seek peak pleasure until she was a gasping mess, creaming around her dainty digits. Angel Cakes' new discovery was a calamity, highlighting a deep desire she didn't know she could hold within herself. A catastrophe; soobin had been the one to knock a tray of glasses to the floor, already so recklessly close to the edge until one push sent them shattering, angel couldn't clean the glass fast enough, left to never be the same again.

Soobin was no better, he was a cracked vase slowly leaking out in drips of sun-melted ice, he had to hold it together for work, for home; hastily wrapping fingers around the seeping seams only for his thoughts to pour out between his fingers. Because angel cake was spinning in his living room, twirling around with his daughter, giggling until they were a dizzy pile on the floor. His office door just cracked as he caught sight of angels' sweet lacy white panties, clinging to the curve of her ass. If he had knocked over the tray of her sanity, angel cake had taken a hammer to his fragile vase, smashed it until it was powered, and easily passed as dusting sugar on the treats in strawberry’s shop.

Soobin felt his addiction take its toll on him, every night the image of angel cake washed over his sleeping mind until he was reduced to nothing but a needy muddled mess of thruming joints. He couldn't go one day without his hand wrapped around his cock, working his wrist until he was spilling dribbles of cum onto sheets that needed her in them. It was worse when his order from strawberry came in, Kai handing the box over right at the doorway, picking up Meringue for her sleepover with Dumpling. The smell of the shortcake filled the house as soon as he shut the door behind them.

He was embarrassed to have such an obsession with angel cake, sure that she would cringe away from his desperation for her. So desperate he was standing in the kitchen with one hand down his pants and the other digging into the soft sponge of one of the cakes just brought over. The cream and crumb squished out between his fingers as he came, moaning into the empty space until the sound reverberated around him, the smell of her dancing around his body. He wanted her, needed her.

Soobin didn’t even remember the trip to Angel's shop's door, his nose pulling him along the crumb-dotted cobblestone, leading him right to the front doors, so willing to be eaten by the magic-laced girl inside. He could see her through the frosted glass windows, the closed sign turned to signal the end of her shift but she was leaning over the stand of shirts, fixing them in the way she wanted, her end-of-day routine. He could smell her, that buttery sweetness addicting, making him delirious. He wanted to sink his hands into her warm flesh, hold her tight enough so that if anyone saw they would know it was his hands that had been on her, that she was his, and his alone.

He pushed open the unlocked door, the ding of the bell signaling his entrance, that glance over her shoulder ruining him once and for all. “Hi! Did I forget I was supposed to come over tonight? I can pack up real quick or she can stay here-”

“No, blueberry took her- i- i-” he was struggling with the words, a stuttering fool standing in the middle of the shop like he'd come to beg. And he had, he would beg her till the end of his days to have one taste, to have her tear into him like she was peeling back the layers of his sanity. “I need you,”

“Oh?” she tilted her head to the side, the pure look of innocence smashing into him like a wave. He wanted to stain her, fill her up, and call her his.

Soobin struggled to swallow, every breath filling his lungs with her, she was right there on the tip of his tongue. “I need you,” his hand reached down to the bulge sitting against his thigh, hard, thick, and weeping for her.

If Angel Cake hadn't spoken to Strawberry about the zipper-level kisses she would have been confused beyond belief. But it had been all she could think of since then, what it would be like to lick up his body and know exactly what it was that made people so addicted. Because she was grappling with the fact that she was already falling down the rabbit hole of need, to finally taste him would be like crashing right into another world. “I don't know- I don't know how-” she was flushed all over from the confession because she didn't want him to leave, if he needed her she would mold herself to fit and fix any problem he had. Her lack of knowledge wouldn't hold her back, if he was a teacher she would be his best student.

“I'll show you, tell you everything you need to know,” he snapped the button on his pants, undoing the zipper releasing enough pressure to let out the most sinful noise angel had ever heard. She could feel her panties flooded with the cream that had been leaking from her for days now, always tied to the thought of him. If he felt even a fraction of how she did, Angel would make sure to take the best care of him.

“O-okay,” Angel Cake could feel her mouth water, her thighs pulling together, needing them closer to relieve the ache she felt. Soobin locked the door behind him, tugging Angel to a spot behind a rack of clothes. “Here get on your knees in front of me,”

Angel was fast to listen, sinking to the ground in front of him, hands placed neatly on the tops of her thighs, looking up at soobin with those wanting eyes. Just thinking about those plush lips warping around his cock was taking him out, and watching the tip of her tongue wet her mouth was excruciating. Soobin reached into his pants, pulling out his veiny shaft, the sheer size making Angel's eyes widen.

She didn't know what she was expecting but she was not expecting to feel empty at the sight. The top of him was shiny with a layer of leaking pre-cum. Soobin ran his thumb across his slit collecting the wetness to swirl around the tip, moaning at the way Angel's mouth fell open without realizing. “You can touch it,” he nodded, watching how Angel was gripping her skirt, crinkling the fabric trying to hold herself back.

Angel lifted a shaking hand, fingers brushing the side of him, amazed at the softness so much that she wrapped her hand around him and gave a tug. Soobins chest rumbled, his hand reaching out for the rack next to him, the hangers clattering from the force of his grip. “Sorry-”

“No, no you're doing good, just like that, slow and easy,” he nodded, biting back his moan when her wrist flicked again, “you can squeeze a little harder,” he whispered, his free hand finding itself around hers, showing her just the right amount of pressure he was looking for. Soobin's hand guided Angel's until he was using her hold as if it was his own, speeding up the pace.

Angel watches in amazement as soobins head rolls back, his brows pinched as he whimpers. She's never wanted to taste something or someone so bad, and now, with him right in front of her, she can't resist the temptation for what it is. Angel sits up just enough so that she can press a sweet kiss to his tip, a string of pre-cum still connecting her lips to him. Soobin lets out a shocked gasp, watching the way she licks her lips clean.

The taste is subtle, the sweet and sour mixed together only to draw Angel back in for more. She didn't even know what she was doing, compelled by the flavor to envelop him fully, the flat of her tongue licked up and around to collect more of the addictive fluid. Soobin’s knees go weak at the warmth of her mouth, hips jerking to try to chase the feeling, “Oh fuck just like that,” his hand still holding hers, working over the rest that wasn't pressed into her mouth.

Angel cake moaned around him, his bitter lemon taste mixing with the sweetness from his pre-cum. She wanted to swallow him whole, take more of him down. Soobin couldn't even think anymore, Angel's mouth trying to work further down, her hand stopping right at his base. Angel hollows her cheeks, sucking him down like its instinct, soobins groan taking over the silence and joining the soft wet noises. Soobins restraint breaks, overwhelmed by the way her mouth molds to his cock so perfectly, his mind working to imagine it's her waiting cunt. She takes him down so deep he can feel the back of her throat. It's enough for him to wrap his hands into her hair, fingers wrapping softly around her skull as he fucks into her mouth without warning. Angel moans, the vibrations going straight up his cock and making his balls clench. Her hands reach out for his thighs to keep herself steady, tears welling in her eyes, loving the newfound sensation.

Angel Cake doesn't know what to expect, lashes fluttering as he loses himself in the feel of her. It's a shock when his thrusts become erratic, his body trembling with a deep groan, sweet lemon cream spilling on her waiting tongue. Angel tries to swallow, unable because he keeps going, fucking his cum right into her still willing mouth, spurt after spurt following until he has to pull away. Angel gasps, sucking in gulps of air, mouth a mess of dripping lemon custard and saliva.

If she had thought the pre-cum had been addicting, she didn't know the effect the real deal would have on her. Blindly, she wiped the corner of her mouth, licking the cream she'd collected, humming as if she'd just taken a bite of the richest lemon bar. The sight and sound made soobin impossibly more obsessed with her, fingers going down her cheek, pulling her attention to his awestruck expression.

His head was clearing but it didn't stop the infection of her as it slipped well past his mind, into his bones, into his soul. He had heard about how easy it was to save a fruit tree if you cut away the rot fast enough; right at first sight. Angel cake had taken hold of every thorny branch on his tree and twisted herself in the sparse foliage, so deeply intertwined now that he wasn't sure there was ever a time when it would have been an easy snip to rid himself of this fever.

Angel Cake's face was a glistening mess of wetness when he squished her cheeks with one large hand, her pouting lips so kissable and pink. “Look at you,” a surrealistic sigh caught on the edge of his tone. He leaned down, needing a taste of the two of them, the perfect combination of bitter and sweet, angel's sugary spit mixed with his lemony custard making him powerless. And when he pulled away, letting go of angel's cheeks, he watched the way her lips stayed puffy, the illusion of dimples still there as her skin rose back, flushed a petal pink. “Did I do good?”

“You did perfect,” soobin brushes his nose along the bridge of hers, his eyes closing, breathing her in. He wanted to tear into her, squish his fingers into her, and memorize every little action that brought out a sound. But in his post orgasm clarity, he noticed exactly what he had done. He had tainted this perfect angel, filled her with more than just bad ideas but had fully gone in and let his uncontrollable emotions take over.

Even when Angel Cake had gotten home later that night, she couldn't stop licking her lips. She was lying in bed, wriggling in the sheets trying and failing to find a comfortable position let alone sleep. Her hand was stuck between her legs, on the verge of tears for nothing working to cave in a hunger that she was only now painfully aware of. She hated that she was alone, hated it more than she knew the feeling of his hands on her, knew that those long fingers would have been perfect to fix her problem as easily as she had fixed his.

The hunger triggered a compulsion within her similar to the one soobin experienced on his walk to Angel’s shop, her feet carrying her through the streets, half-dressed in her silky lace pajamas. The lemon drop moon cast its path down the cobblestone to Soobin’s front door. The cold unfelt against Angel's warm skin, and when soobin opened the door he could see the steam rising off of her heated body. The haze of it mixed with the backlight of the moon made her look like a true angel waiting right at his front step, outlined in the glow. She hasn't even come in shoes, her thick socks slouched around her ankles, her shorts pinched at her waist, and one tank top strap down her shoulder. He could see her pebbled nipples through the thin material, his lips pursing at the thought of wrapping around them. “Angel?”

He couldn't tell if this was one of his dreams, the kind that left him reaching out in a bed she never saw. “I think I need you now,” she couldn’t find it in herself to be embarrassed by the words, not when she had seen him in the same state, begging and just as needy. Soobin rushed to pull her inside, ready to get her wrapped up in something to keep her from freezing if that was possible for someone so warm. He hardly had the door closed when she was pulling him closer to her, wrapping her arms around his neck, tugging him into her space. She needed to have him in her mouth again and soobin knew he wasn't going to turn her away. His hands slid down her back, fingers digging into the soft skin, groaning into her sugar-sweet mouth, the sound catching in the back of her throat, and she swallowed it down greedily.

Angel didn't know what to do with her hands, her mind shutting off and following their natural way, slipping into his hair, the strands tangling between her fingers, his lemony sweet kisses taking over her mind as he slowly kissed her. But Angel was impatient, whining and rubbing her thighs together.

“What is it baby? Tell me,” he kissed down her jaw, intoxicated by the smell of her, so much stronger when she was so hot against him.

Angel reached down for one of his hands, guiding it like he had done for her, pushing his fingers until they slipped right against the silk of her shorts, “it's so achy,” she whimpered, “and all I can do is think about you,”

She was like a freshly wrapped gift left on the front step, the label perfectly signed with his name and his name alone. A sinful treat he couldn't wait to sink his teeth into. He dragged his fingers along the seam of her, the silk already spotted with wetness, “you want me to take care of you?” the husk of his voice was thick in her ear like syrup.

“Please- please,” her nods are erratic, hips rolling trying to keep him right against her tender clit. Her pathetic cry echoes in the living room when he pulls his hand away. But he doesn't keep his hands away for long, dragging her to his room, having her fall to his bed, right where he's wanted her. Her knees fall open, the heels of her feet digging into the mattress. She's a vision of her namesake, mewling when soobin hooks his fingers into her waistband and takes down her panties and shorts, sliding them down her legs and peeling her socks off, leaving her bottom half exposed.

Soobin is caught at the sight of her gleaming cunt, leaking arousal the color of royal icing, creamy and sweet, looking as if she had been stuffed full of him already. Nothing could keep him from getting a taste. He fell to his knees like this was a place to beg for forgiveness. But he wouldn't be sorry, not after he started his feast. Soobin licked a bold stripe up from her entrance to clit, groan ripped from him with only one drop of her. He wrapped his arms under her legs, holding her open and watching how his fingers dented her flesh, the plush of her spilling between fingers itching to stay there and mold her as his forever.

Angel let out a sharp gasp the second his mouth was attached to her aching center, thighs trying to snap shut around his head, held in place and forced open as she arched her back. Her fingers twisted in the sheets, her breathing only coming out when she slipped out moans. He was devouring her, licking her clean like he was enjoying the frosting before the cupcake, sucking deeply on her clit just to watch her tremble.

Soobin does not care about the mess he's making of her, face dripping with his Angel's cream, moans of delight vibrating against her puffy clit. He doesn’t even notice the way she's writhing beneath him, only that he's now faced with the most delicious meal he has ever had. Moaning into her, slurping up all that she has to offer trying to pull forth more of her sweet cream. And he didn't have to try hard, not when she needed him so bad already, the bubbling building in her lower belly so newfound and yet never before so intense. Angel cake feels like a balloon ready to pop, one deep long suck on her clit has her seeing stars, her orgasm washing over her as swiftly as a needle prick, causing her to come undone. The gush of her arousal keeps Soobin’s mouth right against her, his persistent licks only pulling him in more.

He was a desperate mess, working away at his pants, rutting into the mattress as if that would curb his insatiable hunger. He needed to be inside of her, filling her up with his lemon custard, fucking her senseless until she was begging to stay right here in his bed and never leave. He wanted that, to keep her as his, not just press his hand into her thigh and leave that lasting mark. No, he needed to claim her as his in the best, most lasting way. “Do you want me inside you Angel?” he pressed the flat of his palm into her pelvis, relishing in the way he felt himself sinking into her skin. “Right here, filling you up, making you mine-”

Angel had never felt so empty, not until he pointed it out, solving a problem she never thought she had. Her mewling response was a mix of pleas and whimpers. She didn't care what he did so long as she could have him near, and if he could fix the burn in her belly he could devour her just as well as tear her apart.

Soobin lifted Angel's legs enough so that the backs of her knees were slotted against his inner elbows, one hand reaching down to guide his dripping cock to her waiting entrance. Angel does not expect the pressure of being pushed into, her gasp caught on a half-open mouth of pure bliss. Every slow tantalizing inch stretches her out, her body instinctively clenching around him trying to suck him in. “Relax, baby,” he whispers, his hand sliding up her stomach, up under her tank top to reveal her breasts. He rubs at her skin, soothing her tense muscles until he's sunk all the way into the hilt, her body melting and molding around his.

Soobin waits, catching himself from letting go, letting their bodies adjust to each other. But Angel is impatient, rolling her hips, not even realizing she's trying to fuck back onto him, only that she needs some kind of friction. But soobin is slow to pull out and even slower to push back in, eyes connected to the spot they meet at. Her body was like clay beneath him, so easily shaped into the perfect temptation. Every drag in and out coated his cock in her cream, mesmerizing him, numbing his brain.

