#the entire front was EMPTY. not a single person sitting there. AND I HAD TO WALK INTO THE ROOM LATE AND SIT THERE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

littlebluebird2000 · 1 month ago

Text

TEACHERS PET

pairing: yeon si-eun x reader (female reader)

rating: 18+

genre: romance, smut

warnings: overprotective sieun, smut, mature language, jealousy, age differences, student/teacher. (the characters are aged in this)

summary: you were a top student at one of seoul's most prestigious universities. you aced every exam, followed every rule, and kept your focus sharp. everything was going well for you until you caught your boyfriend of eight months cheating. after a tense confrontation, the last person you expected to step in was your cold and distant professor, Yeon Sieun. what started as a protective gesture quickly turned into something neither of you could ignore... in a university full of expectations, falling for each other might have been the one problem you couldn't solve.

author's note: this is a new story ive been working on. please take a moment to read the content warning carefully. the reader is a university student and therefore of legal age. there is a small age gap between her and professor sieun, and the story explores a power dynamic that may not be for everyone. if that makes you uncomfortable, this might not be the right read for you. i hope you enjoy it

word count: 9k+

follow #bluebirdyeonsieun for updates on my stories

You had always taken school seriously, but something about Professor Yeon’s class made you sit straighter, focus harder. Maybe it was the way he explained complex theories like they were simple truths, never once stumbling or needing to check his notes. He was always calm, direct and self-assured. Unlike most professors, he didn’t avoid the eyes of his students. He spoke without hesitation, scanning the room as he explained advanced concepts with an ease that sometimes didn’t feel human. There was a quiet power in the way he moved, in the way he seemed entirely at home with silence.

He wasn’t old. In fact, he didn’t look much older than some of the students in your year. That made the rumors even stranger. People whispered about his past like it was campus folklore. Fights. Stabbings. Someone ending up in a coma… The idea was almost absurd. How could someone with a record like that stand in front of a lecture hall at one of the country’s top universities?

Still, the silence around him felt earned. He didn’t speak unless necessary. He didn’t laugh at the other professors’ jokes in the hall. And when he taught, the room went still. Not from fear, exactly. It was something else. Like gravity.

You never missed a single assignment. Your test scores were always in the upper nineties or perfect. After the first few papers, you began to notice the handwriting. A neat, slanted note next to your grade. “Excellent.” “Well done.” “Good work.”

They weren’t elaborate compliments, but they stuck with you. Because they were rare. And because they came from him.

But today, your head was somewhere else. The sting in your chest still felt fresh.

You saw it with your own eyes.

He didn’t see you—your boyfriend, if you could still call him that. You had turned the corner into the library’s back corridor, expecting to find him at your usual study spot. Instead, you found him tucked between the shelves with another girl, her hand tangled in his shirt.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t make a scene. You backed away quietly, heart thudding loud enough that it felt like it echoed through the rows of books. He still doesn’t know you saw. Maybe he thought he got away with it…

Now, you were seated in your calculus lecture, blinking hard to stop the sting in your eyes.

The hour dragged. You kept your head down, fingers clenched on your pen. When the class ended and students began gathering their things, you stood too, moving slowly.

Then you heard it.

“Miss Y/N.” His voice called from the front. Calm. Clear. “Stay for a moment.”

You froze.

A few students looked your way, then kept walking. The room emptied in seconds.

You turned to face him. He was standing by his desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, arms crossed loosely. His eyes were on you, unreadable.

“You’re usually more alert in class.” He said plainly.

Your heart thudded. You weren’t sure what surprised you more. That he noticed. Or that he cared enough to say something.

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’m sorry, Sir. I just didn’t sleep well.”

He tilted his head slightly. “You didn’t take notes…You look like you’ve been crying.”

The truth hung at the edge of your mouth, but you didn’t speak.

He studied you for another quiet moment. Then, softer than you expected, he asked. “Was it something someone did?”

The gentleness in his tone caught you off guard. You hesitated, then nodded once.

“I see.” He didn’t push for more. Instead, he picked up your test from the pile on his desk, and handed it to you.

The score read 100.

Next to it, in the same careful handwriting, was a small note: “Still excellent. Keep working hard.”

You stared at the words. The burn in your chest shifted. You met his gaze. His expression hadn’t changed, but his eyes were softer now. You’d always thought his eyes were beautiful. Sharp, but not harsh. Captivating in the quietest way. And now, in this moment, they made you feel like maybe you weren’t invisible after all…

“Take care of yourself, Miss Y/N.” Was all he said as he sat at his desk again, picking up his pen as if nothing had happened.

You nodded, unable to speak. As you turned to go, you gave him a small, respectful bow. Then you stepped out of the classroom, but something lingered. It felt as if his gaze was still on you, warm and quiet, trailing behind like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

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You had ignored every single message he’d sent since yesterday. The apologies. The excuses. The question marks. You saw them all light up your screen, one after another, and left them there.

Unread and unanswered.

You didn’t want to confront him, not yet. Instead, you avoided him. Changed routes. Ate lunch in the quietest corner of campus. Strategically ducked out of rooms before he could get to you.

By the time your final class rolled around, Professor Yeon’s math lecture, you were ready to focus again. You couldn’t afford to fall behind. Not after yesterday.

So you sat straighter. Took cleaner notes. Let the steady, clipped rhythm of Professor Yeon’s voice ground you. He was confident today, like always, standing in front of the whiteboard as if nothing could shake him.

When class ended, you gathered your belongings in a hurry. You didn’t notice the way Professor Yeon watched you from the front of the room, his gaze lingering with a quiet intensity. He said nothing, but his eyes followed you as you walked out.

The hallway outside was mostly empty. And then he was there.

Your ex-boyfriend.

“Why are you avoiding me?” His voice was low, angry at the edges.

You stared at him. For a second, you didn’t say anything. Then you quietly answered. “I know what you did.”

You turned and began to walk toward the exit, your heart in your throat. The corridor was empty, silent. Your steps echoed.

“Y/N, what the fuck do you mean?” He grabbed your arm, forcing you to turn and face him.

“I saw you. In the library. With that girl.” You said, voice trembling. Your eyes stung again. “We’re over.”

You tried to walk again, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled you into an empty classroom.

You stumbled in, your books clutched tightly to your chest.

“Y/N, don’t do this. You’re blowing things out of proportion.” He started, his tone shifting like oil on water. “It didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t even like that.”

When you didn’t respond, his words grew rushed. “I messed up, okay? I’m sorry. You can’t just cut me off like this.”

Still, you stayed silent. Holding yourself still, even as your hands trembled.

That was when the apology vanished from his face. His jaw clenched, and he turned sharply, knocking over a chair with a loud crash. He started pacing, angry now, muttering to himself. Another chair was kicked aside.

“Say something!” He snapped, stepping toward you. “Don’t just stand there like—”

The door creaked open.

You both froze.

Professor Yeon stepped inside. Slowly. Calmly.

His gaze swept the room, landing on you first. Tear-streaked. Clutching your books to your chest. Then it shifted to the boy beside you, hand still on your arm.

“What are you doing?” He asked him, voice low and steady. There was no emotion in it, but the coldness in his tone cut through the room like a blade.

Your ex let go of your arm instantly. “I—I wasn’t doing anything, we were just talking—” He faked an apologetic smile. “It’s just a misunderstanding. She’s being emotional.”

“No. She said it’s over.” The professor said, stepping further inside. “So why are you still here?”

Your ex scoffed, his voice too loud in the silence. He laughed, but it sounded forced. “Come on, you’re what, twenty-five? You get it, right? You were my age not that long ago.”

Professor Yeon tilted his head slightly. “That’s where you’re wrong. I was never like you.”

Your ex’s grin faded. He blinked, caught off guard, unsure whether he’d just been insulted. But then the professor’s gaze cut deeper.

“And I never needed excuses to justify hurting someone.”

The words landed like a blow.

Your ex just stood there, stunned. His mouth opened, then closed, but no sound came out. His confidence drained from his face, replaced with something unfamiliar. Fear, maybe. Or realization.

But Professor Yeon didn’t give him time to recover. His attention shifted back to you. His gaze was softer now, like he was seeing only you.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Professor Yeon asked you directly.

Your knees nearly gave out at the sound of it. Sweetheart. Not sarcastic. Not mocking. Just… gentle. Your tears slipped out before you could stop them. You nodded, barely, still clutching your books tightly to your chest. You couldn’t speak, but he could see it all in your face.

Professor Yeon looked back at your ex. His expression hadn’t changed, but something sharp glinted in his eyes.

“If you’re man enough, you’ll take responsibility and walk away. You will not speak to her again. You will not touch her again. If you understand what’s good for you, you will leave. Now.”

A pause. Then, more firmly, he added, “Leave. Now. That’s the only warning you’ll get.”

Your ex hesitated, looking between you and the professor. But there was no room left to argue. He lowered his gaze and left in silence.

The room fell silent again. You were still standing there, shaking slightly, tears wet on your cheeks.

Professor Yeon didn’t say anything at first. He just walked to your side and quietly reached out, brushing a thumb just below your eye. His touch was barely there.

“You did well.” He said softly. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

You nodded, your throat tight.

“Come on.” He added gently. “Let’s get you out of here.”

He waited until you moved, then followed close beside you. The hallway outside was empty and quiet, the kind of stillness that made everything feel louder in your head.

At the stairwell, he stopped and looked over at you. “Do you live nearby?”

“About ten minutes away.” You said, voice soft.

He was quiet for a second. Then, “Let me give you a ride.”

You looked up at him, surprised. “Oh— You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t.” He interrupted calmly. “But I want to. You’ve been through enough today.”

You hesitated, the words caught somewhere between pride and exhaustion. But the sincerity in his voice left no room for doubt. He wasn’t offering out of pity. He meant it.

“…Okay.” You said quietly.

He nodded once and gestured for you to follow him. The walk to the staff parking lot was silent. When he unlocked the car, he opened the passenger door for you. The gesture was simple, effortless even, but it made heart fluttered in your chest. No one had done that for you in a long time. Maybe ever.

You slipped inside and pulled your seatbelt on. As he rounded to the driver’s side, you stared ahead, trying to calm yourself. It felt strange sitting in your professor’s car. You weren’t sure what the rules were for a moment like this, or if there were any at all…

A moment later, the door opened and he slid into the driver’s seat. The engine started with a low hum, and he pulled away from the parking .