Angel could tell the difference in him, that split second that makes his eyes go hazy, hips snapping into hers making her body ripple from the force. “you were fucking made for me- do you feel how deep I am-“ he’s slamming into her, the lude sounds of their wetness mixing; echoing with their moans. All the veins in his hands straining from the hold on her soft sides.

He was pressed so deep into her she could feel him hitting a spot that made her hips sink, her hands reaching out to hold his hands, needing the comfort not knowing what was building inside her. so much more intense than when it’s her fingers or even just his mouth. “soobin im-im-“ she can’t even find the words looking for something that she didn’t know existed until just now.

“we can cum together- I’ll fill you up make sure to pump you full so you know exactly where I'm going to put our baby,” he moves his hand down to press his thumb to her clit, triggering her to jolt, the walls of her pulsing around him before she’s falling apart.

Angel's body is a tightening mess, her back arching, cheeks flushing as she comes undone for him. The pull of her body to his makes him shudder, his whole body falling against hers needing to be close, needing to smell the vanilla sweetness of her skin, sinking his teeth into her shoulder as he holds back his strangled moans. Slow languid thrusts push his lemon custard cum back into her, needing to make true to his promise to have her full of him and only him. Needing to mix together their cream for the perfect bake.

Neither of them knows what's happened to them, only that they are a tangle of limbs, wrapped up tight enough that Angel can still feel the pulse of his cock deep inside her, still pumping into her never having cum so much in his life before then.

Angel feels boneless when he pulls away, her whimper making him chuckle. “I just need to see your creamy pussy again,” the sight to behold better than before now that he knows the wetness is more his than hers. His fingers dragged through her sensitive cunt, collecting the mess to shove it back Into her, fucking her on his fingers for a second. He lifts his fingers in front of them showing Angel the sheer amount of cream coating the digits. “If I could bottle this flavor I would,” he licks them clean before leaning over to shove his tongue into her mouth, needing her to taste what he’s found as his new obsession.

Angel swallows down the cum, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer, twisting legs and burrowing in closer. “you taste sweeter than I thought you would,”

“Did the thought of it keep you up?” he asks, nose brushing along the column of angel's throat. “because thinking of you while being alone in this bed is hell, I need both of my girls under my roof to feel complete,”

“both…” the sound of the word was heavy in her mouth. Not in an uncomfortable way but in a way a piece of chocolate sat on her tongue, melting and sweet, craving to place another one as soon as it was gone.

“Both.” The finality of the word is better than the buttery sheets he’s pressing her right back Into.

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire @no1likemybbgcharlie @chasingthatjjunie want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask! thank you so much @izzyy-stuff for helping edit this for me ily ily ily @thetxtdevil and @beomiracles for betareading this a bit, but special special thank you for mae who gave me a lot of these ideas in the first place, her perfect mind came up with the cake like reader with indenting skin and helped with the conversation with strawberry and angel <3

[456-is-the-way]

hiii so ive had this idea for a while now but i just dont have the skills to write it myself, its not really a reader x character but more of a maybe actor!reader x the actor of the character if u get me??😭😭

so the idea is actor!reader plays a character that is also played as the love interest/partner of hwang inho (lee byung hun's character) and during their scenes together (like an intimate scene between their characters) reader just keeps messing up her lines or having trouble staying in character because she keeps getting flustered/shy by lee byung hun causing them to redo the scene over and over again so him and the whole cast just keeps laughing and teasing her about it😣😣🙏🙏🙏

A/n: So I will be going in order of the requests I get in my ask box then I will start on some suggestions I have in the comments. Once again, I do Actor x reader actor! So here is one of those ideas and I love it. I was going to do a tag list but I don’t know why it won't let me tag people!

Trigger warnings: Talks of smut, Partial Smut (lol?)

Squid Game Masterlist

Lee Byung-hun x reader

Quiet On Set

(Y/n) knew this scene would be the hardest to film. Sure as a professional actor, she filmed multiple movies that had intimate scenes. However, (Y/n) never had a romantic interest in the other actors. There was an instant spark when she met Lee Byung-hun. His character happens to have a complex background and in this season goes undercover to destroy Gi-hun, Lee Jung-jae, in an attempt to show him no matter what, people are greedy. Thats when (Y/n) character is introduced. (C/n) is written to be the complete opposite of The Frontman, In-ho. She is kind, patient, understanding, caring, and meant to show the good in humanity even though she has been dealt only hardships in life. Throughout the season their love builds up, soft touches, knowing glances, and quick kisses in secret. All the while (Y/n) had been falling helplessly in love with Lee Byung-hun. Of course, the fans did not let this go unnoticed during their recent interviews. Social media had blown up with edits and multiple bloggers posting about the chemistry they shared. (Y/n) would not admit her guilty pleasure is watching those edits and making comments herself which and fans foaming at the mouths. Lee Byung-hun even found it humorous that people not only shipped their character but them as well. When any with him and (Y/n) not on set but together was posted the fans always blew the comment section up within minutes. 

“Alright places everyone!” Hwang Dong-hyuk called as the crew rushed to make sure everything was set up in the correct frames. “(Y/n), Byung-hun are you all ready?” He asked kindly always wanting to double-check checking the actors were comfortable in scenes where they would be partially on display. (Y/n) nods even though slightly hesitant she walked onto the set and stood by the bathroom wall where the scene was going to be shot.

Byung-hun walked behind her with a smile, “Don’t be nervous (Y/n) this scene will be over before you know it.” It earned a shy smile from the actress leaning against the wall. 

“I am not that nervous… It’s a while since I have done scenes like this. Alright, I think we are ready.” She told the director and Byung-hun nodded in agreement. 

“Quiet on set, Take one, action!” He yelled and silence filled the room. (Y/n) could swear her heartbeat could probably be heard by how badly it was beating against her chest. 

Byung-hun fell into character without hesitation moving to press (Y/n) the cold tile. She breathes heavily cheeks flushed looking into his eyes. “In-ho we can’t” She whispered as he began aggressively kissing up her neck pressing their bodies together. (Y/n) let out a whimper from the pleasure she felt. 

“But you (C/n)” His voice went low showing his absolute dominance. (Y/n) wasn’t used to this side of the sweet Byung-hun. As scripted their jumpsuits were quickly discarded. The heavy breathing filled the room as the two actors stood almost nude in front of each other. His leg slipped between (Y/n). 

She arched up and moaned softly feeling him rub his knee against her covered core. “Byung-hun!” (Y/n) gasped causing him to instantly freeze. “Fuck I’m sorry.” She said as the director yelled cut. 

“Let's roll again.” As the scene had to be started over (Y/n) continued to be a flustered mess messing up the lines or using Byung-hun’s name instead of Young-Il.

“You are a mess.” He chuckled as the team thought it was hilarious she could not for the life of her finish the scene. Byung-hun smirked and leaned down whispering in a low sexual voice. “Do it in one shot this time and I’ll let you cry my name tonight.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widen looking into her costars eyes with a grin. Let's just say she didn’t mess up again.

[mulloey]

unwelcome • mingyu

you hate your new stepdad. you swear.

stepdad!mingyu x fem!reader

words: 3k

warnings: step-dad relationship (but you were fully grown when you met him!), implied age gap but not specified, dubcon if you squint, hard dom!mingyu, brat!reader, fingering, spanking, name calling, pussy slaps, mean mingyu. he is not a good dude. extremely weird dynamics (bc he is fucking ur mom after all :/ ) you’ve been warned!

don’t like, don’t read. this is fiction and is not a reflection of reality. if this is not your cup of tea, please scroll. i’m not your babysitter and hate is blocked.

-

you fucking hate him.

mingyu married your mother around a year ago - after only a few months of dating mind you - and you fucking hate him. being away at college, you hadn’t even met him until the week before the wedding, yet here he was; rearranging your house, telling you how to live, trying to assume some sort of authority over your grown ass life. he even had the audacity to chide you for calling him by name. whatever; on the rare occasion you can’t find an excuse not to go home for the holidays or weekends or pick up his calls, you’ll just call him mr. kim.

this is one of those rare occasions. but you sense it may not be rare for very long; your luck has run out and all the campus accommodation is fully booked for your final year. you’d been lucky to get a bursary for on-campus accommodation in your first three years, but that only extended to off-campus accommodation for out of state students. living on the other side of the city, you do not qualify.

you swear mingyu could help, if he felt so inclined. he doesn’t flaunt his wealth but you know he has it; the shiny watches on his wrist and the designer clothing suddenly adorning your mother tells you that much. but even if he did want to help you, which you doubt, you’d never ask him. because that would involve admitting that this man, at least 10, maybe 20 years younger than your mother, and who walked into your life when you were already in your twenties (only a few months into them, admittedly), has any kind of authority over you. he doesn’t.

so you move home, cursing the world and everything in it as you watch from the living room window while mingyu and his stupid friends carry your boxes inside. your mother stands next to you, following her husband with loving eyes. it’s nice to see her happy, you must admit. you just wish she would stick up for you a little; explain to her husband that you’re a grown adult and can’t be told what to do. but she’s always been a meek, passive woman who never seemed to have anything go right for her. you don’t blame her for clinging to whatever fragile happiness she can find.

you figure it won't be too hard to get through this year though; you can ignore mingyu as you have been, he’ll quickly get the message and ignore you in return, and you can keep your head down and scavenge enough credits to graduate, get a job and move out. simple, right?

no. of course not. when is anything ever simple for you?

because mingyu refuses to leave you alone. at all. it seems, for whatever reason, he is determined to be around you at all costs.

you stick it out for all of a couple weeks; ignoring his comments, answering his questions with as little detail as possible, and skirting on this side of his house rules so as not to piss him off. but he only ramps it up, and you can’t take it anymore.

you decide to play the sweet, docile act he loves in your mother, hoping it sways him. you ignore how fucking weird it is to be emulating your mother to get your way, but if it works, it’ll benefit her too. because you’d really hate to have to tell her cherished little husband to go fuck himself.

“mr. kim,” you call.

mingyu, sitting at the kitchen table with a newspaper and a bowl of cereal, looks up. he tilts his head, surveying you closely. “yes?” he asks. “if you’re here to complain about your curfew, you can save it. you worry your mother sick when you stay out until a stupid hour.”

oh, yeah. you resist the urge to roll your eyes; your curfew is that most ridiculous part of all of this, but your mother agrees with it too and you know she’s under no obligation to put you up here for free, so you’ve stuck it out until now out of respect. it’s still fucking annoying, through. you’re twenty fucking years old.

“i’m not here to complain about that,” you say. you bite your lip to keep the ‘asshole’ you want to tack on the end of that sentence inside your mouth.

he tilts an eyebrow, putting the newspaper down. “then what?”

“i just want to know,” you say. you drag out the last syllable, hoping he finds it cute. god, you’re gonna have to take ten thousand showers after acting like this just to please this idiot. “why do you want to talk to me so much?”

he pauses. “what do you mean?”

“i try to stay out of your way,” you say. “because i prefer to keep to myself and honestly, as much as i’m glad you make my mom happy, i really don’t need another parent. but you insist on talking to me and asking me things and knowing about my life. i don’t get it.”

he stares at you for a moment, looking down through those black glasses he always wears around the house. he runs a hand through his air, sighing like he can’t believe what he’s about to say— or that he even has to say it.

“you know what i think?” he asks. you shrug. “i think you do get it. i think you ignore me and talk back to me and find loopholes for all my rules because you want me to bite back. you never had a father, did you?

none of your fucking business, you want to say. instead you go with, “no.”

“there we go,” he says. “it’s a shame, honestly. little girls need their dads. it’s no wonder they act out when they don’t have them.”

“i’m not-” you huff, frustrated but trying not to prove his point by shouting at him. “i am not acting out, mr. kim.”

“you are,” he says. “and you’re damn lucky your mother asked me not to do anything about it.”

you feel your face twitch in anger. you’re long past the innocent act that he was just too annoying for it to work on, but you don’t want to completely lose your cool. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

his lips quirk amusedly and he leans back in his chair, watching you closely. he folds his arms and huh. they’re big. you’ve been so busy being angry at this man for intruding on your peaceful life with just you and your mom and having the nerve to act like he has the right to tell you what to do that you’ve never really thought about how… large he is. you know he’s conventionally attractive, of course you knew that and yeah, in another life you’d probably have tried to hit that at first, but his awful personality has always made him ugly to you. it sours his otherwise beautiful features and twists them into something repugnant. especially that stupid fucking smirk he wears as if he knows anything about you. asshole.

“what it means,” he says, “is i don’t think i’d have all that much trouble setting you straight. but you’re an adult, and i’m not your real father, so i agreed with your mother that i wouldn’t. but watch yourself.” the last sentence is quieter, tacked onto the end like he wasn’t quite sure if he should say it. too right, you think, because it’s fucking creepy.

you snort, rolling your eyes. “what, are you gonna put me over your knee like a little kid or something?”

he raises an eyebrow, lips twitching. he almost looks… amused? “would you want me to?”

oh, fuck this guy. all you were trying to do is illustrate how childishly he’s treating you and he’s acting like you’re the weirdo. “piss off,” you say. “that’s disgusting.”

his eyes flash but he still looks more entertained than aggravated. “you suggested it,” he shrugs. “and i’d certainly like putting you right.”

“yeah,” you spit, “well. forget it.”

you turn on your heel, storming out of the kitchen. well that didn’t go the way you wanted.

-

mingyu watches you retreat with amusement. what a brat. your mother said you would be, but he didn’t expect this. god, his palms twitch every time you walk in the room with a sour expression, or stomp up the stairs at night, or do anything at all, really. he aches to wrap his hands around your throat and set you straight, but he can’t. he can’t.

not yet.

look, he’s not a bad man. he doesn’t want to be a bad husband either; it’s not like he seduced your mom to get to you, or even had any bad intentions with you at all. your mother had told him about you, shown him the photos, and you seemed like a sweet little girl he was looking forward to welcoming into his life.

but fuck. the moment you walked through the door for the first time, looking nervous and irate at the same time. well. clearly the photos your mother had shown him were not recent— you’d grown exponentially since then, blossomed and bloomed in all the right ways. he couldn’t help but reach for his cock absentmindedly when you sat down and your breasts bounced a little in your tight sports bra. thank god he stopped himself. he’s certainly not the type to get off in public like some impotent old coot.

he is, unfortunately, the type to have fucked your mom from the back that night so he could pretend it was your face he was pressing into the pillow.

he hated himself for it, truly. what he hated even more was that, despite the way he lusted after you, he still had an innate need to, well, parent you. he still wanted your chores done and your tests passed and your curfew adhered to. he wanted you to be good.

or maybe he just wanted you to be good for him.

but he finds it more and more difficult to care the tighter his hand wraps around his dick that night, wishing it was splitting you open instead. god, you’d feel so good wrapped around him. he doesn’t know if you’re a virgin - you probably aren’t, knowing what happens at college - but he knows he can make you feel like one. he hopes he never has the chance to find out. he doesn’t even want to think about what would happen if he crossed that line.

that day in the kitchen was the closest he ever got or wants to get; you were just so insolent that he wanted to bend you over then and there to correct the problem. god, he wanted to see his hand prints on your skin and slick leaking out of your hole. and when you bit back and protested everything he said, he almost broke. almost took you. and he caught the way your eyes lingered on his arms, too; the brief spark in your eyes when you finally seemed to admit to yourself that yes, your strict, annoying step dad is hot. he doubts you’d have resisted it, in the end. but in that moment, he didn’t really care. he wanted to break you and rebuild you into a sweet, obedient little stepdaughter. thank god he had self control. well, some. he’s glad your mother was too drunk that night to notice your name slipping from his mouth as he fucked her into the mattress. he gave her another orgasm just to ease his guilty conscience. who cares if i wish it was your daughter squirting all over my face instead?

-

mingyu’s been weird since the kitchen argument. so have you, admittedly, but he’s been weirder. he’s stared at you more, touched you more, scolded you more. and you… well. you’ve let him, to be honest.

you don’t know why. maybe you’re tired of fighting a war in your own house. maybe you feel bad for your mom, who’s desperately trying to piece together a happy family. maybe his arms are somehow getting bigger every time you see them.

today your mother is out, away on a trip with some old college friends. she’d left you under mingyu’s care — despite you being a full-grown adult yourself — and he had reassured her with sickening sweetness that he'd make sure she behaves.

unfortunately, your sleep schedules have aligned recently, so you trudge into the kitchen not long after he does. you sit silently at the table, munching through your cereal and scrolling through social media. you feel his gaze on you even before he speaks.

“are you ever not on your phone?” he asks.

you roll your eyes, huffing. “none of your business,” you grumble. “and yes.”

“hm.” his eyes are narrowed, staring you down through the brim of his glasses. you shift uncomfortably in your seat. “typical,” he says.

“what?”

“a little girl who thinks she knows the world,” he chuckles. “doesn’t realise just how naive she really is.”

“i’m not naive,” you spit. “i’m an adult. i lived alone until the stupid dorm filled up.”

“mm,” he hums. the corner of his lips twitch upwards in a brief smirks, but he shakes it off, returning to his breakfast with a small smile. “whatever you say, sweetheart.”

“fuck off, mingyu,” you mutter before you can think. you’re not sure if you intended for him to hear it— but he does. of course he does. his gaze darts upwards, ice cold.

his voice simmers with rage when he speaks. “what did you just say to me?”

you swallow, a twinge of fear pulling at you. you live to piss him off, you have since you met him, but the way he’s looking at you, the bulging of the veins on his neck and his hands as he clenches his fist against the wood of the table is a little terrifying. you wonder if you’ve gone too far, if you’ve pushed the wrong button, when he finally speaks.

“come here.”

your eyes widen a little and you shake your head. “no.”

“come here, y/n.”

for a moment you’re fearful, hands shaking by your side, but you quickly pull yourself together. mingyu doesn't scare you. this is just another game. you smile, tilting your head in amusement. “what’ll you do if i don’t?” you taunt, snorting to yourself. “call my mom or something?”

his brow tilts, eyes flashing dangerously. “you should be a lot more scared of me than her, little one,” he says, voice low. “i could wreck you in ways you’d never come back from.”

you don’t know what comes over you. every sense in your body tells you to get up and walk away, to stay at a friends house or a hotel until your mother comes home— anywhere where you’re away from this man. but you don’t. instead, your face twists into a scowl as you spit; “do it.”

he moves in on you instantly; before you can register what’s happening he’s out of his seat, pulling you from yours by the hair and pushing your front down onto the table. he presses down on your back, keeping you bent over as his other hand yanks you back by the hair. he leans over you, inches away, breath on your neck as he speaks. “yeah?” he breathes. “want me to ruin you, little girl?”

you squirm, moaning softly at the feeling of his bulge against your ass. through his pyjama pants and your loose sleep shorts, there’s little need for imagination. you swallow thickly, head swimming with a million thoughts but completely unable to make sense of any of them.

you fucking hate mingyu. you hate him with a passion. but his face pressing into your neck and his strong hand pushing you against the table feels so right. and you’re so fucking horny.

you push back, rubbing yourself against his bulge and he straightens back up, staring you down before his hand comes down hard on your thinly-covered ass. you yelp; mingyu is strong.

he snorts, letting his hand fall down again. “you deserve a lot fucking worse than this,” he sneers. “you’re lucky i’m so fucking pent up over you.”

wordlessly he grabs the top of your shorts, yanking them down to the top of your thighs just enough to expose you. he pauses for a moment, then chuckles. “no underwear?”

“s’ my pyjamas,” you mumble, squirming under his gaze. his hand comes down again with a snarled “stay fucking still”.

“you’re such a slut,” he chuckles. “you knew we’d be alone today but you came prancing down in these— can i even call them shorts?” he pulls them down further, letting them fall around your ankles. “that’s better,” he hums.

he leans forward, replacing the hand on your back with his strong forearm, holding you in place while his other hand creeps closer to your pussy. he pauses just short of it, pinching the supple flesh of your inner thigh. “i wonder,” he whispers. “after all this back talk and attitude.” his finger trails closer and closer to your heat and your skin feels hot to the touch. “how wet are you gonna be when i finally touch you?”

he doesn’t give you a chance to respond before two fingers are pressing against your clit, dragging you your folds. you hear the humiliating wetness as he swirls it around his fingers. he hums like he’s making a clinical observation. “very wet indeed,” he says. “doesn't feel like you hate me at all.”

“i d—” you start, but you're cut off when his hand draws back and slaps your pussy harshly. you scream, bucking against the table and he slaps you again in response. “don’t get your slick on my fucking furniture,” he snarls. “fucking cunt.”

you sob, feeling drool pooling on the wood as his fingers return to play with your pussy before pushing inside. he makes a noise of appreciation, starting to pump in and out. “fucking tight, aren’t ya?” he chuckles. “could almost have me fooled into thinking you’re not a fucking whore.”

“i’m not a whore,” you pout.

you hear him laugh quietly, and then he’s leaning over you again, grabbing your hair with those slick-covered fingers that had been stretching you open just a moment ago.

“you are now,” he whispers.

-

my first svt fic!! feedback welcome and comments/reblogs appreciated. requests open! love🖤🖤🖤

taglist open!

[brazilian-girl02]

~ Vlogger!Reader and Future yandere!Batfamily Part: 2 ~

Warning: This is where some yandere stuff shows up.

🦇 It was another normal day at Wayne Manor. Tim was walking to the kitchen to get one, or maybe the fourth, cup of coffee;

🦇 He arrived in the kitchen and noticed the absence of the butler Alfred, as well as an old notebook on top of the kitchen island. curious, he turns on the notebook and an email addressed to Alfred appears on the screen;

-dear Alf... It's been two years since we've seen each other in person, two years since our last book club meeting and without your wonderful tea. I came here to say that everything is going well with my studies and I am adapting well in (city of your choice). and I continue to post my videos, I know you watch them, but anyway, I hope you come visit me one day. a big hug, {You}

🦇 Tim read the email again and again.... "who are {you}?" he asked himself as he went to his room. Once there he started going through the files and even found his college's files;

🦇 Tim was so immersed in taking in every piece of information that he didn't notice that someone was at the door watching him;

🦇 it was Bruce... they started talking and Tim asked incessant questions about you, but Bruce had no answer. soon Alfred appears, he accompanies Tim to your old room, with a mournful Bruce behind;

🦇 When they got to their old room, the walls were your favorite color but in a more worn tone and an old computer on the desk. Tim quickly stops the computer to search it;

🦇 while Bruce looked around the room in a daze, how he forgot about you, and soon he started searching the closet and with an Alfred watching;

🦇 At dinner, Tim was very focused on watching his videos, which he discovered by searching the room's computer. Dick asked him what he was watching and Tim started pouring information about you, sparking curiosity in the others, except Alfred;

🦇 Dick started watching all the videos almost religiously and he always comments on all the videos. If you have a public mailbox on your social network, it will certainly send Nightwing merchandise;

🦇Jason, I would read any book you recommended or appear reading in a photo or video... perhaps you noticed that classic books and a box set of Jane Austen's works mysteriously appeared in your apartment;

🦇Tim has scoured every corner of the Internet looking for information about you, from your Amazon account to an old social media account you no longer use. Maybe he hacked your phone and cameras from places you frequent;

🦇 Barbara would be a little like Tim, but in a milder way. if you have a disability of any kind, you can be sure that she would have researched it, perhaps she would have become a little more protective;

🦇 Cass was happy to be able to watch your videos, she even started to have some of her quirks that she sees in the videos. If you practice some dance, she will definitely improve in that dance while dreaming of doing a ballet duet with you;

🦇 Stephanie is so excited to have someone to share trends and memes with. if you are part of a specific fashion style or subculture, she will research everything about it, from the clothes to the political or historical views of it;

🦇 Duke is surprised how the others didn't notice you, he watches your video game reviews and plays them from start to finish. I hope you notice your energy bill dropping suddenly;

🦇 Now there is a very thoughtful Damian, how could you hide from him for so long. he wonders if you would like to paint with him or if you have a pet, he would love to introduce you to his clan of animals;

🦇 Bruce pondered many things. he really loves you, don't get him wrong but his duties as Batman were a property and he wasn't sure how to approach a civilian like you, his beloved daughter. but rest assured that he will protect you... so don't worry that he has researched everything about your friends and girlfriend, after all it is for your safety;

🦇Alfred is pleased, they finally noticed the amazing girl he created and maybe you'll come home;

-Don't worry Young Miss, soon everyone will be paying attention to you like you always dreamed of.

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

This is chapter 2, I hope you all like it. And yes, my Barbara have a wheelchair. kisses

part 1:

[bayjaruchel]

Underneath The Strobe Light

－－－

Pairing: Mike Schmidt (2023)/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're aware of your feelings for Mike, but you're unsure if he feels the same. A single late-night conversation changes everything. (4.2k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

Extra Notes: Posted October 29, 2023

－－－

You know Mike, sometimes. Mainly in bits and pieces. 

You know he has that poster of Nebraska above his bed; you know he's got a soft spot for terrible eighties cartoons. You know he likes his steak well done. Maybe it's generally useless information — but you've tucked it all away in a dear corner of your brain, in a well-worn cardboard box with his name scrawled fondly on the side in Sharpie. 

He's been busy nowadays, especially with his awful new job at that abandoned restaurant. You've always been there if he needs someone to watch over Abby. It's a strange juxtaposition— spending more and more time at his house, but spending less and less time actually talking to him. But you know he's exhausted, both mentally and physically. 

You don't expect much. You don't need much. Even though Mike's always offered to actually pay you for babysitting Abby, you've always declined. 

However— needing and wanting are two very different things. 

And you want. So, so much. 

Sitting here, on the couch in his living room, your mind always wanders back to him. Abby's a really nice kid, even if she's a little on the eccentric side. Whenever you're sitting with her, watching her draw or watching the television, you can't really focus on Mike. But now, with her safely put to bed … There's nothing to stop you. Nothing to distract you from the empty spot next to you on the couch. 

You blink, already bleary-eyed from the hour. There's some mediocre sitcom playing on the television. It's practically white noise, and you can feel yourself slowly but surely being lulled to sleep. The stubborn part of you wants to fight it. The tired part of you wants to just let it happen. You fumble for the remote instead, switching the channel. 

World News Now? 

Not bad, you think wryly, slumping back into the pillows. You liked the guy playing the accordion and singing about the news, polka-style. Hopefully they'll bring that back. Maybe large broadcasting networks actually do know their audiences. 

Yeah, no. 

You stifle a yawn, tugging your blanket a little tighter. The room's dark, so the only real sources of light are coming from the kitchen and the bluish glow of the television. The only sounds besides that of the T.V. are the occasional car passing by, joined by the gentle chorus of crickets. It's quiet, but not in a discomforting way. 

It's kind of perfect. Like your own little bubble in the world. Untouchable. Not until the sun rises, anyway. 

Your bubble suddenly pops when a car pulls into the driveway, tires crunching on the pavement, and your heart skips. 

It couldn't be anyone else. 

About a minute later, there's the sound of keys turning in the lock. The door swings open and then shuts behind him. Softly. He knows Abby would wake up if he slammed it. Then there's the thump of him setting down his stuff— carelessly. 

The couch cushions squeak a little when Mike sits down next to you. Silently. He's gotten rid of that stupid security vest. 

"Hey," you offer. 

"Hi," he obliges. 

You're sure he's not really paying attention to the T.V. "How was work?" 

It's bland small talk at best, and brutally annoying at worst. But it's the only way to move into interesting conversation territory. And he didn't just trudge past you to go flop down on his bed, so you're assuming he does want to talk. You might pretend not to know, but you're well aware of his social life— or lack thereof. Everyone needs to talk, sometimes. 

"Pretty dull." Rolling his probably stiff shoulders, he lets out a small sound of discomfort. Sheepishly, he murmurs: "I kind of … I kind of just napped, to be honest." 

"Aren't you supposed to be a security guard?" You tease. "That's a really important job, you know. You have to stop all the dangerous teenagers from breaking in and spray-painting dicks on the walls." 

He huffs out something reminiscent of a laugh. "Honestly, the pay's too low to take it seriously." 

"And yet … " 

"There weren't any kids, okay?" Mike shakes his head. When you turn to look at him, though, he's smiling. It's faint, but it's there. "No dangerous teenagers that I had to fight off. It was fine." 

"Fine?" 

"Fine." 

You don't want to let the silence set in. 

"Oh, yeah, we finished the leftover spaghetti earlier. For dinner. I hope that's okay." 

"No, it's terrible," he deadpans. "I hate you." 

"Asshole." 

"Whatever." Mike snickers, and you bask in its gloriousness. "Yeah, it's okay. I know that I probably wouldn't have eaten it anyway. Did you, uh … " He pauses for a split second. "… Did you like it?" 

His tone makes you wonder, but you hastily brush it off. "Yeah, I did," you clarify, "the sauce was pretty great. Was it store-bought, or?" Because if it was, then where can I get it?

"Yup," he replies, popping the 'p'. "Great stuff, for something that's canned. But I always add a little more garlic powder, too." 

"Oh, really?" 

Mike hums an affirmation. "It's like magic, I'm telling you. Doesn't even take a lot to add flavor." 

"That's cool." You rustle with your blanket again, adjusting it more out of habit than anything else. That, and it's kind of cold. "I'll try and remember it for later." 

He's almost cheeky when he speaks. 

"It's life-changing." 

You can't help but snort. "You sound like an addict." 

Incredulously, he glances at you. "To what? Garlic powder?" 

"Pretty much, yeah." 

"I can't believe that you'd say that." He slowly shakes his head, for the second time in the span of roughly a minute. "Especially as someone who's experienced it firsthand—" 

"—you're the one talking about how life-changing it is—" 

"—you can't possibly ignore the irresistible savoriness of garlic powder." 

You look at one another for a moment. The sheer absurdity of the situation sets in all at once. And, well. He starts giggling, and you can't hold it in, either. How could you? Even though he looks at least part zombie, his eyes are still very much alive. Despite the blatant awkwardness and lingering shyness that always follows him around, he's still got a very contagious laugh.  

After you both calm down, he lets out a long sigh. 

"It's getting really late." 

You cling to what little stubbornness remains. "Yeah?" 

"Are you gonna head home?" 