You turned slightly in your seat, voice soft. “Thank you… for what you did back there.”

He didn’t look at you right away, eyes still focused on the road ahead. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“I want to.” You said, voice quiet but firm. “No one’s ever stood up for me like that.”

He finally looked at you, just briefly, but the unspoken kindness in his gaze caught you off guard. “That says more about the people around you than it does about you.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. So you sat back in your seat, holding the warmth of his words close. Somehow, his presence made it easier to breathe.

You gave him quiet directions, guiding him through familiar streets while the hum of the car filled the silence. When he pulled up to your building, he shifted the car into park and looked over at you. You unbuckled your seatbelt, fingers lingering on the strap as you turned to him.

“Thank you again, sir.” You said softly.

His gaze lingered on you, and for the first time, it didn’t feel purely academic. “You don’t have to call me that when we’re off campus.” He said, something like a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Unless you want to.”

Your breath hitched. You looked down quickly, flustered, heat blooming in your cheeks.

“I’ll… keep that in mind.” You murmured, flustered but trying to stay composed.

He leaned back in his seat, still watching you. “Take care of yourself.” He added, voice low. “You deserve better than what you had.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how gently he said it.

“I will.” You said, almost in a whisper.

You bowed slightly, out of habit and respect, then stepped out of the car. As you reached the entrance to your building, you glanced back just once. He was still there, watching, just until you were safely inside.

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Over the past few weeks, something had been shifting between you and Professor Yeon.

It was subtle and steady, like a current just beneath the surface. There was no clear starting point, only a collection of quiet moments that started to build on each other. You began to notice the way his eyes would find you during lectures. He never stared or lingered too long, but his gaze was there. You would glance up and catch him already looking, as if he had been watching for a while, silently and unreadable. He never smiled, or at least he rarely did… But he was always gentle with you when you spoke.

He had started doing small things, quiet gestures just as class was about to end. He would glance in your direction with the slightest tilt of his head or slow down while packing up his things. And you understood. He wanted you to stay.

You always did.

You weren’t doing anything wrong. You were just talking…

But still, it felt like something secret.

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The lecture had ended. Your classmates were filing out one by one, the sound of their voices fading into the hallway. You stayed seated, flipping through your notes with no real purpose, your pencil tapping lightly against the edge of your notebook.

You glanced up and saw him still at the front, stacking papers neatly. Then, just for a second, his eyes met yours. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

You stayed.

When the door finally closed behind the last student, the room fell quiet. The chalkboard still held a partial equation from earlier—something about second-order differentials. You barely remembered writing it down.

“You understood the substitution method, didn’t you?” His voice was quieter than usual. Less formal.

You nodded. “Yeah. It made more sense when I practiced it later.”

He watched you for a moment, then nodded once in return. “You’re quick,” he said. “You always are.”

A few weeks ago, that would’ve startled you. He used to intimidate you: the way he never smiled, the way he seemed to be thinking five steps ahead of everyone else. But lately, something about him had softened. Or maybe he’d just let you see a part of him no one else did.

“You’ve been speaking up more.” He added.

You shrugged lightly. “I guess I’m not as nervous anymore, Sir.”

There was a pause before he said, voice even lower, “I never cared if your answers were wrong. Don’t be nervous around me.”

You nodded at the professor, then looked down, fidgeting with the edge of your notebook. A moment passed before you spoke, your voice soft and uncertain. “I… I’ve come to enjoy this.” You said, barely meeting his eyes. “Talking with you.”

Another pause. The kind of silence that made you hyperaware of every breath, every heartbeat.

“So have I.” He said, more to himself than to you. He blinked, like he was lost in thoughts. Then something shifted in his expression. His expression eased, and a smile tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth. Not wide. Not obvious, but it was there.

You caught something in his eyes, a flicker of emotion that was hard to name. It made your pulse quicken, even if you couldn’t explain why.

“Do you have time?” He asked, voice quieter than usual. “We could talk more comfortably… in my office.”

He said it calmly, as though he was just suggesting a better place to discuss equations… And maybe he was. But something about the way the air shifted told you otherwise.

You nodded before you even realized you were going to.

He didn’t say anything else, just grabbed his folder and held the door for you as you followed him out.

The hallway was quiet. It always was this time of day. Your footsteps echoed alongside his, soft and even, your heart slightly louder than both.

Halfway down the corridor, you passed another professor heading in the opposite direction. A tall man in a brown blazer who looked up as he recognized Sieun.

For a second, you tensed.

But Professor Yeon didn’t miss a step. He only gave a slight bow of his head, a brief, neutral greeting.

It was nothing. Polite. Professional. From the outside, it looked like nothing more than a student being called in to discuss coursework. Or, at worst, receiving a quiet reprimand after class. Nothing unusual. Nothing worth remembering.

You glanced up at him, but his expression hadn’t changed. Unbothered. Focused. He didn’t seem to care what it looked like.

And somehow, that made you follow him even more willingly.

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You’d never been inside his office before.

He opened the door and held it for you, stepping aside without a word. You hesitated just long enough to feel it, the awareness of where you were and what this meant, before stepping inside.

The lighting was dim. The walls were lined with shelves, row after row of worn textbooks, journals, and thick, serious volumes. A few framed certificates hung neatly between them, next to a handful of awards you didn’t dare look at for too long. It was the kind of space that demanded silence.

It smelled like coffee.

And him.

Something warm and sharp and clean, like fresh paper and cologne.

You heard the click behind you.

You turned slightly, just in time to see him lock the door.

He didn’t explain it. He just turned the bolt with a soft snap, then walked past you toward the desk like it was nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe professors did that all the time to signal they were in a meeting?

But your pulse skipped anyway.

He moved quietly, loosening the sleeves of his shirt, rolling them to his forearms with practiced ease. You’d seen him do it in class before, but now, in the closeness of this space, it felt different. Personal. Like something you weren’t supposed to see this way.

“Have a seat.” He said gently, motioning to the chair across from his. You sat, slowly. The leather was cool beneath you, and the quiet between you both settled like a weight. You glanced around the room again, pretending to take it in, but your attention kept circling back to him.

This was his space. It was precise, contained, clean, just like him. Still, it felt like you’d been let into something private

Something that didn’t have rules.

Professor Yeon took the seat across from you, leaning back slightly as his eyes settled on yours. His expression was difficult to read in the dim light. For a moment, he stayed quiet, watching you with that calm, measured focus he always seemed to have. Then he spoke, his voice quiet and steady, but with a softness you hadn’t heard before.

“Have you been doing well?” He asked. “Outside of school, I mean.”

The question caught you off guard.

You blinked, then gave a quick nod—maybe too quick, like your body moved before your mind had fully caught up. You thought that might be the end of it, that he would move on or let the silence stretch, but he wasn’t finished.

“Especially…” he paused, his gaze lowering briefly before lifting to meet yours. ”Has he been bothering you?”

You knew exactly who he meant.

You shifted in your seat, surprised by the directness of his voice. But his tone hadn’t changed. It was still calm. Still quiet. Just serious in a way that felt deliberate. Protective, almost.

You shook your head. “No. He hasn’t. Actually… he texted me not long after that day.” You glanced down at your hands, fidgeting slightly as you spoke.“He apologized. Said he knew he treated me badly. That he was wrong, and that I deserved better.”

Even now, repeating it felt strange.

“I didn’t expect it. He’s not the kind of person who owns up to anything. But this time, I don’t know… he sounded different. Like he meant it.”

You looked back up, trying to read Professor Yeon’s face. But whatever you were searching for, you couldn’t find it.

He didn’t speak right away. He only nodded once, slowly, and then shifted his gaze toward the desk, fingers brushing idly over a stack of papers as if in thought.

What you didn’t know, what you couldn’t have guessed, was that the apology hadn’t been entirely your ex’s idea…

Professor Yeon had made sure of it.

Quietly. Carefully. In the same cold, calculating way he handled everything else. A warning here. A veiled threat there. And finally, a promise your ex couldn’t afford to test.

It had taken work.

But it was done.

Now, the boy was out of the picture. And as far as Sieun was concerned, that was exactly where he’d stay.

“I’m glad.” He said finally, voice soft again. “You shouldn’t have to deal with someone like that anymore.”

You watched him for a moment, the quiet between you stretching out.

“Sir?” You said softly.

His eyes met yours, steady and open. “Yes?”

You hesitated, then asked, “Why do you care so much?”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes flickered, like you’d touched on something he wasn’t used to explaining.

“I mean…You’ve always been kind to me…” Your words trailed off for a second. “You care. More than a professor usually would. And I don’t really understand why.”

The question hung in the air. You weren’t accusing him. You weren’t even expecting a full answer. You just needed to know.

For a moment, you wondered if you’d gone too far. If maybe he’d remind you that he was your professor, that your relationship was purely academic, that you were overstepping.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze fixed on the space just past your shoulder. He looked like he was weighing his words, carefully.

“At first.” He said slowly, “I told myself it was just because you’re a good student. Focused. Disciplined. The kind of person any professor would pay attention to.”

He paused, eyes flicking back to yours.

“But it didn’t stay just that.”

His voice was quiet, controlled, but something beneath it had shifted. It was less polished now. A little more honest.

“You were different. You never tried to impress anyone. You just… showed up, quietly carrying more than you should’ve had to. And I saw that.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

His gaze held yours, steady and unreadable.

“And maybe I started to notice things I shouldn’t.”

Your breath caught.

“The way you looked at me sometimes, like you were trying not to. Or how you lingered a little longer after class, even when you didn’t have a question. And how it never felt like you were playing a game.”

His voice dipped slightly.

“I care because I see you. And I think you see me too, even if you don’t mean to.”

You didn’t know what to say. The air between you felt heavier now, not suffocating but full. His words lingered in your chest, unsettling in a way that felt uncomfortably real.

“And maybe.” He added, just barely above a whisper. “That’s why you’re still here.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your mouth parted slightly, but the words didn’t come. The warmth started to rise, crawling up your neck and blooming across your cheeks.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

His mouth curved into something faint and knowing. His voice, when it came again, was softer now, lower, with a faint teasing edge. “Are you blushing?” He asked, head tilting just slightly. “That’s cute.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and you immediately looked away, but the damage was done. The heat only spread.

You heard the faintest hum of amusement in his throat. “Come here,” he said gently.

You glanced back at him, unsure if you had heard him correctly.

He nodded, his tone coaxing now. “Just come here.”