Again, there's something there. Despite his nonchalant attitude, it's almost like— 

—but you're probably overthinking. Wouldn't be anything new. He has to get some rest, and so do you. The drowsiness repeatedly threatening to tug your eyelids closed is a testament to that. Normally, you'd just pass out on the couch or something, and take off early in the morning; before Mike and Abby wake up. But now, it's different. Now, you actually have to make a choice before your sleepy body makes it for you. 

"Um." You rub your eyes again. "I mean. I could, if it's bothering you—" 

"It's not." 

He interrupts you so quickly that it catches you off-guard. It seemingly catches him off-guard, too, judging by the way he promptly averts his gaze and pretends to care about the guy on the television going on about some sort of plumber strike in the city. 

"Oh." You need a second to process. "Oh, okay. Well, in that case … I don't really think that it'd be safe for me to drive right now." You laugh, a little too airily for it to be completely genuine. "I'd probably fall asleep at the wheel or something." At least that's the truth. "I'll just take the couch. As usual." 

"Okay," he says. He's back to murmuring. 

"And I'll be gone before you eat breakfast." Subconsciously, you're fiddling with the slightly frayed edges of the blanket. It's well-loved. "As usual." 

You think you hear him suck in a breath, seconds before: 

"Why don't you stay?"  

Your own breath stutters in your chest. 

"... what?" Is all you can manage, without horrifically humiliating yourself. 

"I mean," he rushes to correct himself, "you come by sometimes because you want to spend time with Abby— she likes you a lot, you know, sometimes I think she likes you more than she likes me . I think—" He's properly nervous now, his knee bouncing up and down. But he's already continuing before you can get a word in. "I think she'd like you to be here in the morning. And you don't accept pay, anyway. You just— won't." 

His nervousness is spreading to you. "Hey, I—" 

"Why are you here, anyway?" 

The question sounds like it's been a long time coming. He's demanding you now, brow furrowed and eyes sparking with emotion. "Is it out of pity? Do you feel sorry for me? Do you feel sorry for Abby? Because if you do, then— then you can just—" 

"It's not!" You exclaim. 

Immediately, you realize that there's a sleeping girl not too far away, and shamefully lower your voice. 

"... It's not, I promise. I just—" It takes a little while for you to gather the right words, and when you do, you don't drop your gaze from him. All of his previous frustration is all but gone, replaced by a slightly wide-eyed expression that's making your heart ache a little. "I genuinely really like spending time with Abby, okay? She's really sweet, and creative, and just a really great kid. And I—" 

You stop yourself. 

"And you what?" Mike asks, gently. 

Might as well, huh? 

"And I really like spending time with you, too," you admit, finally unable to meet his eyes and focusing on your lap instead. 

There's an incredibly tense beat, in which you swear your life flashes before your eyes. 

Then: 

He's barely audible when he speaks. His knee has stopped bouncing, but he's playing with his thumbs. Clearly, your confession— vague as it was— resonated with him, in some way. You hope he understands what you meant, because you couldn't possibly put it all into words in a way that would make sense. 

"Feeling's mutual," he mutters. 

Your head almost snaps up at that. Maybe you had expected it, deep down— you're not oblivious, duh— but it's one thing to have a hunch, and another to have that hunch proven. And out loud, no less. 

"Yeah?" You dare to ask. 

Slowly, he looks up. He meets your eyes. 

"Yeah," he repeats breathlessly, like the wind's been knocked out of him. 

You let your blanket fall from your shoulders, and it slides all the way onto the floor. 

You reach out. 

He lets you lace your fingers through his. 

Mike's palm is sort of clammy— and he's shaking a little— but he still squeezes your hand. On instinct, you guess. It still makes you smile. He doesn't return it, but his lips are parted a little, and you really, really like that. More than you probably should. You like a lot of things about him more than you probably should. 

You scooch a little closer, and he doesn't move away. You let your gaze drop back down to his lips again, making your intentions clear. Still, you don't know if it's clear enough. You lean in, just barely. 

"... Can I?" 

His reply is almost instantaneous. 

"Please."  

You swallow all of the witty quips you could make, and kiss him instead. 

He's very tentative at first. Like he hasn't done this for a while. But you ease him into it— and before long, he's got one hand on the back of your neck, the other somewhere near your waist. He tastes like coffee and something else you can't really put your finger on. It doesn't really matter, though. Because you are kissing him, damnit! 

His eyes are still shut when you part— with a soft smack — but they flutter open after a second. You're not sure if you're supposed to say something meaningful. Luckily, he leans in instead, and your thoughts are immediately transported elsewhere. 

You kiss like this for a while. It's really nice, and you know he needs it. So do you. 

However— when you start losing track of time, lost in the moment, he makes a noise. 

It's quiet, definitely. But it's nothing like the little hums and sighs he's been making so far. It makes you shift closer, pressing more insistently into him. And he responds, enthusiastically wrapping his arms around you, closing the little distance between your bodies that there was. You can practically feel his heart jackrabbiting in his chest when you slip your tongue past his already kiss-swollen lips. 

He moans.  

You indulge yourself. For a little longer. And Mike chases you when you part. 

"We shouldn't do this in the living room," you whisper, nearly panting. "The couch is a little—" 

"Okay," he whispers back, already sounding wrecked. "Okay." 

You've been in his room before. You've sat on his bed— you've even laid on it before. But you've never straddled him on it before. It's a position that makes your head spin a little, and you occupy yourself with kissing him again. His hands fit perfectly on your hips, but they don't stay there for long, tragically— they trail upwards, up your waist, to your back. To your shoulders, and then back down again. It's as if he just can't get enough. You can't either. You need more. 

So, you tug at his shirt. He gets the message right away— hands scrambling to pull it up and over his head. He's still rather slim, but with a slight softness, mostly located in his midsection. There's a light dusting of dark hair on his chest, as well as the provocative happy trail leading down from his navel. You drag your eyes downward, admiring him, and then decide that you're wearing too much clothing. Your top comes off, dropped onto the floor near his. 

Mike takes more time to admire you when your torso is completely bare. His hands are warm on your bare skin, and slightly rough. Like before, he's hesitant at first, but when you encourage him— either literally or with physical indications— he grows bolder. His stubble scratches gently against you when his lips find your collarbone. 

You squirm a little, not even realizing it— and you feel him. Simultaneously, you both gasp. He's not fully there, but he's at least half-hard— and it can't be comfortable in those jeans. 

"Should I—" 

"Yeah—" 

With steady fingers, you unbutton his fly, and then unzip him. It's a little awkward when he shimmies out of the jeans, and when you wriggle out of your bottoms— you both snicker a little, but he's back to comfortably breathless when you settle back onto his lap. Under normal circumstances, you would tease him again. And yet, you can't bring yourself to. Not right now, at least. 

All you want to do is keep going. 

You roll your hips, testing the waters. His breath audibly hitches, and his hands fly up to settle back on your hips. He looks up at you, eyes already half-lidded— and they close when you grind down again. And again. His lips are clumsier this time when you kiss him, but he still reciprocates all the same. The sensation of him directly underneath you like this is intoxicating. You can feel every little twitch and every little jolt. 

"Fuck," he breathes, long and drawn-out, " God, I can— I can see the spot on your—" 

"Yeah?" You encourage, grinding down again, drinking in his answering groan. "You like that?" 

  "Yes —" 

"You want me to take 'em off?" 

Mike's pupils are blown wide, even though his eyes are already dark as is in the dimness of the room. He nods, once, then twice. "Yes," he murmurs. "Please," he adds, for good measure. 

He stares openly when you get off him, just enough to peel off your last remaining layer of clothing. And when you sit back down, well. It's obvious that you'll have to give him a second. "Can I," he says, finally, "can I touch you?" The way he's looking up at you again is just so sweet, so needy, that you consider saying no. Your throbbing core quickly shuts that idea down. 

"Go on," you encourage. 

He helps you move so he has easier access, and—  

His fingertips find your slit, already wet for him.

"Look what you did to me," you murmur. 

He visibly flushes— and then carefully works one finger into your slick heat. The feeling, combined with his thumb brushing against your clit— it's relief that you've needed this entire time, and you can't help but let a quiet sound escape your lips. It's apparently enough incentive for him to quicken his pace a little. Deliberately, he continues massaging your sensitive nub in a firm but easy pattern as he gently pushes a second finger inside you. 

Mike may be out of practice, but evidently, he still knows what he's doing. He peppers kisses up and down your neck, some more open-mouthed than others. Crooking his fingers, he maintains his diligent rhythm. A thought floats through your mind, unbidden— he must have strong hands, if he's been able to keep up like this—   

Two becomes three, and you're spreading your thighs a little wider for him. He's still transfixed, but speeds up at your urging, breath hot against the divot between your neck and shoulder. You chance a glance down, and you can see the visible outline of him through his boxers. You did that to him. He's desperate— for you. 

"Mike," you gasp, "nnh—" 

"Yeah, c'mon," he mouths, against your neck, "c'mon—" He's not letting up in the slightest, and when you tell him to, he speeds up again. He needs to see you cum just as much as you need to feel it. Your needs and wants are rapidly blending into one. You squeeze your eyes shut, but open them to look at him. His dark curls are a mess, his hand working tirelessly between your legs. 

  "Mike —" 

He says your name in return, like he's the one in the vulnerable position. 

"Mike , 'm gonna— 'm gonna—"  

"Please," his breaths are ragged, debauched, "cum, please, c'mon, lemme see it—" 

"Oh —" 

The tension snaps, and you spasm around his fingers. Your hips twitch, and you moan, your mouth falling open as you ride out your orgasm. You're rising— falling — molten honey pooling in your core, before flowing throughout your body. And Mike keeps going throughout it all, letting you enjoy the sensations until you're fully satisfied. 

Nearly boneless, you sag backward. His fingers, soaked with your glistening release, slip out of your cunt with a wet noise. He doesn't waste any time in bringing them up into his mouth, cleaning them off with his tongue— at the taste of you, he groans, even though it's muffled. Your mind takes a moment to catch up again with the world, but another thought manifests itself— how would he react, if you let him use his mouth on you? How would his head look between your thighs? He would be noisy, wouldn't he? Enthusiastic, pliant, and—

Your desire, although it waned for a short minute, comes back tenfold. But you take one look down again and— you can do that later. Right now, you want him inside you. 

Mike lets you tug him down for another kiss. He lets you feel the worn fabric on his thighs, almost playfully. When you palm him through them— he hisses through his teeth, hypersensitive even though you've barely touched him yet. You're going to fix that, though. Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, you tug them down. 

You were right. He's desperate. As soon as his overheated skin meets the cool air, he lets out another quiet hiss. And when you take him in hand— 

"Mmh —" A firm stroke from base to tip, and you've already got him. He's average in length, but a little girthy. You know he'll be perfect. There's a little drop at the head of his cock, and you resist the urge to lick it off, focusing instead on warming him up a little. He whispers your name, once, when you pump up and down, twisting your wrist. 

"Got a condom?" You ask, stilling for a second. His eyes snap to you. 

"Oh my God, " he quickly mutters under his breath, before raising his volume, "uh, yeah, I think so. Lemme—" And he's already scrambling off the bed, opening the drawers of his nightstand with speed, but somehow simultaneously managing not to make much noise. He rifles through them, but soon emerges victoriously with what he was looking for. It's a little funny, how he doesn't waste any time in ripping it open and tossing the garbage into the mostly-overfull pail near his bed. Hastily, he rolls on the condom. You think he's expecting you to lay back or get up on your hands and knees so he can fuck you like that— you wouldn't be entirely opposed to it— but that's not what you want right now. 

You place your hands on his chest and push him back down so he's sitting against the headboard. He goes without complaint, even shifting when he understands what you want to do. He's flushed almost down to his neck. 

When you sink down on him in a smooth slide, still slick from earlier, you both moan. He sounds strained— he's biting his lower lip, squirming until he finally bottoms out. You have to take a moment to catch your breath, too; the fullness is just how you imagined, but it's so, so much, especially because of your lingering sensitivity. 

"I'm not—" He audibly swallows, hands tightening on your waist when you move just a little, "oh, fuck, I'm not gonna— I'm not gonna last long." He's babbling a little. "You're tight, fuck." 

You rock back and forth, once, and it's enough to force a choked noise from his throat. You watch his face, observing every little twitch, the clenching of his jaw. You can't hesitate for much longer, though— so you begin lifting yourself and dropping yourself down on his cock. Just in little movements at first, so you can get used to the feeling. His eyes squeeze shut— 

"Look at me," you demand, and he does. He doesn't try and thrust up into you when you really start to move. Up and down, up and down, with lewd plaps that accompany your sounds; his grunts—  you swear you hear him whimper .  His eyelashes flutter open and closed, as he struggles to follow your command, wanting to be good. For you. Even though you can see his thighs flexing as he holds everything back. You ride him for all you're worth. 

True to his words, you can tell when he gets close. Maybe he's been on edge this entire time. You thread your fingers through his hair— he buries his face into the crook of your neck, maybe out of embarrassment. You can feel how flushed he is, a thin sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies. Your muscles are aching, but you're determined to make him cum. You're determined to do this for him. 

He says your name, but it's more of a whine. "Please — I'm gonna— I can't — "  

"Go on," you pant, "you can. Don't hold back." Your arms are wrapped around his neck, now, holding him tight; just like his arms around your waist. The contact is almost too much, but somehow it's still not enough, despite him being inside you. "Go on," you repeat, after he whines again, the sound sending white-hot heat straight to your core. "Cum." 

Mike twitches, and you can feel him pulse— the sound he lets out is high-pitched, muffled into your skin. You slow your movements— the aftershocks of his orgasm last longer than yours. It might've been a little while for you, but it had definitely been longer for him. 

He doesn't let go, even after his breathing's slowed down. 

Gently, you pull his head back so you can look at him. He looks up at you with slightly wet eyes. The kisses you press to his cheeks and forehead make him scrunch up his face. 

"Hey," he rasps, "I gotta throw out the condom. Hang on." 

"Yeah, okay." 

When he slips out of you, you both sigh a little. With unsteady fingers, he ties up the condom before chucking it into the pail. 

The sheets are cool on your skin when he pulls them over you both. The room reeks of sex, but both of you are too exhausted to care. When you turn to lay on your side, he's behind you, throwing an arm over your waist. Tugging you closer. Almost absentmindedly, there's a kiss pressed to the back of your head. 

"Thank you," he mumbles. 

You stare at the far wall, unable to close your eyes just yet. 

"For what?" 

"For—" A pause. "For everything, I guess." 

The awkwardness is back. But you let it in. You smile. 

"You're welcome." 

He doesn't respond, but shuffles nearer, chest pressed up against your back. It's not long before you're both fast asleep. 

[munson-blurbs]

Hi bug! I’m asking in anon bc it’s a bit of a sensitive subject for me to discuss but could you possibly write something about Eddie and reader being close(hopefully turning into lovers) and he sees her self harm scars for the first time and she is really embarrassed and tries to just stop speaking to him but he finally catches her alone and it turns into soft smut? I feel like your writing would do a story like this justice, but if it’s a heavy subject and you don’t want to write about it I understand ❤️

Hi! I kept the premise but changed a few details. I hope that's okay.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), fingering, unprotected p in v, mentions of self-harm (cutting) but no descriptions of blood or the act itself, parental conflict, Reader celebrates Christmas, angst to fluffy smut WC: 2.5k A/N: This fic is not meant to romanticize or promote self-harm of any kind. This is a comfort fic where the reader-insert character has a history of self-harm. That being said, if this subject matter is triggering for you, please keep scrolling. Sending all of you love, always.