You stood slowly. Your legs felt a little uncertain, but you moved, cautious and quiet. Stepping around his desk felt like stepping into something else, something unspoken and impossible to define. He watched you closely, eyes never leaving your face.

When you reached him, he leaned back just a little in his chair, his eyes looking up at you from this closer angle. There was something calm in his expression, but also something pleased, something unreadable glinting behind his eyes.

“See?” He murmured. “Not so difficult.”

His eyes didn’t move from yours as he reached for your hand. His touch was light, giving you time, giving you space if you needed it. But you didn’t pull away.

He gave a gentle tug, and you stepped closer, knees brushing his. The air between you tightened, filled with quiet understanding. He pulled again, slower this time, guiding you without force.

You let him.

Your knees bent as you moved, settling one leg on either side of him until you were straddling his thighs. His chair creaked beneath the shift of your weight. You placed your hands on his shoulders for balance, your breath caught in your throat.

His hands rested at your waist. Not possessive, not rough. Just… there.

“You’re trembling.” He murmured.

You were. Only slightly, but enough that he noticed.

He looked up at you, his voice low and careful. “If you want to stop, say so. I’ll listen.”

Slowly, he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers brushed your cheek as they lingered there, and you leaned into the touch without thinking.

His other hand remained at your waist, grounding you. “You drive me crazy.” He said, barely above a whisper. His thumb traced along your cheekbone as he held your gaze. “I shouldn’t want you like this.”

The words weren’t cold or harsh. They were quiet. Honest. A confession more than anything else.

“But I do.” He murmured. “And it’s already too late for me.”

Your breath hitched.

His hand slid from your cheek to cup your jaw, holding you gently, his eyes flicking between yours and your lips.

Then he kissed you.

Slowly at first. Testing. Careful.

You didn’t pull away.

So he kissed you deeper, his mouth soft but sure against yours, his hand at your waist drawing you just a little closer.

His lips moved against yours with a kind of restraint that made the moment even more intense. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t demanding. He was savoring. Like he had waited for this, thought about it, and now that it was real, he wanted to feel every second of it.

His hand stayed firm at your jaw, thumb gently stroking your skin, as if trying to calm you even as he deepened the kiss. The other hand pressed more fully at your waist now, guiding you subtly against him.

You shifted in his lap without meaning to, and he exhaled softly into your mouth. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing harder now.

“I wasn’t supposed to touch you,” He said quietly, eyes still closed. “I kept telling myself I wouldn’t.”

You stayed still, your hands now resting lightly on his shoulders. He finally opened his eyes again, and the way he looked at you made your breath catch.

“But you kept staying,” He said, voice raw. “After class. You kept looking at me like that.”

“I didn’t mean to.” You said breathlessly.

“I know.” He murmured. “That’s what made it worse.”

His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt at your waist, not going further, just touching the skin there, warm and unhurried.

“You should go.” He said, but there was no weight behind the words. “Before I really lose my sense.”

You didn’t move.

He leaned in again, his lips brushing lightly over yours once more. Slower. Like a question.

And again, you didn’t pull away.

If anything, you leaned in closer.

Your breath hitched as his mouth returned to yours, this time with less hesitation. The kiss deepened, turning heavier, more urgent. His hand at your waist completely slipped beneath your shirt, fingers grazing the bare skin of your lower back.

His mouth moved to your jaw, then your neck, slow and deliberate, like he needed to commit every inch of you to memory. His breath was warm against your skin. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt, holding on. He shifted beneath you, sliding his hands under your thighs to adjust your position, pulling you closer until your body fit perfectly against his. You gasped into his mouth, heat rushing through you at the way he pressed into you. Your hips moved without thinking, and his grip tightened at your waist, guiding your body over his with slow, deliberate pressure.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” He breathed against your neck, kissing along your skin like he couldn’t stop himself now. “How many times I’ve imagined having you like this.”

Your hands were in his hair now, tugging gently, and he made a sound low in his throat, a mixture of frustration and desire. His mouth returned to yours, messier this time, his tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that made your whole body burn. You shifted your weight in his lap, your thighs tightening around his hips, pressing more firmly against him. The reaction was immediate: His breath caught and he let out a beautiful moan. You felt it, the way he wanted you, through the fabric separating your bodies.

He stood suddenly, gripping you tightly, carrying you with him as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Your back hit the the desk, his body pressed fully to yours, and he kissed you again, deeper still. His hands slid along your thighs, your hips, your waist, grounding you to him like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

“You’re dangerous.” He muttered against your lips, breathless. “You sit in my class innocently like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words were lost in a sharp gasp when his hands slid beneath your shirt again, this time with more purpose. His palms were warm against your skin as he pushed the fabric up, exposing your stomach, your ribs. His eyes flicked down, then back up to your face, asking silently.

You nodded.

That was all it took.

He peeled your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside with one fluid motion. His hands returned to your body, slower now, fingertips mapping the shape of you. You watched his face change, a mix of awe and disbelief, as if he had been holding something back for too long and now it was finally real.

He kissed your collarbone, your shoulder, the hollow beneath your throat, like each place was something sacred. And then he pulled you up slightly, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you further onto the desk.

Your skirt was bunched high now, the fabric gathered at your waist, forgotten. Your legs were wrapped around his hips, keeping him against you. You could feel the restraint in his movements, the careful tension in his body, as if he was holding back everything he wanted to do. It felt like he was afraid that if he gave in completely, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

You pulled back just slightly, your forehead resting against his. “Don’t hold back.” You whispered.

His breath caught. He opened his eyes and looked at you. “I don’t want to cross a line you’ll regret,” He said, voice low and rough.

You shook your head, thumb brushing across his cheek. “You won’t. Please…I want this.”

Something in him shifted then.

His mouth was on yours before you could speak again. The kiss was rougher than before, less careful, and it knocked something loose inside you. He found the clasp of your bra without fumbling, unhooked it with ease, and pushed the fabric aside so his hands could finally cover your bare chest. A low groan rumbled from his throat as he touched you, his head tipping forward to press heated kisses along the curve of your neck.

You let your head fall back, giving him access. You feel his lips trail lower, his breath hot against your skin, and your fingers tangle in his hair without thinking.

He took a nipple into his mouth, slow and deliberate, and the sensation pulled a sharp gasp from you. You arched into him, but his hands held your hips firmly against the desk. He sucked gently, then bit, then eased the sting with his tongue. You could already feel yourself getting wet. Fast.

“Sir—” You whispered, almost a warning.

“Sieun.” He murmured, mouth still on your skin. “Call me Sieun.”

One of his hands slid slowly between your thighs and his fingers brushed over your underwear. He paused when he felt how soaked you were.

“Is this all for me?” He asked, voice edged with disbelief.

Your breath catches. He presses his fingers against you, rubbing through the fabric—just enough to make you ache.

He slid your underwear aside and slowly sank a finger into you. You gasped in surprise, grabbing at his shoulders for balance. He added a second finger without warning, and his pace quickened, steady and controlled. Sieun watched your face the entire time, as if memorizing your expression. His fingers curled perfectly, working you open with a steady rhythm that made your legs tremble. You clung to him, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as the pressure built quickly in your stomach.

His forehead dropped to your shoulder as he worked you open, his gaze hungry and focused. Moans kept tumbling from your mouth, uncontrolled and breathless. The sound of your wetness filled the space between you, obscene and unmistakable, only driving him further. His fingers curled again, hitting just the right spot, and your whole body tensed in response. He murmured something low against your skin, voice rough, but you could barely make out the words through the haze building in your mind.

Suddenly, his fingers were gone, and you looked down to see the Professor— Sieun kneeling between your legs.

Your breath caught. “What are you—”

But he was already pushing your skirt higher, keeping it on, but sliding your underwear down your thighs with slow, deliberate movements. You instinctively tried to close your legs, overwhelmed and unsure, but his hands were firm as he guided them apart again.

“Keep them open.” He said, his voice low, eyes darker than you’d ever seen them.

Then he leaned in, his breath hot against your inner thigh, making your skin prickle. His lips brushed your skin lightly at first, almost teasing, and the anticipation made your stomach tighten. You gripped the edge of the desk, heart racing, every nerve on edge as his mouth inched closer to your heat. When his tongue finally touched you, slow and unhurried, a sharp gasp escaped your lips and your hips twitched. He moved with purpose, tasting you like he had all the time in the world, and all you could do was hold on as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through you. He groans at your taste, his grip tightening on your thighs.

Then he found your clit and sucked, gently at first, then with more pressure, until your legs began to shake.

“Sieun—”

The sound of his name on your lips only pushed him further. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he kept going, messy and hungry, no longer trying to hold anything back.

You writhed under his mouth, barely able to catch your breath. He slid a finger inside you again, then a second, curling them just right as your body arched off the desk. His mouth sealed around your clit and sucked firmly, before his tongue began to flick in a tight, focused rhythm that unraveled you fast. You were soaked, the buildup from earlier making every touch sharper, every sensation more intense.

You whimpered, clenching around him, your body already climbing. His mouth didn’t stop for even a second, and neither did his fingers. He knew exactly what he was doing, pressing into that perfect spot again and again while his tongue moved faster, his lips teasing your clit.

“Let go for me.” He murmured, breath hot against you. “Come on, sweetheart. I want to feel it.”

Your back arched, your mouth opened in a soundless cry, and the orgasm tore through you so intensely that your vision went white. You pulsed around his fingers, legs trembling, body shaking under the force of release.

But he didn’t stop right away. He kept licking gently, drawing out every last wave until you were squirming, too sensitive to handle any more. When he finally pulled back, he stood slowly, his mouth slick and his eyes dark with something between pride and possession.

You were still catching your breath when he leaned in again and pressed a kiss just beneath your jaw.

“You look ruined already,” He murmured, lips brushing your cheek. “I haven’t even taken you yet.”

You were too dazed to answer, but the way you looked up at him said enough. Your eyes were half-lidded, your body still trembling, your mouth parted in quiet need.

He straightened, his gaze locked on yours, and unbuckled his belt with slow, deliberate movements. The soft clink of metal made your breath catch again. He watched you as he unzipped his slacks, his movements steady. You watched his hand as he stroked himself, and your breath caught at the sight. He was thick, hard, flushed red at the tip. He let out a soft groan, just once, when his fingers slid over the sensitive head.

He leaned over you again, one hand braced against the desk near your head, the other guiding himself between your legs. He ran the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing, coating himself with your wetness.

“You’re ready.” He said more to himself than you. “So fucking ready.”

You nodded, lips barely able to form the words. “Please…Sieun.”

He groaned in responses. His hand settled at your waist, steady and warm, and slowly, with careful control, he began to press into you.

Your breath caught in your throat, and his did too. It came sharp and sudden, as if the feeling of being inside you stole the air from his lungs.

You felt him everywhere.

He stretched you inch by inch, filling you completely. The pressure was intense, your body adjusting around him, the sensation overwhelming and intimate in a way nothing else had ever been. He paused once he was fully inside, his forehead dropping briefly to yours as though to steady himself, and in that moment, all you could hear was the sound of your breaths mingling in the quiet room.

You clung to him, your legs wrapping around his waist, helpless to do anything but take him, feel him, need him.

“Good girl.” He groaned. “Take it.”

He began to thrust, each motion deliberate and controlled, though filled with a growing desperation. The desk shifted faintly beneath you, the wood creaking with every movement. You leaned back slightly for balance as you moved with him. Your hips tilted in response to his rhythm, chasing the friction and the closeness.

His hands moved across your back, your waist, your thighs, as if he needed to memorize every part of you through touch alone.

Your mouth was parted, your eyes unfocused. Thought slipped away, replaced by the building pressure inside you, the warmth spreading through your body, and the steady weight of him driving into you over and over.

And all the while, he kept looking at you. His eyes never left your face, even when he thrust deeper and your head tilted back with a soft gasp. He leaned in, his mouth trailing along the line of your throat, breathing you in like he needed the scent of your skin to stay focused.

You could hear how wet you were, how every movement between you echoed through the room. The sounds filled the space around you, but neither of you cared. If anything, it spurred him on. His thrusts grew harder and more urgent.

You couldn’t stop saying his name.

And every time you did, he moved a little rougher. Each thrust sent shockwaves through your body, the pressure inside you building with brutal intensity. He was breathing hard now, just above your ear. You felt it in the way he held you, in the way his hips drove forward desperately. He was chasing the edge but refusing to let himself fall over it just yet.

“You feel that?” He gritted out, his voice almost ragged. “You’re pulling me in… God, sweetheart…”

You moaned, your nails digging into his back. The angle of his thrusts, the way he ground into you just right at the end of each one—it was overwhelming, almost too much to take.

“You want to cum again?” He breathed, lips brushing against your throat. “ You want to fall apart on my cock?”

“Yes, Sir—Sieun–please—”

That was all it took.

He shifted his angle and drove deeper, hitting that soft spot inside you with precision. The pleasure surged through you like a shockwave, and your second orgasm crashed over you before you could brace for it. It tore the breath from your lungs and sent your body arching off the desk. Your thighs trembled violently, your hands grasping at anything within reach—his arms, his shirt, the edge of the desk.

You clamped down around him, tight and pulsing, your entire body drawn taut as the wave dragged you under. The sound you made was raw, broken, too close to a sob, and you barely registered the choked groan he let out in response.

But he didn’t stop.

He didn’t even slow down.

“Sieun—” You gasped, your legs trembling beneath the relentless rhythm. “Wait—”

“No.” He said, voice low and firm, rough with the strain of holding himself back. “You can take it.”

Your body was still fluttering around him, overstimulated and aching, and the sounds falling from your lips came without thought—moans, whimpers, his name. He kept moving inside you with deep, deliberate thrusts, each one dragging along hypersensitive nerves that lit up all over again.

He was still hard, still buried to the hilt inside you, nowhere near finished. You felt every inch of him, every slow drag, every deep press, every grinding thrust that left your nerves raw and trembling. The friction was unbearable. The stretch was relentless. The slick heat between your bodies had become a soaked, sticky mess of need.

Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision. Not from pain, but from how overwhelming it all felt. How full you were. How completely he consumed you. Your fingers clutched at his back, desperate for something to hold onto, and your lips parted on a shaky breath as another moan escaped you. You weren’t sure if you were crying from the intensity or from how deeply you felt for him. Maybe both.

“You’re already a wreck, sweetheart,” He murmured, voice laced with dark amusement. “And I’m not even done with you.”

He thrust into you again, slow and deep, hitting that raw, aching spot that made your whole body jolt. You whimpered, instinctively flinching at the intensity. Then he pulled out, dragging himself from your still-clenching heat with agonizing slowness.

For a fleeting second, your body sagged, thinking it might finally be over.

But then he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear, and said, “Turn around.”

Your breath hitched sharply. “Sir—” You whimpered, voice trembling with a mix of shock, anticipation, and something dangerously close to surrender.

“Now, sweetheart.”

Your legs nearly gave out as you pushed yourself upright, the aftershocks of your last release still pulsing through you. But his hands were there, firm and unshakable, guiding you with care and purpose. You turned slowly, your palms flattening against the cool surface of the desk, the chill of the wood making you shiver as your bare nipple met it.

Then his hand found the small of your back, pressing down gently but firmly until your spine curved and your hips tilted back, presenting yourself to him without resistance. The position left you vulnerable, open, and completely at his mercy.

Your skirt was still bunched around your hips, half in the way, and he tugged it higher with one hand until the fabric pooled around your waist again.

A heartbeat later, he slid back inside you—slow, deep, and relentless. The new angle made everything sharper. He filled you so completely that your breath caught, and your knees trembled beneath the weight of it. Each thrust hit deeper, grazing places that sent sparks up your spine, and you had to grip the desk harder just to stay grounded.

You cried out, your forehead hitting the desk with a dull thud. Every thrust landed with a deep, rhythmic smack of skin against skin, sharper and heavier than the last. His grip on your hips held you in place, strong and unrelenting, each movement jolting you forward slightly, only for him to drag you right back into him. The slick, obscene sounds filled the room, mixing with the rough edge of his breathing and the soft, broken moans spilling from your lips.

“You’re close again?” He asked, his voice rough and thick with need as he leaned over you. “Fuck. You’re completely soaked.” He muttered, his voice breaking slightly as his hips snapped forward. “Dripping down your thighs for me.”

A choked moan slipped from your lips. Every filthy word Sieun whispered pushed you further into the haze of need. His voice was low and rough with restraint, each syllable curling hot against your skin. You felt stretched, claimed, and ruined in the most intoxicating way.

“Say it,” He growled, his hand curling tighter around your waist. “Say who’s making you feel like this.”

“You, Sieun” You gasped, your voice cracking as you lost your grip on the words. “Only you.”

His rhythm turned punishing, thrusts bruising, pushing you straight into another orgasm. It happened too quickly for you to understand. It crashed through you hard—sudden, consuming—and your body clenched around him with a wet rush that you both felts. Your breath came out in a broken cry as your hips jerked, chasing the feeling even as it becomes too much. Another rush of heat and release flood through you, wet and sharp, your whole body pulsing with it.

“Sweetheart,” He murmured breath catching. “You’re soaking me…” His hips still just long enough for him to realize what had happened. Then a groan slipped from his throat, deep and guttural.

“You fucking squirted…” There’s awe in his voice. Wonder. A little disbelief.

Your body clenched around him so tightly that he cursed through gritted teeth, his control slipping for a moment. But he didn’t give in. Not yet.

You were still pulsing around him, dazed and shaking, when his hands returned to your hips. He was gentler now, steadying you as he guided your next move.

“Up.” He said, voice rough and frayed at the edges. “Come sit on me, sweetheart.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You blinked through the haze, legs trembling, the aftermath of release still making your body thrum. There was something in his tone, firm and coaxing, that left no space for doubt.

He stepped back from the desk, his slacks hanging low on his hips, and lowered himself into the chair behind him. His legs spread wide, his cock still hard and glistening with both of you, flushed red under the dim light of the room. His eyes never left yours as he held out a hand, waiting for you.

“Come take what you need,” he said. “Ride me.”

Your breath caught in your throat. There was something in the way he said it, gentle in tone, but laced with quiet authority. It didn’t feel like a suggestion. It felt like he already knew you would.

You climbed into his lap, knees bracing on either side of his hips. The skin beneath your thighs tingled with residual heat, every nerve alight. You were soaked, swollen, and aching, but the moment you lowered yourself onto him again, the stretch burned in a way that made your breath catch. It felt deeper, more consuming than before, like your body wasn’t sure it could take him all over again. But it did. Slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully inside you.

His head fell back against the chair with a low, guttural hiss, his jaw tight as he tried to hold still. One of his hands gripped your hip while the other held your skirt bunched around your waist, keeping it high so he could see everything. The sight of you, bare and slick as you sank onto him, had him unraveling before you even moved.

“Fucking hell,” He groaned. “Still so tight. Still twitching around me.”

You began to move, slowly at first, finding your rhythm with shaky breaths and trembling thighs. Your palms pressed against his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. His skin was hot, his muscles taut, and his eyes stayed locked on you, dark and heavy-lidded as if he couldn’t bear to look away.

You rocked your hips in uneven strokes, lifting and sinking down onto him, the stretch still intense, the pleasure sharp and raw. Each movement drew a slick, obscene sound from between your bodies, the wet friction unmistakable in the quiet room. You were still sensitive, still pulsing with aftershocks, your folds slick and swollen from the climax that had wrecked you moments before.

“That’s it,” He growled. One of his hand slid up your side, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts, watching every reaction you gave him like it was something sacred. “Look at you claiming this cock.”

You moaned softly, overwhelmed by the angle, the friction, his words… Every grind of your hips brought his cock right against that sweet, tender spot inside you. It’s was too much. You were still too tender, your body already raw from everything he had wrung from you.

But he felts so good…hot, thick, familiar. Soon you found a rhythm, steadier, deeper. The burn made your thighs tremble, but still, you moved—desperate to keep going, to take more, even as the sharp edge of pleasure blurred into something close to pain.

“I don’t think I can,” You whimpered, head thrown back as your hips faltered against his for a moment. Your voice trembled with the confession, laced with need and exhaustion. Tears streamed down your face.

Sieun’s hands slid up your sides, firm and steady. “Yes, you can,” He murmured, his voice thick with lust and something darker—possessive. His thumbs brushed just beneath your ribs, grounding you. “You’re doing so well. Just a little more.”

“I want to,” You gasped, barely able to form the words. “I want to keep going. Just—God—it’s so much.”

“I know,” He said, mouth brushing against your throat as he pulled you close. “I know, sweetheart. But you can take it. You’re mine now, remember?”