Divider credit to @strangergraphics

“Okay, first we need two and a half cups of flour.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose when you handed him the measuring cup and a butter knife. 

“So you can scrape off the excess,” you explained. 

Your boyfriend scoffed and plunked the knife onto the countertop. “Have you ever heard of guesstimating, Sweetheart?”

“There’s no guesstimating in baking, Eds.” You dragged the bag of all-purpose flour away from him before he could ruin the recipe. “Everything has to be precise.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, dear,” he grumbled. But there was no missing the smile playing on his lips. 

Spending time with Eddie wasn’t new; you’d known each other since he’d moved to Hawkins as a kid. The friendship had survived the ups and downs of junior high and high school, not to mention the years you were away at college. 

What was new was the romantic relationship that had only developed six months ago. Now, Eddie was your boyfriend. Your regular movie nights ended in heated make-out sessions rather than nervous hugs goodbye. Eddie held your hand while you walked rather than playing air guitar. And your sleepovers often involve much less clothing than before. 

It was different, but it was nice. 

“Can you hand me the cream of tartar?” You asked him, holding out your palm. 

“The what?” Eddie’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that the stuff you dip fish sticks in?”

You snorted. “No, that’s tartar sauce. Cream of tartar is a spice that will give the snickerdoodles a little tang.”

Strong, tattooed arms wrapped around you and pulled you toward him, his lips finding the crook of your neck in an instant, sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine. 

“How about I give you a little tang?” Eddie’s words vibrated against your skin. 

It took all of your willpower to focus on the task at hand and not give in. “I’m about to ban you from my kitchen.” You pinched some flour between your fingers and flicked it at him. It dusted his chin and the U-neck collar of his Metallica t-shirt. 

Eddie gasped in mock-offense, reaching over and taking a handful of flour. Before you could protest, he opened his fist just above your head. The powder plopped onto your scalp and cascaded down your cheeks. 

“Gotta go!” He bolted from the kitchen, nearly flinging himself up and over the counter. 

You were fast on his trail, knocking over the yellow-and-white box of granulated sugar. It toppled off of the counter and landed on its side with a thud, leaving a crystalline trail in its wake. 

“Dammit.” With an exasperated sigh, you rolled up your sleeves and cupped your hand, brushing the spilled sugar into your other palm. 

It was suddenly too quiet—and not the kind of quiet that preceded a prank. The only sound came from the thunk of the trash can lid as you dumped the wasted sugar into the bag.

Eddie froze, his widening eyes the sole movement across his lithe body. 

“Sweetheart…are those…?” 

You follow his gaze to the thin lines along your wrist. Most had faded over time and were ones he had seen before, but there were a few new scars that you’d forgotten about.

“You’re…you’re still doing…that?” Eddie’s voice was laced with palpable nervousness, but there wasn’t an ounce of disgust. It might have been easier if there was; you were disgusted that you’d relapsed into self-harm, even if it was just once. 

No, this was genuine concern and love. 

“I…” You struggled to find the words, feeling like the teenager you were when you’d first cut yourself. Now you’re an adult–an adult who’s supposed to have better, healthier coping mechanisms–yet after a conversation with your mother led to an argument, you’d turned back to old habits.

Eddie took your hands in his. The slight tremble broke your heart into a million pieces and filled each crack with shame.

His thumb grazed over the new marks, careful not to reopen the wound. “When did you do this? W-Why did you…?”

“I don’t know.” 

A flicker of frustration sparked in his deep brown eyes at your lie, a silent plea for your honesty.

And so you shoved that shame aside, your body caving into his as you told him everything, starting with the phone call from your mother. 

You’d tried to explain that you were splitting Christmas between their place and Wayne’s, and since Eddie’s uncle worked the night shift, you’d go over to his trailer in the morning and your parents’ house in the evening. 

A solid compromise as you navigated the balance of your relationship with Eddie. 

Or so you thought. 

Because the moment you laid out your plans, Mom was blubbering about the family tradition of opening presents on Christmas morning and how it won’t be the same and why is Wayne working on Christmas, anyway?

You didn’t have the energy to break down the older man’s finances—not that it was her business—but it didn’t matter. Mom already began tossing around terms like ungrateful and disrespectful. 

Suddenly, you were no longer an adult in an apartment of your own. You were a teenager trapped under your parents’ roof with nowhere to go, no way to escape the chaos. 

You couldn’t stop apologizing—to your mom then, and to Eddie now. Tears streamed down your cheeks, drawing hot rivulets over your skin. 

But with Eddie, there was no disgruntled huff and abrupt end to the conversation. He grabbed a tissue, wiping at your eyes and beneath your nose.

“You could’ve called me,” he said. “I would’ve been over in a heartbeat. You didn’t need to do this.”

You shook your head. This was beyond him, and he knew it, too. 

You didn’t realize that your eyes had glazed over, that your rumination had taken hold and kept you locked inside your brain, until Eddie spoke again. 

“Look at me.” 

You blinked, allowing yourself to re-enter the space. When the haze of anxiety began to clear, you felt his touch before you saw his face. His hand was noticeably warm and sweat-slicked, forefinger tucked up under your chin as he lifted it. Whatever stray tears remained on your face trickled down, sneaking into the crevices of his rings.

“Please don’t hurt yourself anymore.” The tip of his tongue swiped over his lower lip. With utmost tenderness, he leaned his forehead against yours. His exhale tickled your own nose. “Please just tell me when you’re sad or mad or…or anything.”

And then you were fourteen once again, confessing to Eddie the real reason why you only wore long-sleeved shirts while he stood there helplessly, nearly dropping the can of Chef Boyardee in the middle of Wayne’s kitchen. Though you were a decade older now, Eddie’s face fell the same way it had in 1980. Confusion and defeat warred for prominence, his brows knit together and his shoulders slumped. 

“You can’t fix me,” you said finally. 

“I know. Because you’re not broken.” Eddie’s hands fell to your wrists, gingerly clutching them. “A little battered, but not broken.”

He meant it, though you didn’t know how. Besides the physical scars on your wrists, you carried a world of pain on your shoulders. You were buried in the weight of inferiority and the inability to measure up to expectations. 

Eddie sensed your hesitation to believe him. “I love you,” he said softly. “I loved you when we were seven and you gave me a Band-Aid after I fell off of my bike. I loved you when we were thirteen and you used the peanut butter from your sandwich to get Tommy Hagan’s gum out of my hair. 

“I loved you when we were eighteen and you went off to college, but you still called me every Thursday night. I loved you when we were twenty-four and I finally asked you out, and you kissed me before I could finish my sentence.” He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling through his t-shirt. “And I’ll never stop loving you. So, please…please don’t hurt yourself again.”

You nodded, hoping it was a promise you could keep. Hoping that this was just a slip-up and not the beginning of a full-blown relapse. 

Exhaustion fell over you as your tears slowed. “I should probably clean myself off.” You shook your head for emphasis, some of the remaining flour clouding as it fell. 

“Let me help.”

Eddie followed behind you, just watching as you picked out the residue over the bathroom sink. The yellow-tinged vanity lighting emphasized the worry that he wore like a mask. 

You turned to him. “I’m okay,” you said with a timid smile. “It was just a one-time thing. I swear.”

His tone was firm when he spoke. “But if it isn’t—if you want to do it again or think about doing it again—you need to tell me.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I won’t run away. I’m right here.”

You melted into him, flour-coated scalp be damned, and wrapped your arms around him. “I promise.”

“Good.” A small relief, but relief nonetheless. 

Your fingers tangled in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. “It’s like my brain gets too loud, and I can’t shut it off sometimes.” You swallowed, not able to look at him yet. “But sometimes it helps when I…when I think about you. About how safe I feel with you.”

He brushed flour from your shirt collar. You could tell that he wanted to say something despite the ensuing quiet. Yet he just shoved his hands into his pockets and walked back out to the kitchen wordlessly. 

It wasn’t until that evening, laying in bed with one tattooed arm wrapped around your waist, that Eddie posed the question that had been sitting on his lips since the afternoon. 

“You feel safe with me?”

You rolled over to face him. “Of course. You’re, like, my safe place.”

Eddie held you tighter. “You’re my safe place, too.” He pressed a soft kiss to your nose. “And maybe I’m a little selfish because of it, but I really need you around. Okay?”

Even in the darkness, you could see his eyes shining with worry and fear. That he would wake up without you. That you’d be gone when he least expected it. 

“I never meant to scare you,” you promised, your voice a whisper even though it was only the two of you. “I wasn’t…”

I wasn’t thinking about you, you almost said. Not that you didn’t care about him—your mind was too occupied with Mom’s stinging words to think of anything else. Of anyone else—including Eddie. 

His reassurance came swiftly. “I know,” he said. “And I want you to know that you deserve to be happy. You deserve not to worry about anyone else’s bullshit. Even your mom’s.”

Eddie took your hand, lifted one scarred wrist to his lips, and kissed it. There was a slight sting from the newer cut, but it disappeared as quickly as it presented. 

“You deserve to be happy,” he continued, kissing another scar. “You deserve to live a life where you know that no one is worth hurting yourself over.”

You brought your arm back to your side and shifted even closer to him. Your nose bumped his when you leaned in to kiss him, eliciting a giggle from both you and Eddie. 

“Sorry—” You started to apologize, but his hands flew to your cheeks as he kissed you harder. His tongue flicked over the seam of your lips, asking for entry that you granted without a second thought. 

“God, I fuckin’ love your laugh.” Eddie shook a rogue curl from his eyes. Instinctively, his leg slotted between yours. It was only when you ground your core against his flannel-clad thigh that he realized what he’d done. 

He moved back an inch, though that one leg stayed in place. “Baby, we don’t—I know today’s been a lot. I’m fine kissing you, y’know?”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to do anything for me. I’m a big boy; I can jerk off in the bathroom if you’re not in the mood—”

You were tired, but an invisible thread inside you had been tugged, awakening an ache that only Eddie could quell. 

“I know,” you repeated. “I want this, too. I…I need it, Eddie.”

His teeth grazed your neck. “What do you need?” He growled, a primal edge in his tone. 

“I need you to show me I’m safe.” 

With those words, you let go of the control you clutched like a precious stone. The relief would be temporary—everything in this world was—but you felt the burden ease with each article of your clothing that Eddie removed. You could have floated, your body weightless, when he kissed each millimeter of your skin. Even the parts you preferred to keep hidden. 

His middle finger was what anchored you to reality. It found your clit, rubbing circles on it while his other hand gripped your hip. 

Slowly, torturously, his finger inched inside you, drawing a shuddering breath from your lips. 

“S’good?” He looked down at you, waiting for confirmation. “Do you need more?”

More. More sounded perfect, and you told him so. 

There’s no teasing tonight. Eddie didn’t make you beg before he slipped his ring finger inside you, curling both fingers to stroke that sweet spot. 

Your back arched, taking him in deeper. He obliged, murmuring your name and sweet praises as he touched you. 

“There you go.”

“So good for me.”

“That’s it.”

“You’re gorgeous like this.”

Wetness slickened his fingers and dripped down onto the bedsheet. He let go of your hip for a second to palm himself over his pajama pants, stopping only when you reach for him. 

“Eds.” You tried not to pout when he paused his ministrations. “Y-You can…”

With a quick nod, Eddie shucked off his clothes and tossed them to the carpeted floor. They landed with a plop, a noise drowned out by his moan when he pressed his erection against you. 

Safe. With Eddie, you were safe. 

Your breath hitched as he entered you; it was a fullness that felt so natural yet like each time was the first. 

Eddie groaned as your fingers dug into his back, reveling in the mutual desire. He braced his forearms on either side of you, caging in your head.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered. “There’s nothing else. Just us, okay?”

“‘Kay.” There was no time to say anything else; he leaned down and kissed you, moaning into it with unbridled need. 

If the alarm clock on your nightstand wasn’t counting the minutes, you would have sworn that time was suspended. Each thrust, each kiss, each murmur of your name was a second and a day. 

Eddie’s lips brushed your ear. He whispered, “you’re so beautiful,” sending an arrow of need straight to your core. “My sweet, beautiful girl.”

“Yours,” you agreed in a whimper. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him in further, as pleasure washed over you. It claimed him a moment later, his face buried in your neck. 

When the sun rises, your scars will once again be visible. And the lingering sadness and frustration won’t have completely dissipated. 

But you’ll handle it. With Eddie by your side, you’ll power through until getting through each day is no longer a chore. 

You’re safe. 

--

[senascoop]

Who do you think gives off major girl dad vibes and who gives off boy dad vibes in enhypen hyung line? 🫣

( GIRL DAD VIBES )

i) JAY — he practically screams “girl dad” with how gentlemanly he is and def seems like the type who would spoil his daughter while also being super protective. Jay would absolutely love twirling his daughter around the living room to teach her how to dance. He’d make sure she felt like a princess every day, whether it’s a random Tuesday or her birthday. While he’d be incredibly protective (probably the type to intimidate her first crush just a little), he’d also have a soft spot. One puppy-eyed look, and he’d cave into whatever she wants. He’d encourage her to be confident, smart, and kind. You can imagine him saying things like, “Always stay true to yourself, no matter what,” or “You’re capable of anything you set your mind to.” He’d be hands-on when it comes to crafting school projects or making her dream playhouse, all while secretly enjoying it more than her.

ii). SUNGHOON — No particular reason but his sweet, slightly shy demeanor gives off “girl dad.” He'd probably dote on his daughter. Sunghoon would be the kind of dad who’s quietly protective. He’d always keep an eye on her but wouldn’t be overbearing. If she had a problem, he’d step in subtly and guide her through it. While he might seem reserved, Sunghoon would secretly practice braiding her hair, doing her nails, or even learning makeup basics so he could bond with her. Imagine him proudly showing her a perfect fishtail braid or helping her pick nail polish colors! Sunghoon would treasure all her milestones. He’d secretly keep a box of her drawings, first letters, or little gifts she made him, reminiscing over them when she grew older. At school events, he might be the quiet dad in the back but would burst with pride when she’s on stage or playing sports. He’d clap the loudest and tell everyone, “That’s my daughter!”

( BOY DAD VIBES )

iii) HEESEUNG — Heeseung gives off really strong major “fun and chill” boy dad vibes. He'd bond over video games and sports, being an ideal responsible role model in the child's life. Heeseung would not only be a dad but be more like a buddy. He'd always be down to play video games, shoot hoops, or build Legos; he would make sure that his son knows that he is his biggest fan and the best friend. Whether it's basketball, soccer, or whatever, Heeseung would be the dad who always practiced with his son out in the yard. He'd be cheering him on at every game and even coaching the team if needed. Heeseung would be the right balance between being laid back and having boundaries. His son would know there's always room for fun but also the importance of respect and discipline. Music is such a big part of Heeseung's life, so you can bet there'd be karaoke nights where they'd sing their hearts out. His son would probably inherit Heeseung's love for music and maybe even some of his talent.

iV) JAKE — he seems like he would make a close friend with his son. They would spend weekends watching sports, playing video games, or going out into the wild for some hike or fishing. He would want his son to feel as though they are a team in everything. He would drop nuggets of wisdom like, “It is okay to fail, but never stop trying,” to make sure that his son feels encouraged about whatever happened. He would always say “I love you” and make sure that his son feels supported emotionally. Jake would be the dad who's always ready to listen, whether it is about his son's day at school or his dreams and worries. He would be that laid-back parent but not one to shy away from teaching his child how to live life and its various implications, like cooking, keeping money in order, and how to tackle problems with the right attitude.