That word lit something inside you.

Mine

You rode him faster, each motion growing more frantic, messier—his cock slipping deeper, pressing harder. Your walls clamped down around him again, overstimulated and clenching. You couldn’t even keep eye contact anymore. Your head dropped to his shoulder as you moved against him, your breath coming in broken gasp and moans.

“Just like that.” He growled against your neck, his hands guiding you faster, rougher, deeper. “Messy. I want it messy.”

You whimpered something incoherent in return. Your thighs were trembling with each bounce, your body flushed and boneless, and you could feel both of you slipping in and out of control. His jaw is tightened, his fingers bruised into your skin as he hold you down harder, making sure you toke every inch.

“Let me see you fall,” He murmurs. “One last time, sweetheart. Come on. Show me.”

And then it happend.

Your release crashed over you like wave. It stole the air from your lungs and blurred the edges of your vision. You cried out, the sound raw and broken, as your hips jerked against his, stuttering with the force of it. You clenched around him, so tight it pulled another groan from his throat, every muscle trembling as the orgasm tore through you. A rush of wetness suddenly dripped down your thighs again as Sieun kept on slamming his hips upwards, not letting you escape. You cried as the heat of it spread through your core, overwhelming and consuming, leaving you breathless and shaking in his arms.

Sieun didn’t stop. He couldn’t. His grip only tightened, and his hips drove up into you with a frantic, uneven rhythm.

“God,” He choked out, his voice rough and nearly unrecognizable. “You feel… fuck… so good like this. Falling apart for me.”

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled gasp. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto. You were too sensitive, your body already spent. Everything was too much. You were crying freely now, sobs tearing from your body. But he was far past the point of holding back. He was chasing it now, the last edge of control slipping through his fingers, and there was nothing calm about it.

“I can’t.” He panted, voice hoarse. “I can’t hold back anymore.”

You tilted your head, breath hitching, still overwhelmed but needing him to finish—Needed him to let go. To stop holding himself back like he was afraid of what might happen if he truly gave in.

“Please, cum in me.” You cried desperately, eyes fluttering shut. “Please fill me up, Sieun.”

You felt it—his entire body locking beneath you, muscles coiled tight like a drawn bow. And then he snapped.

His breath hitched into a low, guttural sound as his release tore through him. His hands clutched at your hips as his body trembled, overwhelmed by the force of it, the sound of his ragged groan filling the air around you.

He thrust up into you again and again, each movement raw, erratic, and desperate. He held you flush against him, buried deep, and kept coming, as if everything he had kept locked inside was pouring out all at once. He didn’t stop moving, his breath ragged against your throat, chasing every last pulse of his release while your overstimulated body flinched beneath each motion. You whimpered, your fingers digging into his shoulders, helpless under the onslaught—but you didn’t ask him to stop.

His breathing stuttered, uneven and shallow, before his forehead dropped to your shoulder. His entire frame trembled, muscles twitching with the aftershocks of release. You felt the heat of his breath against your skin, warm and humid, mingling with the faint sweat that clung to both of you. For a long, suspended moment, he just held you there, chest heaving, as if your body was the only thing keeping him grounded while the last of it pulsed through him and slowly faded.

He lifted his head slowly, his eyes finding yours with a heaviness that stole your breath. They were darker than before—softer, yes, but still burning with something fierce and possessive beneath the tenderness. His hand moved gently, tracing the curve of your waist, fingertips brushing over the trembling muscles of your side before gliding up to cradle your cheek.

“Sweetheart,” He whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re mine now.”

You nodded, too drained to speak, your body still trembling. But your heart swelled with something warm and full, something that settled deep inside you.

You were his.

And he was yours.

And that was all you needed.

328 notes · View notes

svelish · 4 months ago

Note

Reader owns a bakery in la and billies friend introduces her to the cafe and she meets billie when serving her and billie falls in love with her and they start dating (also reader has a british shorthair and ragdoll cats) and the media finds out and call her a gold digger ect

˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆

Los Angeles was always moving, always buzzing, but for you, the city slowed down at dawn. That was when you loved it the most—when the streets were empty, and the smell of freshly baked pastries filled the air inside Sweet Haven, your little bakery.

You never imagined your life would change because of a single customer.

It happened on a random weekday. Zoe, one of your regulars, walked in with someone new—someone you immediately recognized but tried not to react to.

Billie Eilish.

Even in an oversized hoodie and messy hair, Billie had a presence that filled the entire space. She glanced around with mild curiosity before her gaze landed on you, who stood behind the counter, wiping your hands on your apron.

"This place is dope," Billie murmured to Zoe before turning to you. "Hey. What’s good here?"

You smiled, keeping your cool. "Everything. But if you like chocolate, I’d go for the double fudge croissant."

Billie’s lips quirked up. "Sounds dangerous. I’ll take one."

That was the first visit. The first of many.

Billie started coming in every day, sometimes alone, sometimes with Zoe. At first, you thought it was just because she liked the pastries, but then Billie started lingering. Sitting at the counter. Stealing bits of cookie dough when she thought no one was looking. Flirting—subtly, but definitely flirting.

You tried to ignore the growing tension between them, but Billie made it impossible.

Then, one night, after closing, Billie knocked on your apartment door.

When you let her in, Billie shoved her hands into her pockets and said, "I wanna take you out. Like... an actual date. Not just here."

You raised an eyebrow. "You could have texted me that."

"Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to see your face when you say yes."

And that was how it started.

Dating Billie was like being caught in a whirlwind. Some nights, they went on late-night drives, blasting music down empty streets. Other nights, they stayed in, Billie sprawled on your couch while your cats Mochi and Cloud used Billie as their personal bed.

Billie was different in private. Softer. Less guarded.

She loved the fact that you treated her like a person, not a superstar. That you didn’t care about her fame, didn’t ask for pictures, didn’t try to use her name to boost your business.

Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

One morning, you woke up to chaos.

Your phone was flooded with messages. Your bakery’s Instagram was a mess—full of comments, some sweet, but most... cruel.

"Gold digger."

"She’s only using Billie for clout."

"She’s a nobody. Why would Billie date her?"

And worse? Paparazzi started showing up at your bakery.

Your employees were overwhelmed. Customers were being questioned. It was no longer just your relationship being scrutinized—it was your entire life.

You tried to keep it together, but one night, after another wave of reporters swarmed outside, you sat on your couch, hugging your knees, Mochi purring beside you as if he knew you needed comfort.

Billie showed up a few minutes later, looking furious.

"I swear, I’m gonna find out who started this," she muttered, pacing the living room.

"Billie," You said softly.

Billie stopped, looking at you.

You swallowed. "Maybe… maybe we should take a step back."

Billie’s expression darkened. "Are you breaking up with me?"

"No, I just…" you sighed, rubbing your temples. "I don’t know if I can handle this. The cameras. The hate. I love my bakery. I love my normal life. And now, everything feels…" You trailed off, voice breaking.

Billie crouched in front of her, taking your hands in hers. "Baby. Look at me."

You did.

Billie’s voice was low, steady. "I don’t care what people say. I care about you. And if you need space, I’ll give you space. But don’t push me away because of them."

You exhaled shakily. "I just… I don’t want you to have to defend me all the time."

Billie cupped your face, thumbs brushing against your cheek. "I will always defend you."

Billie didn’t let it slide. The next morning, she went on Instagram Live, looking directly into the camera.

"I don’t usually do this," she said, voice sharp, "but I’m pissed. The shit people are saying about Y/N is straight-up disgusting. She’s not using me. She’s not after my money. She’s literally the most hardworking person I know. Y’all need to get a grip."

It didn’t make the hate go away completely, but it changed the narrative. Fans started supporting you. Defending you. Even some news outlets corrected themselves.

More importantly, Billie never left your side.

A few weeks later, Billie walked into Sweet Haven like usual, but this time, she wore one of your bakery aprons.

You looked up from the register, amused. "What are you doing?"

Billie grinned. "Helping out. Gotta make sure my girl’s business is thriving."

"You can’t even make coffee."

"Then teach me." Billie leaned on the counter, smirking. "I learn best when you’re close."

You rolled her eyes but smiled.

The world could say whatever it wanted. The cameras, the gossip, the headlines—none of it mattered.

Because at the end of the day, Billie was still here. And she wasn’t going anywhere.

320 notes · View notes

parfaitblogs · 1 year ago

Text

you're losing me ❀ s. reid x reader

in which he's an entirely different person after prison, and your relationship is crumbling.

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: angst tags: post prison reid. no happy ending. argument/fight. strong language. word count: 2.0k a/n: big fan of soul crushing angst. clearly. i dreamt this one up in an everything shower. likely place for me to plan fics? whole lot of nothing happening i love yapping about sadness!! my least favourite spencer trait is that he doesn't think he deserves good things so he pushes them away so obviously i have to write novellas on him doing just that? this used to be based on tolerate it but i listened to ylm the entire time so erm. things change! lol enjoy xoxo

Perhaps you were stupid.

Very, very stupid. And ridiculous. And every other synonym for those two words that your brain could not possibly imagine up right now. You were all of them. But also none of them. Because you also felt like there was not a single word that could describe you anymore; if there was, maybe you'd consider yourself a person. But clearly you weren't a person. Not anymore, at least. Not to him.

An awfully painful year it had been. And maybe that's what stripped you of your right to be a person. Maybe it was the overtime. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was everything all at once. Maybe it was nothing at all.

Three years of dating one man meant you learned quite a bit about who he is as a person to you. Eight years of knowing him meant you knew very well what sort of person he is in general.

And this wasn't him.

He was sitting on your couch. A piece of furniture that had, in just one year, erased the memory of you from it, there no longer being an indent on the right side where you always sat. A book was sat in his lap, but he wasn't properly reading it. You could tell from how slowly he turned the pages. From how he stopped every few minutes to rub his eyes, his eyebrows creasing and a quiet, irritated huff leaving his lips.

It was a habit he had developed.

This was how it was every night. Three o'clock came, and your body would wake you up from an otherwise restless sleep, and you would drag your feet out to where the man who should be occupying the other side of your bed, actually is. And he wouldn't look up, but you both acknowledged each other's presence, silently.

And you would watch him for an hour. Until your eyes began to droop, and your feet started to ache, and your heart couldn't handle any more shattering for the night. And then you would drag yourself back to the bedroom, and you would climb into a now cold bed, and you would fall back asleep for another two hours.

Like clockwork.

You were good with him. So patient. You would make him mugs of morning coffee that he wouldn't drink, and you would wash clothes he wouldn't say 'thank you' for. You wondered if he was actually grateful or not.

You were too scared to ask.

"Hey," you said, quietly, when he had come home from work, shrugging his bag off his shoulders, and slipping shoes off his feet.

"Hi," he answered. As if on instinct, he moved to where you were seated at the barstool to kiss you in greeting, before brushing past and heading into the kitchen.

You watched him for a few moments as he found a piece of bread to eat, nothing on it. Just... dry. Before your eyes returned to the laptop screen you had open in front of you, fingers tapping away at your keyboard.

"There's been another terror threat," you said to him, tilting your head to the side. "But they let me work from home."

"Why'd they do that?" he asked, but he could not sound less interested.

You lifted your head, because you thought he knew. "Because of you, Spence."

"Oh, okay," he answered, and you watched as he threw out half of the bread he did not eat, before he disappeared down the hallway.

He didn't even care.

You stared at the empty space down the hall, where he had once been, heart lodged in your throat in an uncomfortable lump you couldn't swallow. This was why you felt stupid.

Maybe you were sick of feeling stupid. You must be, because subconsciously, your feet had already planted themselves firmly on the floor, and your legs were already taking you down the hall in the exact direction he had just disappeared to.

He was taking his button up off when you appeared in the doorway to your bedroom, replacing it with a t-shirt. You had never seen him wear so many t-shirts until now.

You cleared your throat, alerting him of your presence, and he turned, his eyebrows furrowing when he saw you.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" you said, voice wavering with cautiousness.

His lips parted, then they closed, and all he managed was a short nod, before he turned back around to find pyjama pants in his drawers.

"Spencer, I'm serious," you pressed, taking a step into the room. "You need to talk to someone about this."

"I have those counseling sessions at work," he answered, turning back around to face you only once he was wearing pants.

Your lips pursed. "You hate those."

"Yes, but I'm talking to someone."

"Not someone you trust!"

"And if I talk to you, it would be so different compared to a counsellor, right?"

You froze. He froze. Maybe he realised the implication of his words, you certainly did. That such a simple spoken sentence had your heart stuttering in your chest.

You shakily exhaled. "I'd hope it would be different," you decided to say. "But I wouldn't be surprised if it isn't anymore."

He stood straighter at your comment. Perhaps not the best thing to say. Certainly not the most mature.

"What does that mean?"

Right. The reason you decided to follow him in the first place. "I just—I don't feel like you care anymore. And I have tried to be patient, Spencer. I really have. But you shut me out, and we don't even talk anymore. I make you coffee, I do your laundry, I offer to cook, I clean up the house, I do everything I possibly can so you can focus on healing, and I can't even get a proper sentence out of you unless we're arguing."

He inhaled sharply, staring at you. "I don't know if you forgot, but I was locked in a prison for three and a half months."

Your shoulders deflated, your eyebrows creasing and lips pulling down into a frown. "Seriously? I express that I am feeling neglected, and your only response is that you've been in prison—"

"—Well, it kind of changed who I am!"

You fell silent for a few moments, trying to collect your thoughts before you threw them all in his face and actually ruined things between you two.

"I just feel like you don't care anymore," you repeated, voice awfully soft compared to how hard your body was shaking in anxiety.

He ran a hand through his hair, and he opened his mouth to speak with that same frustrated frown, so you cut him off.

"And yes, I know you're dealing with everything that happened to you in prison. I only know what they told us, so I can't even imagine how much you're withholding. Because I know that's what you do. But that doesn't give you an excuse to treat me like I'm not important in your life anymore. I mean, If I'm not, then tell me. If you really don't care, or you've decided that you can't be in a relationship and process everything at the same time, then I'd like to know."

The silence is uncomfortable. And thick. And you're staring at him with eyes that burned with tears you weren't ready to shed yet. He's coming up with a response, so slowly you think maybe prison actually did break his brain.

"I do care," he finally said, and you wondered if it took him three minutes to come up with that because he was controlling a lie. You pushed that thought out of your head. "But I also don't want you to wait for me to be better, if it's making you feel this way."

Oh.

"Okay," you manage to say, voice not above a whisper as you stared at him.

"Okay," he echoed, and the tears you were trying so hard to keep in brimmed your waterline, blurring your vision. If he hadn't become one big blob in your vision because of them, you might've seen his eyes soften and his shoulders deflate.

Maybe he was waiting for you to confront him about it all. So he could end things. Maybe he's been thinking about this for too long, and this was just the final push he needed. You'd like to hope it was a spur of the moment decision, and he wasn't banking on this relationship ending.

"I'll stay at a friend's," you then murmured, wiping the tears from your eyes, sniffling pathetically.

"No, this is—"

"—You deserve familiar walls," you cut him off. "I'm sure anything else would freak you out."

He fell silent, because you were right. But he didn't want to kick you out of your own home. He didn't want to kick you out of his life, a sickening revelation he was having all too late.

Maybe that was why, when you turned around to leave, he called your name. Pleadingly. So, you turned back, and he stared at you, and silence fell over you two again.

"What?" you breathed out after a few too many minutes of quiet.

"I don't know how to talk to you. Or anyone. Not—not just you."

"About what happened?"

"In general."

You stilled, confusion sweeping across your features, for the thousandth time tonight alone. "You don't have to talk to me, if you can't. Regularly, I mean. That's not... that's not what I'm asking of you. I just need you to communicate with me. I feel like you don't even have feelings for me anymore. That's where most of my issues lie."

"I do have feelings for you."

"It doesn't feel that way."

More silence. More thick, deafening silence that felt like you had submerged your head underwater. And you really just wanted to come to a final conclusion. If this was the end.

"Then is it just that you don't want to be with me anymore? If it is, please tell me," you said, voice pathetically desperate.

He stared at you some more. Silence accompanying him, like some (annoyingly) comforting best friend amidst this conversation. And you slowly nodded your head as what he wanted became clear to you, your heart stuttering uncomfortably in your chest. Your stomach flipping.

"Indecision doesn't look good on you," you finally cut through the blanket of quiet. "I need a verbal answer, Spencer."

"I do want to be with you—"

"—Then fight, dammit!" you finally snapped, the tears you had managed to control coming back to you, a sob lodging in your throat. "I am sick of you saying you do feel this, and you don't feel that. Make a fucking decision. Please. I cannot keep up a fight for the both of us anymore. You're losing me here, Spencer."

"I'm scared!" he shouted, and you took a step back, his voice vibrating throughout the room. He waged an internal battle for a few moments at your recoil. "That. That right there is what I'm scared of. I am so scared of scaring you."

"You scare me more when you shut down. I will take your anger over your silence."

"I won't," he snapped, watching you flinch. Again. You wanted to stop flinching.

"It proves to me that you're actually feeling things. Spencer, I feel like I've been living with a ghost."

"I can't control my anger anymore," he added your name with a voice crack, mirroring your heart.

You blink some more tears down your cheeks. "You don't have to. You are allowed to be angry."

"Not around you," he shook his head, his hands brushing curls out of his face. "What if I—I hurt you."

"What if you don't?"

It seemed he hadn't considered that possibility, because he fell silent, and averted his gaze to the ground. He shook his head after a beat. "I can't take that risk."

You stared at him for a moment longer, weighing up your options, before you sighed. "Fine. Don't." He said your name again. "No. If you're not willing to fight, then... then fine. Don't fight. But neither will I."

He didn't say anything as you took a step back from the room. And even as you stilled for a few seconds longer, achingly but silently begging him to ask you to stay, he didn't utter a word. Which was, really, all you needed in confirmation.

And so you left.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst

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rivalsispunk · 6 months ago

Text

The Interview (Chapter 1 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), more warnings added per chapter

Word count: 3.1k

Author’s note: Hello! Long time reader, first time poster! Please be kind but also let me know what you think! Proof read but probs still some mistakes. Not entirely canon, Declan still works for Corinium, Maud has disappeared to god knows where and the rest, well, you’ll have to read to find out :)

Chapter One: The Interview

You were going to positively kill Taggie once you returned to the Cotswolds. Only she, your closest friend since you relocated to the country after finishing your university degree six months ago, could convince you to cut your gap year short in favour of interviewing for a personal assistant job at Corinium. And, for her father, Declan O’Hara, no less.

“Oh, go on!” Taggie had pleaded with you over The Priory’s kitchen counter. “I know you’re getting bored out here. You can’t spend all of your days sitting around here, helping me peel the shite out of prawns for dinner parties.”

“Why not?” You plucked a grape from the fruit platter she’d just finished assembling for an event at Freddie and Valerie Jones’ that evening. “I happen to like spending all my time with you. Even if it does mean peeling shite out of crustaceans.” You eyed your friend with faux suspicion. “Are you getting sick of me already?”

“Of course not! I just think you’d be grand at it, that’s all, what with your journalism degree and all,” Taggie explained. “You’ve heard Daddy when he comes home. Always complaining about the sorts he’s had to interview. Plus, he already knows you. That’s ought to win you some points right there.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be all bad,” you confessed, mulling the opportunity over as you chewed through another handful of grapes. It would look amazing on your resume and you’d have a foot in the door at one of the biggest TV networks in the United Kingdom. Plus, it wouldn’t kill you to have a front row seat to Declan in all his glory every single day. You would never mention it to Taggie, but you fancied her dad a rather handsome sod.

“Say you’ll do it. At the very least, for me?” Taggie bat her thick eyelashes at you.

“Fine,” you eventually relented, a smile cracking over your face at the new possibility. “I’ll go in for an interview, but no promises. And I don’t want you convincing him of me either! I want to get this job on my own merit, okay?”

“Convince Daddy of you? Please, he already adores you.” The sentiment spread fire through your chest. Tag rounded the kitchen bench and grabbed you by the hand. “Now let’s find you an outfit! Mummy ought to have left something halfway suitable behind.”

Taggie nor Declan had said much about their absentee matriarch Maud in the recent weeks since she fled the countryside after yet another explosive argument between her and her husband. You knew better than to ask, but you could tell by the way Taggie’s shoulders sagged at the sight of her mother’s partially empty closet that her absence had a somber affect on her.