[gothcsz]

imagine moving into your new apartment and finding out that javier peña is your next door neighbour 🤭

tags: f!reader, friends to lovers i think, sprinkle of angst, mutual pining, alcohol consumption, throwing up/vomiting mentioned (if you're squeamish to that kind of thing), javi being javi, untranslated spanish, smut, p in v sex, overstimulation, there are feelings involved, unbeta'd, no use of y/n, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.

~ 4.2k w/c - gif found on pinterest - masterlist

a/n: i just want javier peña to look at me... is that too much to ask for?! this is tropey asf and not what i was initially thinking of writing when i got this ask—but i like how this lil one shot turned out. i hope you do too, bestie! 🖤

You’re in the middle of unpacking boxes in your new apartment, surrounded by a mess of your own doing, when a sharp knock on the door startles you. You weren’t expecting anyone.

Wiping your hands on your jeans, you head to the door and swing it open to reveal a striking woman. Auburn hair, sharp eyes—she’s undeniably beautiful, but her expression is less than friendly.

Her eyes narrow as she sizes you up. “¿Y tu quien putas eres?” she demands.

Before you can get a word out, she’s already pushing past you into your apartment, not waiting for an invitation. “¿Donde esta Javier? Malparido tramposo. ¡No te escondas de mí!” she continues, storming through your space like she owns it.

You stand there, dumbfounded at the absurdity, watching her move, her fury palpable. Your Spanish is still novice, at best, so you don’t really understand what she’s saying.

“Uh, I think you have the wrong—” you start, but she cuts you off again.

“Wrong, my ass.” She replies, her Colombian accent thick. “I know he lives here. All the Americans do—”

Your brain finally catches up and puts two and two together. She’s looking for Javier Peña. Your colleague and now, apparently, neighbor.

You’ve been quietly, hopelessly crushing on the agent since you started working at the embassy. And now you’re standing in the middle of your half-unpacked apartment while some furious woman is ranting about him.

You’re about to speak again when, as if summoned by the chaos, Javier himself strolls past your open door in the hallway. The woman halts, her eyes following him like a predator tracking its prey.

You see her face shift from righteous fury to utter confusion. It hits her finally—she’s in the wrong apartment, like you tried to tell her.

She mutters something you can’t understand, barely meeting your eyes before storming out, slamming the door behind her.

You stand there, blinking, still processing what just happened. If that was any indication on how things around here will go, at least you know you won’t be bored.

It’s later in the evening when there’s another knock at the door. You’re almost hesitant to answer, unsure if you’ll be met by another beautiful woman scorned, so this time you make sure to look through the peephole before blindly opening it.

It’s Javier.

You glance down at your clothes, suddenly self-conscious. You’re not exactly at your best, sweaty and disheveled from moving all day. Definitely not how you pictured running into him outside of work.

You take a deep breath, trying to pull yourself together, then open the door, “Hey.” You greet him, a little shy.

He leans casually against your doorframe, that signature smirk playing on his lips. “Sorry about earlier,” his deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. “Not the best way to be welcomed into the neighborhood.”

He glances past you, noticing the half-unpacked boxes scattered around your apartment, and you’re mortified for a second, wondering how messy everything must look through his eyes.

You laugh, though it’s a little shaky. “I, uh… didn’t know you lived next door.”

Javier grins, giving you a devastatingly handsome smile that you’ve only seen when he tries to bribe his way through some of the other girls at the office. “Yeah, been here since I moved to Bogotá,” his eyes linger on you, but you don’t notice with how you’re focused on not making a fool out of yourself. 

“Well I hope you and your… friend worked things out.”

He exhales through his nose in an amused laugh. “Somethin’ like that,” he says, sounding almost entertained by the whole thing. “I owe you for that inconvenience.”

Your heart stutters and you hope, no—pray, that your eyes haven’t morphed into hearts with the charming way he’s looking at you.

“It’s fine, really—“

“No, no. I insist. It was rude. The least I can do is make it up to you.”

Knowing he wasn’t going to back down, a stubborn man through and through, you give him a slight nod, trying to play it cool even though your nerves are buzzing. “Okay… sure, fine. You owe me.”

His smirk softens into a half-smile, a little less cocky. He pushes himself off your doorframe, straightening up. “Alright, cariño. I’ll see you around.” The word rolls off his tongue as if he’s said it a thousand times to you, but it lands right between your legs, sending warmth to your cheeks.

“Have a good night,” he adds with that enamoring gravelly voice of his.

You manage to mumble a goodbye, watching as he walks down the hall, his presence making the air feel electric. You’re left standing there, alone with the heavy realization that your harmless work crush just became a lot more dangerous.

Living next door to him is going to be torture.

Months go by, and torture would be an understatement.

You’ve developed an odd, friendly relationship with him. It’s not exactly what you imagined when you first laid eyes on him at the embassy, all brooding intensity and effortless charm, but it works.

You exchange casual greetings in the hallway, little snippets of small talk when you bump into each other at work. 

It’s... normal. Comfortable, in its own way. But every time he says your name, with that gravelly edge to his voice, something flutters in your chest.

He’s even taken it upon himself to help you with your Spanish, which is as endearing as it is embarrassing. On the days when you can steal a few moments to talk, he’ll have you practicing phrases, repeating them until he’s satisfied with your pronunciation. Sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly amused, he’ll leave a sticky note on your door with a new phrase scribbled on it for you to learn.

It’s become part of your routine. Him giving you little bits of language, you trying to impress him with how quickly you can pick it up. You tell yourself it’s just a… fun thing, nothing more.

Then there are the nights when you’ve made too much dinner. You know that man doesn’t eat. Not properly, anyway. So you bring over a plate, standing awkwardly at his door until he opens it, shirt half-buttoned and hair tousled, like he just rolled out of bed.

“Brought you something,” you say, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens as his eyes flicker to yours, a mix of surprise and amusement.

“Thanks, cariño,” he takes the food from you with that half-smile that makes you feel like a damn schoolgirl.

But it’s not always like that. There are times when he’s away for days at a time. Out doing who knows what—your level of work doesn’t intersect with his at all. 

His return comes with whispers around the office or in the form of news broadcasts that seem to be reporting nothing but atrocities as of late.

In the dead of night, you’ll hear the sound of his boots echoing through the enclosed hallway, a sure sign he’s finally back. You wonder what he’s seen, what he’s done while he was gone. The thought keeps you restless sometimes, but you never ask. He doesn’t offer, either.

And then there are the women.

You hear them through the thin walls—his low voice, their laughter, the unmistakable sounds of them fucking. The rhythm of their pleasure reverberates through your apartment, impossible to ignore.

Every time it happens, you’re reminded of the rumors you’ve heard around the office. The whispers about Javier Peña, about how good he is in bed, about how women fall over themselves to spend a night with him. Now, you know firsthand that they’re true.

It stings more than you’d like to admit, considering how you feel about him but knowing that he doesn’t see you as anything but a friend. 

You’ve caught glimpses of him after his flings, too. You kind of wish you could wipe from your memory, if only to keep your sanity.

It’s during different times of the day, really, when he’s leaning casually against his doorframe like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’s shirtless, skin still damp from a shower or maybe from the sweat he’s worked up, and his jeans hang sinfully low on his hips. The soft light from the hallway casts shadows over his golden chest, highlighting the faint beauty marks that map his body.

You do your best to keep your eyes averted, pretending you’re not affected, pretending you don’t notice the way his muscles flex as he stretches, or how his dark hair is tousled in that perfectly messy way. But your throat tightens every time, your stomach flipping at how effortlessly good he looks. It’s not fair how someone can make post-coital exhaustion look so damn attractive.

He’s usually saying goodbye to one of the lucky girls, tossing a wink their way, or brushing his fingers through their hair as they share a final kiss.

You tell yourself it’s just Javier being Javier, but it’s impossible to ignore the way jealousy twists in your chest when you see them, all blissed-out and satisfied, practically floating down the hallway after a night with him.

You turn your head, pretend you didn’t just catch a glimpse of him looking like some kind of god, and hurriedly unlock your door before he notices you staring. 

And sometimes, when you least expect it, he catches you.

You’re fumbling with your keys, doing your best to mind your own business, when his voice cuts through the silence. “Hey,” he calls out, casual as ever, and you freeze. Your hand stills on the doorknob, and you force yourself to look up.

Javier is standing there, half naked, leaning against his door as if he has all the time in the world.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, “Hey.”

“You alright there, cariño?” he asks, voice low and rough, like he’s barely holding back a laugh after watching you struggle with your keys.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just had a long day.”

He hums, his stare lingering on you, and your heart pounds in a way you can’t quite control. But then, as if nothing’s changed, he shifts back into that familiar, teasing grin.

“Okay, don’t work too hard. Can’t have you burnin’ out before me.”

It all comes to a head one night at the bar near your place. You’re out with a secretary from a different department, downing margaritas like they’re water. You’re tipsy—no, you’re drunk, and the world is spinning just a little too fast.

That’s when you see him. He walks in like he owns the place, scanning the crowded space until his eyes land on you. He acknowledges you with a jut of his chin and you smile drunkenly at him, waving, before you’re brought back to the conversation with your friend.

He’s here for work, meeting one of his informants—a very pretty, very obvious, working girl. You hate how seeing him with her swirls the green in your drunken heart.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, maybe it’s the months of pent-up frustration, but when Javier approaches as your coworker excuses herself to the bathroom, checking to see if you’re alright, your mouth runs faster than your brain.

“Don’t worry about me,” you slur, waving him off. “I’m sure you’d have more fun with her,” you add, nodding toward the woman with a sharp, sarcastic edge. “Probably more your type anyway.”

Javier raises an eyebrow, his expression shifting into a playful uncertainty, head tilting slightly. “What?”

You don’t know how to respond. Honestly, you’re not even sure you can form a coherent thought right now. All you know is that you’re in way over your head, and he is standing way too close.

But that liquid courage surges through your veins and the words are tumbling out of your mouth.

“It’s obvious, Javier,” your frustration is crystal clear, despite the way your words run into each other. “The kind of company you keep. They’re more fun,” You gesture vaguely toward his booth. “I’m just… here. A bore that’s drunk on a Wednesday night. It’s why you came to check on me. Why you’ve been overly nice.” Your words sting, even as they leave your lips.

The alcohol amplifies every insecurity you’ve kept buried.

The playful look on his face vanishes, replaced by hardened disbelief. His brows furrow, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s trying to figure out how you could possibly think so little of yourself.

Instead of giving you an answer, he just reaches for his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. “Come on,” he mutters, “I’m taking you home.”

You snort, shaking your head, another wave of dizziness washing over you. “See? Taking pity on me. Again.”

He rolls his eyes, unfazed by your drunken resistance. “That’s not what this is,” he pulls out a wad of cash and drops it on the bar top to settle your tab.

He makes sure your friend is taken care of, telling the bartender to call a cab for her. Then he goes to dismiss his informant—a woman he definitely had plans to sleep with. She seems surprised, but Javier brushes her off and hands her some money. 

Your drunken mind can’t quite comprehend that he’s choosing to deal with you instead. As he guides you outside, you make it difficult, stumbling and resisting as he tries to steer you toward his car.

“I can walk, Peña,” you grumble, though your legs aren’t exactly cooperating.

“Sure you can,” he says dryly, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you upright. “You’re making this real easy.” He comments sarcastically.

You’re so going to regret this tomorrow when you’re fighting a hangover at your desk, thinking of how you just fucked up this friendship.

But right now, you can’t focus on anything but how warm his large hand feels against your side as he helps you into the passenger seat.

Your head lolls against the window, and you groan softly. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. You could’ve stayed with her.”

Javier slides into the driver’s seat, glancing at you as he starts the engine. “Everything you said back there was bullshit,” he says bluntly, pulling out of the parking lot. “You think I pity you? That I only talk to you because I feel bad? You really don’t know me at all.”

His words are cutting, but not in a cruel way. He sounds… disappointed. “I like spending time with you,” he continues, quieter now, more serious. “It’s not some charity case. You make me feel normal. When I’m with you, it’s like the rest of the shit I deal with doesn’t exist.” The faint hum of the radio fills the sudden silence.

“You… you’ve got this smile that makes me feel a little better about myself.”

The sincerity in his voice sobers you up just a little, enough for your foggy brain to process what he’s saying. You turn to look at him, eyes wide, but before you can fully grasp it, your stomach lurches.

“Oh no,” you groan, clutching your middle. “I’m gonna be sick.”

He glances at you, and in an instant, he’s speeding up, making it to your complex faster than you would’ve thought possible. He parks hastily, helps you out, and practically carries you to your apartment. The second the door swings open, you make a beeline for the bathroom, barely making it in time to empty your stomach into the toilet.

You hear him lingering by the door, then the sound of running water as he fills a glass in the kitchen. You hate that he’s seeing you like this—pathetic, drunk, and embarrassed.

When you finally sit back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, Javier is there, handing you the glass of water. His expression is soft, more concerned than anything.

“Drink,” he orders gently, crouching next to you. His voice is soothing, and for a moment, the embarrassment fades under the warmth of his presence.

You sip the water, avoiding his gaze, but he’s not letting this go. “You okay?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

He sighs, settling beside you on the bathroom floor. “You’re not a bore. Don’t say that shit.” His voice is firm, but there’s an undercurrent tenderness beneath it.

Your head is swimming—not just from the alcohol, but from everything that’s happened in the last hour. 

You lean your head back against the wall, the glass of water in your hand almost empty. With a soft sigh, you begin to speak, your tone hesitant.

“Sometimes… I just feel average, you know?” you admit, glancing at Javier from the corner of your eye. He’s sitting quietly beside you, his long legs stretched out in front of him,  gaze focused on some point on the floor. “Like there’s nothing more to me than this mediocre job, answering phones, filing papers. I mean, I didn’t move all the way to South America just for that.”

You pause, trying to organize your thoughts. “That’s why I transferred here. I thought maybe… maybe I’d find something more. Maybe I’d find me.” You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “But ever since I got here, it’s been nothing but monotony and homesickness. I don’t even know if this is where I’m meant to be.”

The words hang between you. You’ve never said this out loud to anyone, never let yourself be so transparent.

Javier doesn’t say anything right away, and it makes you think that maybe you’ve said too much. But then, you hear him sigh softly, his shoulders slumping as if your rambling has hit something deep within him.

He’s silent as he digests your confession, and you’re about to apologize for oversharing when he finally speaks.

“I get it,” he replies, low and rough around the edges. He shifts beside you, resting his arms on his now bent knees while he stares at the floor. “You’re not the only one feeling that way.”