You’d only been into the main bedroom of The Priory once before, when the room was overtaken by Maud’s florally perfumes and extravagant evening gowns. This time, however, the space was so intrinsically Declan; all heady cedarwood and whisky and smoke. Shirts with patterns of plaid and tartan as well as numerous odd, natural-coloured socks were peppered across armchairs and vanities, while a stack of memoirs sat on his bedside with a full ashtray perched atop. Your heart swelled, and sunk simultaneously, at the thought of Declan being sat up here alone at night, or early of a morning, thumbing through a book while taking slow drags of his cigarette as he let himself be consumed by a life far different to the one he was currently living.

“How about this?” Taggie’s voice ripped through your daydream, forcing you away from thoughts of her father. You peered at the oatmeal-coloured dress she had retrieved from the closet, surprised that Maud owned something so…brown. You’d always known her to wear jewel tones that complimented her flaming red hair. You shook your head, and thus began a cycle of Taggie suggesting an outfit and you shooting it down. Eventually, you agreed to Taggie swapping out your creature comfort jeans and Wham! T-shirt for an old black pencil skirt that you were convinced had given you hives from the way your legs hadn’t stopped itching since you put it on, as well as a silky fuchsia blouse that stretched a little too tight over your breasts. While your friend had done a good job at assuring you that you’d fit right in at the Corinium offices, you weren’t as convinced.

The receptionists, all in latest season fashion with not a hair out of place, had looked you up and down as soon as you stepped foot in the marble foyer, snickering behind your back about your fashion fauxpas once you’d checked in. Sarah Stratton wasn’t as covert with her judgement. As you sat outside Declan’s office, waiting to be called in, Sarah outwardly guffawed when she spotted you across the floor. You’d met her several times in passing at parties and Corinium events you’d previously attended as Taggie’s plus one, and for the most part, she’d kept her observations to herself. But now, as her red heels clip across the carpet, her gaze set right on you with her matching rouge lips upturned. “I would never have expected to see you here, darling!” she coos down at you, reaching for a strand of hair that has slipped in front of your shoulder. “And playing dress ups, no less!” Another laugh tinkers out of her as she twirls your hair around her finger. “Interviewing for the assistant job with Declan, hm?”

You nod with a taut smile and try not to let her comment about you looking god-awfully out of place get to you. Sarah’s eyes shift to Declan’s closed mahogany door and tuts. “Well, good luck, sweetheart. Seems like you’ll need it with the way the rest of those interviews have panned out.”

“Oh, hop off it, Sarah!” an unmistakingly Irish voice barks from your left. Sarah jolts upright and despite the embarrassment that tinges her cheeks pink, still manages throw a sultry smile in Declan’s direction. Your posture matches her pin-straight stature as you side-eye his office. It hadn’t occurred to you that he wasn’t inside, preparing for your interview the way you had been all morning. You’d crafted your pitch of yourself perfectly, complete with ideas and suggestions for potential guests for Declan’s show, anything to set you apart, make you seem even a fraction less useless that the interviewees that came before you. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Where’s James?” he questions Sarah, alluding to the very common knowledge that she and her co-host James Vereker are having an affair. Declan makes a show of raking through his moustache - god, that moustache - then adds with a smirk, “James and better. Probably not two words that should be in the same sentence, eh?” Sarah’s smile plateaus at that, and that stiff upper-lip culture she was dying to marry into takes its place.

“I’m sure I can make myself busy, Declan. Got a show to prepare and all that. Ciao!” She doesn’t look at you again and you’re grateful that Declan starts to speak before you bumblefuck your way through the silence.

“Ciao,” he repeats once Sarah’s out of earshot . “Doubt that leech of a woman’s ever had a decent carbonara, let alone stepped foot in Italy.” he says, offering you the first genuine smile you’ve received all day. “Let’s get to it, shall we?” He swings open his office door and holds an arm out. “After you, love.”

“Thanks.”

You shuffle into the room ahead of him, completely oblivious to the way Declan’s eyes are trained on your arse in a skirt that’s familiar to him, but he’s unsure how. Right now, however, he doesn’t care, because it fits your body so magnificently, as if it were made for you. He fights to ignore the dull throb beneath his trousers while he watches you sit, the black fabric pushed to its limits as it stretches across the globes of your arse.

God, has she always been so… womanly? Declan wonders, then immediately chastises himself for leering so openly at his daughter’s best friend. Yes, she was a few good years older than Taggie, and always a beautiful girl, but he was glad his middle child had finally made a friend amid the shitshow that was the move to the country and his crumbling marriage to Maud. He didn’t need to muddy the waters with pervacious thoughts about the young lass’ curves. If only she’d shown up to his office in her usual ripped jeans and George Michael-adorned tees.

“Everything okay, Mr O’Hara? Should I sit somewhere else?” you ask when you notice Declan frozen in the doorway with a furrow etched in his brow. You immediately start second-guessing yourself and wonder if this was a bad idea after all. You can only imagine everyone else who lost out on this job before you faced that same expression. He shakes his head at you, at himself, then busies himself with straightening his maroon tie as he moves to sit behind his desk. You shift in your seat, trying to thwart of the lingering itch Maud’s skirt has buried into the back of your thigh. You think if you can wriggle just so, you can ward it off for at least the main portion of the interview. While you think your subtle movements go unnoticed by Declan because he’s perusing your resume - impressive, he’d earlier noted in black pen beside details of your internship at The Times - he’s been clocked onto your behaviour since he’d laid eyes on you across the office. Scared shitless, and he doesn’t half know that Sarah’s sneaky comments only added to it, thanks to the way you’re fidgeting with that damned skirt mere metres away from him. If Declan had any less sense in him, any less dignity, he’d have half the mind to tear it straight from your body. Of course, he decides against it and tries a less barbaric approach to settle your nerves.

“No band t-shirt today?”

Now it’s your turn for your brows to knit together. “I’m sorry?” Declan nudges his head in the general direction of your chest and your chin dips in response to see what he’s referring to. There, your vision is flanked with fluorescent pink and a tinge of flesh where the silky material doesn’t quite stretch to cover your breasts between buttons, and you silently curse Taggie for allowing you to wear something so borderline revealing at her father’s workplace. Plus, you were surprised he’d even noticed your usual attire.

“I thought it was best I grow up a bit in the clothing department if I were to go for a job at Corinium,” you confess. Declan doesn’t miss the way the swell of your breasts arch against your shirt when you take a deep breath and fold your arms across yourself. “But now I’m thinking the bright pink was a mistake.”

You peer across the expansive wooden desk expectantly, and Declan pitches his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t ask me! Fashion, clearly, is not my strong suit. All I know is, according to my girls, leaving the house with ladders in your tights is a big no-no unless you’re a gothic or Winona Ryder.”

You chuckle at that, even more so for knowing that his youngest daughter, Caitlin, would be all for half-shredded tights.

Declan looks coy as he sips from his tea. “But if it counts for anything, you look lovely.”

“Well, I should hope you think so. These are your wife’s clothes, after all.” Your confession elicits a splutter from the otherwise put together man in front of you. Tea spouts from his lips across the desk, marring your resume and any other papers with brown stains. You immediately spring into action, scanning the room for a towel, handkerchief, anything that could mop up the mess.

“Sorry, love,” Declan says quietly, thumping a fist against his chest. “Wrong pipe.”

That’s when you see it, a pocket square the same colour as his tie poking from his breast pocket. Without thinking, you lurch across Declan’s desk and pluck it from its resting place, and begin soaking up the liquid. Declan ought to help you, it’s his mess after all, but he’s frozen at the view you’ve awarded him as you lean over. Your cleavage fights against the V cut of Maud’s blouse and Declan can just make out the ripple of a black lace bra below the neckline. He can’t even imagine Maud in that outfit. Right now it’s all so you. His cock stirs at the sight and he can’t help the pained groan that bubbles up his throat.

“Stop,” he breathes in barely a whisper. You don’t, of course, you can’t hear him, and you keep wiping at the desk, your breasts bouncing with every swipe up and down.

“Christ, girl, stop it!” Declan explodes, bolting up from his chair. Thankfully, the height of his desk hides his growing bulge, but it doesn’t matter. The look of pure fear painting your face has the same effect as a cold shower. You sink back into your seat and begin spluttering apologies, that you shouldn’t have used his pocket square, that you were out of line and another dozen variations of sorry, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Declan mirrors you by returning to his chair, raking a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he states eventually. “I don’t give a dying rats arse about the pocket square. It’s just… I’m a bloody fool just standing here while you clean up after me. I can’t have you doing that. You don’t even work for me.”

Despite the shock of Declan’s outburst, you manage to muster up a bit of cheek in response. “I don’t even work for you yet,” you correct him.

Your confidence juts Declan’s eyebrows to his curly hairline and a grin cracks across his face. “Cocky little thing, aren’t ya? Go on then.. tell me why I should hire you.”

You spend the next twenty minutes talking Declan through your university studies and experience, the tension from earlier already forgotten. When Declan mentions he once worked with your media law professor, the conversation detours into the pair of you sharing stories about your experiences with the man, far too senile and set in his ways to do the younger generation any good. The rest of the interview carries on like that, you and Declan laughing and exchanging anecdotes like two friends in the pub rather than an employer vetting a potential employee. You’re about to pitch the idea of getting Farah Fawcett on Declan’s show when the office door thumps open to reveal Corinium’s managing director, Tony Baddingham, at its entryway.

“O’Hara! If you’re done with giggling like a little schoolgirl down here, we’ve got a production meeting to get to,” he bites, barely glancing in your direction. You don’t miss the roll of Declan’s tawny eyes as he waves Tony off.

“Alright, Tony. Give me five, I’m just finishing up here,” he says before introducing you by name.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Baddingham,” you tell him, standing to shake his hand. He doesn’t properly look at you until your palms meet, and your spine stiffens when his beady eyes rake over you.

“One of Declan’s assistant candidates, I presume?” he wonders aloud.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, you’re far prettier than some of the other trolls we’ve had roll through here recently.”

“Tony,” Declan warns. The last thing he wants is another man leering at you like you’re a rite of passage for them.

“Right, well, lovely to meet you,” Tony clasps his other hand over the top of yours, careening his neck so he’s at your eye level. “Hope to see you around here. You’ll definitely be a much-appreciated addition.”

Offering a tight-lipped smile, you reserve the urge bawk in his face. You’ve worked with enough Tony Baddinghams to know his interest in you has nothing to do with your professional ability and everything to do with aesthetics. Fucking men.