You blink, slightly taken aback by his agreement. You hadn’t expected him to relate—the sharp, confident DEA agent who always seems so sure of himself. He glances at you, offering a wry smile. “You’re not average,” his voice is firmer now, like he’s trying to make you believe it. “It takes time to figure out who you are, what you want. And if it feels like you haven’t found that yet, that doesn’t make you less than.”

There’s an irony in his words, and he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “I should probably take my own advice,” he admits.

Your heart flutters at his reassurance, but you can see it in his eyes—there’s more. Something heavier sits in his chest, pulling him down.

“What about you? What’s weighing on you?”

Javier sighs again, leaning his head back against the wall like you. “This job,” he says simply, but you can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “It’s… confusing. Difficult. Half the time, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore. I thought I’d come here, do some good, but it’s just…” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “I’ve lost myself in all of it. The work. The women. Because I don’t know what else to do.”

Your chest tightens as he speaks, hearing the vulnerability in his words. He’s always seemed so unshakeable, but now you can see the cracks in his armor, all that he’s been carrying. And then he turns to look at you, his expression softening.

“But you,” he says quietly, “you’re the one thing that keeps me grounded in all this shit.”

You look down, not believing that he’s actually saying this to you. You have to be dreaming. 

“Your smile, the way your eyes light up when you’re happy. Shit, even the way you butcher half your Spanish words with that accent of yours.” He chuckles, and despite the heaviness of the moment, you can’t help but laugh with him.

The tension breaks for just a second, and when you finally meet his gaze again, your breath snags. He’s already staring at you, his beautiful brown eyes gleaming.

You quickly look away out of habit, your heart hammering in your chest, but then he calls your name softly. “Mírame, cariño,” he says, all gentle and insistent.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to do so.

“I’m not just telling you this to score. I mean it.”

And you don’t doubt it for a second. However, the moment is too heavy, too intense for your tequila-soaked brain to handle. You can taste the lingering bitterness of the alcohol, your throat feels raw, and your head is already starting to pound. You’re too disoriented to fully process this moment that’s happening.

“I know,” you nod, picking at your cuticles, “I just don’t think right now is the best time to have this conversation.” Your words are punctuated by a hiccup and you bring your hand up to cover your mouth in fear of accidentally throwing up again.

Javier’s lips twitch with amusement, but he works his jaw, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. Not the best time,” he concedes, though the way he says it tells you he wanted this conversation to happen—needed it to.

“I just had to tell you. And if you genuinely feel like you don’t belong here then go home.” He tells you softly, though his cadence and the softening expression on his face say otherwise.

You glance at him, your lips curving into a weak smile. “While I do feel lost, I think half of all this is the margaritas’ doing,” you admit, your voice a little hoarse.

“Tequila’s dangerous like that,” he agrees with a small laugh, shaking his head. 

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to push through the embarrassment still swirling around inside of you. “I’m sorry about what happened at the bar,” you say quietly. “I didn’t mean to be so self deprecating.”

He waves off your apology, his expression relaxed. “It’s no problem.”

“Thank you for bringing me home, and for… opening up like that… I know it wasn’t easy.” Your voice softens as you say it.

He gives you a small smile, but his eyes linger on you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “You make it easy,” he says finally, the words leaving his mouth like a confession.

You sit there on the cool bathroom floor, your heart stumbling all over the place. Leaving isn’t an option anymore. Not when Javier Peña looks at you like this. Not after realizing that you mean so much more to him than you could have ever thought possible.

Javier hovers above you, his gaze locked with yours, filled with desire and adoration. Your legs are tightly wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, feeling every inch of him as his hips move suavely while he fucks you. 

His breath is hot against your neck, biting and licking at your skin. You can barely keep your thoughts straight, your mind clouded with the pleasure he’s stirring in you, the rhythm of his body guiding you to that edge again and again.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, his voice a low growl, “You feel so good, baby. I can feel how close you are... all for me.”

Your body clenches around him in response, a soft whimper escaping your lips as the pleasure tightens inside you, building and building. It’s the fifth time tonight he’s coaxed this out of you, and you don’t know how you’re still holding on.

His weight presses against you and your nails dig into the broad expanse of his broad shoulders, pulling him impossibly close. His chest, warm and slick with sweat, crushes against yours, and the hairs at the base of his cock graze your swollen clit with every thrust, sending shockwaves through you.

You gasp, your voice trembling with each word. “Javier... I can’t... it’s too much.”

But he doesn’t stop, doesn’t relent, instead he grins down at you, a wicked spark in his eyes, pressing his lips against your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—kissing you everywhere he can reach while his other hand keeps your jaw locked in place, fingers denting into your skin.

His lips finally find yours in a messy, urgent kiss, swallowing your moans as your body tightens around him again. You’re lost in what he’s giving you, your world spinning as your orgasm tears through you, leaving you a trembling mess beneath him.

His hips stutter as he groans your name, his cock twitching inside you while he comes. He stays there, still buried inside, his body heavy and comforting as the world fades back into focus.

When he finally pulls away, his touch softens. He’s gentle as he plants tender kisses on your forehead, your nose, your lips. His hand caresses your naked side, soothing you as your breathing slows. He shifts then, pulling you close into the safety of his arms, his body wrapped around yours.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Just relax.”

He stays with you, his hand tracing lazy circles on your back, murmuring soft reassurances until you’re completely at ease, your body melting into his.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @persephone-girl . @magneticecstasy . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @sunshinefive . @dinanabuu . @angiewatson .

[spidybaby]

hi lovey ❤️ don't know if ur request are open but if they are pls do something with kyky maybe his whole family love you but his mum doesnt ❤️

Mama's Boy

Summary: Kylian convinced himself that his mother liked you, but when she openly rejects you in front of him, he has to choose which side to be.

Warnings: cursing, mommy issues, dysfunctional family.

At first, you thought it was something normal the way she behaved with you. Kylian even told you it was.

"She does like you. She just needs to get more comfortable around you."

You let it go. Thinking he was right, you were like that, too. It took you a little before being open and relaxed towards the rest of his family.

Being busy with your own things and having to work around Kylian's schedule and yours made you two not even cross paths.

Kylian asked you to help him with something related to his foundation, the same one his mother's the president of.

You were asked to pick some things and drop them off at the venue of the event. Melissa was there. She and Fayza were supervising that everything went the way they planned.

You texted Melissa that you were there, with everything Kylian asked you to bring. She went to the parking lot to help you with some things.

You walk with hands full, Fayza was talking with a man. Melissa was telling you about what activities were going to be performed at the event.

"Bonjour, Miss Lamari." You say, smiling at her.

"Hi." She says, not a single expression on her face. "Are you staying?"

"Kylian asked me to say." You say. You notice how she inhales, trying not to show her discomfort. "If that's okay with you, of course."

She nods, leaving you alone. You knew she didn't really want you there, but Kylian was the one asking you to stay and participate.

You help Melissa with some things outside of the venue, organizing some piles for the games with the kids.

Kylian arrives half hour later, when his mother sees him, she asked him to go get changed for the pictures and everything.

He has this way of making you think what his mother is doing is just not being herself around you because she doesn't know you that much, and she will eventually open to you.

The activity was fun, Kylian was playing with the kids. You love watching him interact with them. It was a glimpse of what you could archive with him.

You love how his parents. Mostly his mother, educate him to give to those in need. You love him and his acts of kindness.

"Stop daydreaming." Melissa says, laughing at your heart eyes. "Believe me, he wants the same thing as you."

"I hope he does." You smile. "Because I feel like I would die if he doesn't."

"You guys have been together for what now?"

"Two years in a month."

"Don't worry. He wouldn't play with you like that." she pats your back. "Now, can you help me with bringing the bags we put together?"

You nod, walking back to the warehouse. Fayza was putting the bags into a box to carry them outside.

"Miss Lamari, would you like some help with that?"

She didn't turn to you. She kept organizing the box. You move a little closer so you could help her. Passing her some things.

She lifts the box, you notice how I was kinda heavy due to the amount of things it has. "Let me help you."

What you didn't expect was her passing you the box. The heavy things make you almost lose control.

She left without saying a word. You walk slowly to the exit. Your back killing you from the weight you have in your hands.

Melissa noticed you were struggling with the box. Rushing to help you. "Didn't occur to make two trips?" She asks, taking one side of the box.

You nod out of breath. You two left the box in a little table you prepare. "I was thinking two trips. But Kylian's mother gave me the whole box." You sigh.

Melissa shakes her head, she was the only one who noticed that Fayza treated you in a non fairly way.

She never mentioned anything to you or to Kylian. It wasn't her place, but she didn't like the attitude towards you.

"Let's get this ready, I want a cold shower." She smiles, organizing with you.

You had a special thing about the way kids can easily be drawn to you. You loved the way kids felt so secure with you.

So seeing you interact with the kids as you hand them their bags was something that didn't surprised Kylian.

He was focused on the way you were talking to a little boy who was crying. Trying to calm him down.

"Kyks, the last thing you need to do is say the goodbye words, and we can leave." Fayza hands him the speech. When Kylian doesn't take the paper out of her hands, she turns to him. "Kylian, I'm talking to you."

"She's a natural, don't you think?" He asks her. She turns to where he is seeing. It was you with a kid on your hip while you give the others their bags. "She will be an amazing mother."

"Don't run when you can barely walk, Kylian. You are too young and too naive of what life is."

"Maybe I am, but I know that I would do everything for her."

Fayza turns back to him. Grabbing his wrist and leaving the paper in his hand. He then pays attention to his mother.

"Goodbye words, now." She says before leaving.

Kylian does what his mother asks him. Thanking everybody who helped that day and what the purpose of the activity was.

You and Melissa were eating a few treats that the kids got. Ranking them to keep yourselves occupied while waiting for Kylian and Fayza.

You feel two hands grabbing your waist. The smell of Dior Sauvage makes you smile. "What's that?"

"Hello to you too, Mister Mbappé." You joke with him. Turning your face to kiss his cheek. "Mel and I are eating this cupcakes, but this is chocolate chips, we rate it a 7."

You feed him a piece. Humming at the taste. "I'll rate it a solid 9." He says, looking at you. "What else you got here?"

"This is lemon, and this to me is a 10." You feed him again. Watching him roll his eyes at the taste of the cupcake. "And wait for the next one. It's even better."

Fayza looks from afar, picking her stuff and walking closer to the three of you. "Kylian, you shouldn't be eating those."

You stop your actions. Putting the piece of cupcake back in the little plate. "I'm sorry, it was my fault." You smile at her.

She has her shades on, but you have the feeling that she rolled her eyes. "Let's just go. Please."

You look at Melissa, she gave you a look. "Melissa and I are leaving together." You hug Kylian while Melissa went to get her things. "What you do here is so amazing, Ky." You kiss him. "I admire you so much."

He has this cocky smile, he loves being praised, especially by you. "Thank you for helping." He kisses your cheek. "I'll meet you at your place, deal?"

You nod, saying a quick goodbye to him. Melissa was waiting for you. You two chat about things that happened during the weekend.

You drop her home, wishing her a goodnight. When you were on your way home, you stopped at Kylians' favorite restaurant. Ordering his favorite dessert.

After a quick shower and some food, you hear the front door getting closed. You wait to see your boyfriend walking.

He does this funny dancing to something that was streaming on his phone. You laugh. This definitely was something tik tok girls would love to use for the "kylian core" type of thing.

"Are you pulling a show for me?" You ask, happy to see him having fun.

The season was a long one. A very tired one. Now that he announced that he was joining Madrid and that France national team won the Euros, he was able to relax.

He leaves the phone on the counter, grabbing your hands and making you stand. You dance at the rhythm of the song.

You love moments like this. Only you and him, enjoying something a simple like dancing in the middle of your kitchen.

"Okay, time out, time out." You say, hands signaling the time out. "I got something for you, open the fridge."

He smiles, guessing what that might be. When he does, he does a happy dance. Making you laugh.

"Mom is going to hate you for getting me this." He laughs.

You scuff, you know he doesn't say it with that intention, but to you is a weird feeling. "You are allowed to a sweet thing." You reply. Kissing his lips.

"Am I allowed to this sweet piece I have in front of me?" He asks, eyebrows popping up and down.

You blush. He always jokes with you like that. And even after all these years you blush like crazy.

"I think you need to rest for the Euros, baby."

"But I've been resting, and I miss you like crazy." He beggs, hugging you by the waist. "Please, amour." He kiss your hair.

"If you get tired and lose a game, I'll feel bad and guilty."

He pouts, leaving the pâtisserie in the table. He hugs you, but not the typical hug. This is more of a touch starve kind of hug.

"You are so needy." You laugh. He smiles at your laugh. "What's going on?" You ask curious. He was acting up.

"I saw you with the kids today, and God, you looked amazing." He confesses the way his smiles are shining and the way his eyes lighten up at the memory. "I can't wait for us to have our own." He kiss you.

You talked about this in the past, how you two wanted to wait a little bit, specially now with him moving to Madrid and having to find the right schedule to see who will visit who and when.

"The time will come, my love." You peck him. "Now let's go upstairs and pretend to watch a movie while you kiss me how I like it."

He makes a small happy dance again, grabbing his pâtisserie and hurrying back next to your side as you walk upstairs with him, hand in hand.

"I'm so nervous, I want them to win so bad." You say to Helena, Kounde's girlfriend.

She laughed at how cute you looked all worried. "Calm down! It's going to go well."

You nod at her, trying to relax to enjoy the game. You had this feeling, but you thought it was just the normal feelings before a big game.

The game began, you were happy and excited about Kylian as a captain. He was so passionate about this team.

Helena, you and the other wags that joined the game were all seated together. You loved them and they were so nice and kind to you.

Antoine got hurt. Thanks to a player from the other team, he ended up facing up the fence. Head and knee bleeding at the impact of it.

The whole stadium was crazy, fans from the other team yelling profanities at the French team, at Antoine, and at the referee because it was a yellow.

And the French fans were yelling too in support of Antoine and the team. It was all crazy. The medical team helping him.

We turned to Erika, Antoine's wife, she was trying to see if the situation requires her to be alarmed or if she could be calm.

When the medical team finishes with the bandage, Antoine turns to where we are, giving Erika a thumbs up.

We feel better now. He was fine, and we relaxed. It was fun how his bandage was kinda slipping and moving on top of his head.

The game was entertaining, it was 1 - 0

The first goal was scored during the first time of the match. So, the team has to prevent Austria from scoring.

"I feel anxious." You say.

"It's just the game, I feel like Austria is kinda playing dirty. I don't know."

Just a few seconds later you see how Kylian and other players go for the ball with the head. When he falls his nose hits the shoulder or the Austrian player.

The whole stadium got silent for a second, the big screen showing his bloody nose. Some of the players make the referee stop the game for him to get assistance.

You feel a headache grows. The pain he must be feeling right now. "That must hurt like hell" Erika says.

You can't even look, focusing on your phone and seeing the text from Ethan. He asked you if Kylian was okay since some sports channels cut to other things instead of him getting help from the medical team.

You snap a picture of the field where you can see kylian getting help. He looked really bad, the blood on his shirt, the tearful eyes.

After the help, he kept playing. You shake your head at him, he kept looking at the bleachers, at where you are.

You hate when he feels like superman and thinks he can overcome everything by playing. News flash, he can't.

While he was trying to get past this player, he slap him in the face, which probably didn't even hurt, what hurted was his most likely broken nose.

"He needs to go to the hospital." Helena tells you. "I think they are switching him with Olivier. If they do, you should go to the dressing room with him."

"Yes, maybe get him to go to the hospital." Erika says.

Olivier makes the cut. He's now on the field replacing your boyfriend. Kylian is taken to the medical room, they will tell if he needs urgent care or if he can wait for the match to end.

You were thankful that the pass you have allows you to be in different parts of the stadium. You needed to see him before a decision was taken about him going to the hospital right now or if he was staying till the end.

"Hey!" You say, walking into the medical room. "Hi, amour." You grab his shoulders.

He grabs your hand, not feeling like saying anything. He's breathing through his nose, the tears are still there.

"We have to take him for a check, we can't really determine if his nose is broken or just fractured."

You nod, "Can I shower?" He asks.

"Be careful, please. We will help you wash your face so you can shower freely."

They help him wash his face and around his nose, you can see his discomfort when they pass the cotton ball near his nose.

"Can you wait for me at the hotel?"

"No, kyks. I'm going with you."

"Deschamps is going with me, and you landed before the match. You must be tired." He hugs you.

You were tired, you had a horrible flight and he knows it. "It's okay, I want to be by your side."

He smiles, hugging you. "Thank you."

You help him with his things. Carrying his toiletry bag and his phone. You text Ethan, telling him that you will update him when you get details.

He was in pain, you can tell by the way he is gripping his cap. He's not talking with Deschamps, he's just nodding or shaking his head no.

You stayed in the waiting room at the hospital, checking the candy at the machine. Your stomach was crazy for something.

"Hey!" you heard, turning to fins him with some bandage covering his nose. He explains what is going on and what the doctors told him. "Let's go."

You text his brother, updating him on what Kylian told you. He thanked you for the updates, feeling a little less stressed.

"Merci, good night." You wave goodbye to the chauffeur and the security people.

You walk with him to the room. You weren't supposed to be there with him, since the French Federation didn't allowed the players to bring company to their rooms.

But they allowed it since Kylian requested to have you to check on him like the doctor asked.

You feel his phone vibrate in your hand, the ID called showing his mother's name. "Ky, is your mom." You knock on the bathroom door.

"Pick up, I don't want to talk. S'il te plaît, mon amour." He shouts from inside.

"Hello, Miss Lamari." You say, your voice was tired.

"Oh, it's you." She sighs. "Can I talk to my son?"

"He's tired and asked me to pick the phone for him. If you want to know how he's doing, the doctor said his nose would be fine for him to play but with a protective mask. The Federation will get him one for training and the official one for the match on match day."

You explained everything, so the call was cut short. You don't have the energy or passion to do anything.

"And I can ask him to call you tomorrow, I'm sorry he can't pick up, but he's not in the mood to deal with anything today."

"Thank you for the updates." You hear the voice of Ethan. "Tell Kylian I say hi."

You smile. "I will, E."

"Bonne nuit." He says happily.

"Miss Lamari, I'll make sure Kylian calls you tomorrow before training. I'm sorry he can't right now."

"Fine, bonne nuit." She says and hangs up.

You throw the phone on the bed. Sitting on the edge. You can't take more of today than you already did.

Kylian walks out of the bathroom. Holding a towel in this hands. You wait for him to initiate a conversation. Not wanting to intrude into his thoughts.

After about five minutes of staring at him while he searches something on his luggage. You decide to speak.

"Do you want me to give you a massage?" You ask, noticing his tense muscles. "I have a warm cream."

He nods, taking his shirt off carefully. You ask him to lay in a position where his nose wasn't compromised.

You played some low music to calm him down, something very nice like jazz. You worked on his back.

He hummed, relaxing at your touch. He knows how much you wanted for him to be relaxed and to feel better after the day he had.

He fell asleep, you washed your hands and changed into your pajamas to join him in bed. It was going to be some hard weeks for him.

But you were going to be there.

You felt tired, the moving wasn't exactly the best. With some of your belongings getting lost.

"I promise they will be here by the end of the weekend." The guy from the moving company says. "We have them located. We are just waiting for a truck to send it to our warehouse."

"Thank you, I'll appreciate you speeding things for us."

You say goodbye to him, grabbing your purse to go to the mall. You needed something for the week.

Kylian asked you to pick some things he ordered from the stores. You only had three outfits, so you decided to abuse your power of his card and to take yourself shopping.

You spend quite some time in the mall, just roaming around the stores. When you head back to your new home you find a car parked in the driveway.

"I'll get these inside, Miss." The chauffeur says, you nod, thanking him for the help.

You walk inside, noticing a luggage and a box. "Hello?"

You walk into the kitchen, finding Fayza and her assistant talking and eating something. "Oh, hi."

They both turn to you. Fayza lifts her hand, saying hi. They keep their conversation. You didn't understand much of French.

When you moved to France to work, you tried to learn the language, to speak better and more naturally.

However, your work was mostly in English and Kylian, and you talked in English, and when you were with him, he translated everything to you.

Plus, you are not the best at learning new things, and French was complicated. You know how to talk with someone in a very simple conversation, but you can't fully understand a business talk or whatever talk they are having.

You walk to the fridge, taking a juice. You feel weird with both of them just ignoring your presence.

"Excuse me, Fayza is asking if her room is ready."

"I didn't knew you were coming today, so I'll go make it right now."

You walk quick upstairs, picking the sheets and everything you need to get the room ready. You make sure the bed and everything in the room is perfect.

You don't need a reason for her to tell you that something bothers her. You already have enough of those.

"Miss Lamari, the room is ready." You call from the stairs. You grab some sheets and a towel for her assistant. When you see her and Fayza walking. "Hey, this is for the guest room." You say, handing her the things.

"Did you iron the sheets like I asked Kylian? The weather is cold and I don't like cold sheets." She says.

You know she's doing this to bother you. Who irons their sheets?

"No, but I can do it. Are you okay with waiting a few more minutes?"

She rolls her eyes. "No, leave it like this."

"Okay." You smile. "Want some coffee? I just got this French press and this new coffee that tastes amaz-"

"Peux-tu te taire? tu es tellement ennuyeux" (Can you shut up? you're so annoying) She says. She walks past you, getting inside the room.

"That means that maybe later." The assistant says. Fake smiling at you.

You go back to your room, already stressed about the interaction.

You got the last box of Kylians clothes, ironing some of the clothes. You send Kylian a picture of his now very organized closet.

You hear a knock, making you walk to the door. "Fayza wants to talk to you. Come, please."

You roll your eyes at her, walking behind to the room of the mother of your boyfriend. "Yes, Miss Lamari?"

"Kylian mentioned earlier that you will work with him, I need to know what kind of work."

You blink a few times, not prepared for her to be so straightforward. "He asked me to work for the foundation."

"Okay, understood." She wrote something on a notebook. "That will not work for me, I think you can find something else."

You stand there just looking at her write things, you don't know what to say to her. Did she just fire you?

You were about to speak again, but she interrupted you. "I would love some coffee, and maybe some milk but on the side. Thank you."

You nod, walking outside and to the kitchen. You brew some coffee and grab a wood board for her sides.

You think on what to say to re open the conversation about the job. You want to have her understanding that you will be doing that job.

"Got the coffee, everything else on the side like you asked me, I even got you some of the cookies I know you like."

"Mhm." She mumbles. Not even looking at you.

"I want to talk to you about the job topic." You say, nervous about it. "I already compromised with this job and I think it's better if you talk with Kylian about the changes you want."

"I mean, if you want it to be him to repeat what I just told you, fine by me."

You take a deep breath. You don't feel like having this conversation with her. "Miss Lamari, I quit my job and left my home to come live with Kylian in Madrid. I don't think this is up for discussion. The job is the only reason why I agree to move."

"If you ask, maybe they'll hire you again. And I'm sure you can find another apartment. My assistant can help with that."

"I'll let Kylian and you discuss this when he's here in Madrid." You say, trying not to snap. "If you need anything you can call me, I'll be in my room."

You hurry, grabbing your phone to FaceTime Kylian.

"Bonjour." He says, smiling at you. "I got you the jersey you wanted." He turns his camera to show you the jersey thrown in the hotel chair.

"Thank you, that's cool." You smile. You don't want to say anything now that you see how relaxed he is. "Hey, I called to check on you. Miss you, my love."

"I do too, but only two more, hopefully." He smiles. "Hey, you told your parents about the moving?"

You make a face. "It was meh"

"Problems in paradise." He tries to joke. You half smile. "Was is that bad?"

"My mom told me that I was making a mistake by following you, that they payed a lot for my education for me to just throw it away."

"I'm sorry." He says. You can see he understands where your parents are coming from. "I wouldn't want our daughter to follow some weirdo around." He jokes.

You laugh, loving how he takes every opportunity to not only make you feel better but you mention how he sees a future with you.

"Yeah, but I will feel weird to think out daughter in law will have her parents call our son a loser or weirdo."

"When he wins a world cup like daddy, they would love him."

You forget why you even call him in the first place. You love how talking with him is so easy.

"I'll take a shower, and then I'll go to bed. I love you. I can't wait to see the game tomorrow."

"Don't eat shampoo." He jokes again, making you laugh. "Bonne nuit, amour."

"Bonne nuit, my champion." You blow him a kiss.

"Ethan, stop that." You laugh, watching him throw his nerf shots at you and Kylian. "Attack your brother, not me."

You three were back in Paris. You were lucky to get one small break in the same days Ethan got one.

"Let's drive to moms house. She will be mad if we are late for lunch." Kylian says.

You let him get up from the couch. You didn't want to go, first because she invited Kylian only and second because you already sense the tension.

"Go pick the car you want to take." You say to Ethan.

He nods excited and runs to the garage, ready to pick the lost luxurious car his brother has.

"Out your shoes on, we have to leave." Kylian says, jokingly smacking your thigh with his hand. "We don't want to be late."

You don't want to say no, but you can't just pretend you got sick in the whole minute he went to get his shoes.

"Are you sure she invited the two of us? Maybe she just wants a family only kind of lunch."

"Amour, you are family." He laughs, kissing your lips. "Plus, I think she's finally starting to open to you. She asked about you yesterday."

You wait for him to turn to roll your eyes. She did ask, but to know if you were in the house not to see you around when she arrived.

"Okay, let me get my shoes."

You grabbed your shoes, make sure you looked presentable, add some perfume and brushed your hair real quick.

"Let's go, my passenger princess." You joke with your boyfriend. Smacking his ass on your way out.

You three drive while listening to Ethans Playlist. Kylian and him were talking about a game Ethan has.

When you arrive at their mothers home, you parked. "Go inside, say hi to your mommy." You joke with him, grabbing his cheeks and squishing them.

"Rude." He pouts. Leaving and walking inside.

You exit the car slowly. You feel two hands on your shoulders. Knowing exactly who it is. "Ethan, you can't scare me."

He laughs, hugging you. "Missed you, can't wait to spend some time with you two in Madrid."

"I can't wait either, missed my little baby brother." You kiss his hand that you were holding.

The connection between Ethan and you was something nobody could break. He trusted you with his heart, and you trusted him with yours.

You two laugh at something he says to you as you walk in. You see that Melissa and the kids were there, Fayza and her sister and Kylian.

"Bonjour." You say to them. Noticing the dirty look Fayza gave you.

The rest say hello back to you. You talk with Kylians aunt, telling her about the foundation work you are doing in Spain.

The table was an 8 set. And you notice how the husband of the aunt is there. You feel weird about having to ask for an extra chair.

"Here, take my seat. I'll just grab another." He says.

"Oh, it's okay, I can't get the extra one. Please."

"Fine, but if you want it at any point, tell me." He smiles.

You grab a small stool, sitting next to Kylian, who was talking with Lana. "Bonjour, Lana." You smile. She returns the smile to you.

You notice how Fayza is serving the plates, mad expression on her face. You feel so bad about thinking coming was a good idea.

"Everything alright, mom?" Ethan asks. Noticing her face.

"Oui, just fixing something. Got extra people I wasn't expecting."

Ethan looks around. Not understanding the comment. "But, we all are here."

She just shakes her head. "I just think it's rude to come without an invitation." She whispers to him. But not quiet enough for Kylian and you to hear.

Kylian was about to say something, but his aunt was quicker. "Wait but I thought this was a family thing, and we all are here."

"Tout le monde ici n'est pas de la famille, je le dis simplement." She says. (Not everybody here is family, just saying.) Looking at you for a second.

You understood every word she said.

Kylian got mad at the comment. You were family. You were the girl he picture himself growing a family with.

You are the girl who left her whole life just to move to a foreign country for him to follow his dreams.

"Nous sommes tous une famille ici." (We all are family here) He says, mad at the comment. You grab his hand that was on his thigh. Trying to calm him down.

"And we even invite Tchaga and my friend Bruno." Ethan says.

"They are family, she is not."

Thinking about her not seeing you as family was one thing. But her telling it to your face was another. It hurted.

"Maman, c'est-" kylian began.

"Kylian, it's okay." You interrupted. "I'm leaving. Please don't start anything. This is your mother, and she's right. I'm not invited."

You try to get up, but his hand on your arm pulls you down to your seat again.

"Maman, she's not leaving." He states. "She's family to me, to Ethan and to dad."

Fayza drops the fork she's holding. Laughing at how brave and funny her son looks. "Vous continuez à rêver de choses que vous ne pouvez pas obtenir avec elle." (You keep daydreaming about things you can't get with her.) She says, knowing you don't understand much French.

"Miss Lamari, I'm leaving. I'm sorry." You get up, quicker this time for him to catch you. "I'm sorry." You say to everyone.

"Acting like the victim." She laughs. "Maybe that's why your mother doesn't like you." She smiles, knowing she just hit a soft spot.

You got quiet, looking over at Kylian, who was in shook at her words. "I'm sorry if I intruded your lunch. I'm leaving now."

You were about to walk out of the room when you hear Kylian calling your name. Making you turn your head. He was standing.

He walks over to you, grabbing your hand. "You crossed a line that I don't think you can return to. I understand you feel like every girl that got close to me was there for the money and shit, but she's not."

"Kyl-"

"No." He says louder, he's angry. "She's the woman I'm going to marry someday. She's the person I live with and who left her entire life here just to support me in my career. She's going to be the mother of my children, you like it or not." He squish your hand a little harder.

He turns to look at you, feeling hurt at the tears in your eyes.

"And if you don't apologize, then you can get used to the idea of not seeing me. Because if you don't like her around, you don't like me either."

He turns, pulling you to the entrance of the house. He slams the door behind him. Grabbing the keys and opening the car door for you.

"Can you drive?"

You nod, whipping the tears and smiling at him. "Je t'aime." You grab his face, kissing him.

He hugs you tight, resting his forehead on yours. "Let's go home, yeah?"

You nod. Pecking him. "Let's go home."

The drive was quiet, you didn't feel like talking, and he didn't know what to say.

He felt hurt by the words. He thought it was just his mother being uptight with you, but it was more.

"I'm sorry about her." He grabs your hand.

"It hurts, but I know I have you." You hug him, enjoying being in his arms. "That's all I need."

"No matter what she thinks or what anyone thinks, you have me, always will."