For the most part, they sickened you and Declan all the same, but for the latter, he was mainly sickened with himself for wanting to pummel Baddingham for the way he was eye-fucking you. But who was he to talk? He’d been doing the exact same thing just minutes earlier.

When Tony leaves the office, he leaves the door ajar, a reminder that Declan is expected elsewhere. You’re about to ask Declan if Tony is always so…Tony, but he’s already got his briefcase in hand and is ushering you towards the door. “I have to admit, I was surprised when Taggie said you wanted to interview for this position, with you being on a gap year and all,” he confessed as you strolled out onto the office floor. “But you know your stuff. You’re bloody intelligent. Passionate. That’s rare these days.”

“Thank you, Mr O’Hara.”

“Please, call me Declan. Here, and at The Priory. Just Declan,” he smiles and you return it.

“Alright, then. Declan.”

“I’ve got to get going, but I’ll let you know about the job. There’s a couple more interviews on the books in the next few days, I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.”

Declan gives you a curt nod, and you start for the elevator, but you barely make it five steps before he calls you back.

“For what it’s worth, I’d be lucky to have ya here. And like I said, you look great, but I prefer the jeans and t-shirts. They’re much more…you.”

His admission sends your heart thrumming against your ribcage, and red creeps up your neck and onto your cheeks. “Thank you, Mr O’Ha- Declan,” you correct yourself. “Thank you, Declan. See you around.” You turn on your patent black heel, leaving Declan standing there with an image that’s bound to haunt him for nights to come: you in that fucking skirt.

Please let me know if you enjoyed this, and if you’re feeling generous, a lil’ reblog won’t go astray <3

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orpheusluvr · 2 months ago

Text

Winning Streak (Norton x Female Reader)

NSFW WARNING

Norton decides to change things up after playing a simple board game with you doesn’t seem to entertain him as much as he hoped it would.

(Oh gosh…3 months without posting anything, but I’m finally back!!! Well…I think??? Anyways I based this off the NPC interaction system for norton - I literally went crazy when I saw the cutscene omg)

You walked into the dining room, expecting it to be empty as usual.

But instead, someone was seated at the table. It was the prospector, Norton Campbell. You held your breath as you made immediate eye contact with him, knowing his personality and how hard he was to get along with.

He gave a look of disapproval at your sudden appearance.

Your gaze shifted onto his hands. He was holding a bunch of cards. There was some sort of board game laid out on the table in front of him.

“A board game? How interesting.” You said.

He gave a simple grunt.

“Just a simple form of entertainment.” He said, focusing his attention on the cards he was holding.

He then paused, and looked up at you.

“You down for a match?”

You looked at him in shock, not expecting him to ask you to play with him, rather let alone speak to you. He was usually quiet, only replying with simple one word answers.

He was always straightforward, someone who didn’t want to bother wasting his time with anyone else.

“Sure, I suppose.” You said, agreeing to play with him.

The first match had passed, and you managed to win.

“Don’t get too cocky now.” Norton said, glaring at your smug expression.

“I won, so what else would I do?” You said.

Norton simply rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Round 2.”

You managed to win every single match against Norton, and he was getting more and more frustrated.

“This is getting boring.” He said.

“Only because you keep losing.” You said.

Norton glared at you, not replying.

“Alright then, how about this? Whoever loses the next match has to do whatever the winner says.” You said.

It was a risky suggestion, but you were up for it. Besides, you won all the matches so far.

Norton’s face immediately lit up.

“Deal.” He said.

“And…there we go. Guess who’s the loser now?” Norton said.

You sighed. You were confident that you’d be able to win this match, but for some reason your luck had disappeared entirely.

Or perhaps it was because Norton had something to motivate him into playing better.

“Now, don’t forget about the deal.” He said.

He looked into your eyes, a smirk forming on his lips.

“Get on your knees.”

You looked at him in shock.

“What do you-”

“Under the table. Now.” He spoke in a more commanding tone.

You did as you were told, going under the table and crouching in front of him. He reached for his belt and unbuckled it, letting it slip to the ground. He then pulled his pants down, freeing his throbbing member. Hard and already leaking with precum.

Your face reddened at the sight in front of you. His dick was large and veiny, and the more you looked at it the more you were excited about having it inside your mouth.

“Norton…you-”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m hard because of you. I couldn’t help myself. So now you have to deal with it.” Norton scoffed.

You ignored how harsh he was, because it was his usual personality anyways. You moved your head forward, gently placing a kiss on his tip. He reacted with a groan and cursed under his breath.

You slowly began taking in his length into your mouth, but he immediately grabbed onto your hair and forced you down onto it, the tip violently hitting against the back of your throat. Your eyes began swelling up with tears from the sudden movement. His dick was huge, and you were almost suffocating from it.

“D-don’t just sit there. Move.” Norton groaned, using his hand to grab onto the table while using his other hand to continue grabbing your hair.

You moved back and forth, his tip kissing the back of your throat so perfectly.

“So fucking good…just like that…” he praised you, while his breathing increased with your motions. You kept continuing to stimulate him, your mouth was doing wonders. He whimpered every so often, even groaned your name a couple of times while tugging on your hair.

Norton was already nearing his climax, his release preparing itself to erupt at any moment. His breathing was heavy, and so intense that he began coughing. He knew this wasn’t good for him with the condition he was already in, but he didn’t care. He wanted this more than anything else. A pair of ruined lungs wasn’t going to stop him.

And just like that, a bunch of curses and deep breaths later, you felt his warm cum begin to fill up your mouth. You swallowed every drop, earning a satisfied expression from him as he watched you from above.

“You did…great. Much better than I expected.” He said, cupping your cheek with his other hand.

You were about to pull away, but he immediately stopped you.

“What are you doing? We ain’t done yet, honey.” He said.

He held your face, looking into your eyes.

“Round 2.”

#identity v fanfic #identity v x you #idv x reader #idv x you #identity v x reader #idv fanfic #idv smut #norton campbell #idv norton #identity v norton #norton campbell x reader

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lnfours · 2 years ago

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welcome home | l.n

summary: he finally asks you to move in with him

warnings: fluff, fluff and more fluff. i need him so bad.

masterlist | ask box

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

the sun shining through the curtains is what woke lando up, the smell of your perfume engulfing him when he lazily threw the pillow from your the other side of the bed. he had tried to go back to sleep, but failed. so, he threw the covers off his legs with a soft sigh, getting up and looking around the room for any sign of you, but you weren’t there. only your things remained on the dresser, your clothes folded in a pile on the top.

when he walked into the bathroom, your toothbrush was sitting next to his in the cup, your face wash and hair brush on the counter next to your overflowing makeup bag. he didn’t mind the mess. actually, he liked when you left things around. it gave the other wise empty apartment life. it was like you were leaving your own personal touches throughout his home, and he couldn’t help but smile at every single one.

the towel you had used to shower that morning was sitting on the rack, still damp. your shampoo, conditioner and body wash sitting on the built in shelf. it pulled at his heartstrings to see it, how he wished the things would find a permanent place rather than a temporary one every few weeks.

as he brushed his teeth, he racked his brain trying to think of where you had gone, but remembered that you mentioned something about getting brunch with a few friends. he had hoped you were having fun, much needed ‘girl time’, but all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed with you and continue the show the two of you had started the weekend before.

despite his feelings, he finally wandered into the kitchen. he smiled softly at the coffee cup sitting in the sink, the white mug stained with your lipstick on the rim. he could picture you fixing your lipstick in the mirror before walking out the door in a hurry, because you were almost always running late.

he made himself a cup of coffee, sitting down on the couch and scrolling through his phone. he saw that you had posted on your instagram story about an hour ago, a picture of you and your friends in the mirror of the bathroom at the cafe downtown.

girls day <3

his heart almost leapt into his throat at how brightly you were smiling. he caught himself smiling back at the photo, your smile being too infectious. he couldn’t help himself as he slid up on the picture, typing back a response.

can i be invited next time? i’m one of the girls 😕

he watched as your icon appeared in the chat, your side illuminating with the ‘typing…’ in the lower corner.

i think the girls would disagree, hun. i’ll be home soon, and then i’m all yours 🤍

he smiled softly, double tapping the message.

deal. have fun, baby ❤️

you double tapped his message in return and he swiped out of instagram, checking his email. when it was done refreshing, only one had caught his eye. he placed his coffee down on the table in front of him as he turned his entire focus to reading the email.

dear mr. norris,

i’d like to congratulate you as your offer for the home on willow lane has been approved! i’ll be in contact soon to talk about settlement and move-in dates.

in all, congratulations on being a homeowner! look forward to speaking with you!

best wishes,

sam parker

keller prime realty

“no way, mate!” he laughed softly.

max had decided to come downstairs at that exact time, “you alright?”

he nodded at his friend, “remember that house i showed you? the one i said i was debating on putting an offer on?”

max nodded, “yeah, what about it?”

“well, i may or may not have put an offer on it,” lando continued, “and it may or may not have gotten approved.”

max smiled, patting his best friend’s shoulder, “congrats, mate. when do you and y/n move in?”

lando’s face fell and max rolled his eyes, “you haven’t asked her yet? you literally just bought the house and you still haven’t asked her?”

lando bit down on his bottom lip, “it’s not that i don’t want to, it’s just, i don’t know if she’s on the same page. i mean, she spends the weekends here, but whenever i wake up on sundays she’s normally about to leave.”

max shook his head, “or what if it’s because you never told her how much you like her staying here? i mean, sure we both know you love having her without saying anything, but maybe she just needs that reassurance.”

lando nodded, catching onto what his best mate was on about, “and i haven’t reassured her…”

“right,” max nodded, “now you get it.”

“so, what? i’m just supposed to be like ‘hey, i love having you here so much that i bought a house for us to move into, if you want’?” lando joked, taking a sip from his mug.

max rolled his eyes, “not exactly like that, you div.”

the door opened and you smiled as you kicked your heels off by the door, the two boys’ eyes landing on yours, “hey,”

“hey,” max smiled.

lando smiled at you as your feet padded against the hardwood floor heading towards the kitchen, your keys and purse hanging on the hooks by the door, “how was brunch?”

“good,” you nodded, placing the white takeout box on the shelf in the fridge, “they had really good matcha lattes, i think you would’ve liked it.”

lando hummed, “maybe we can go sometime soon.”

you nodded, plopping next to him on the couch, chin leaning on his shoulder, “sounds good, baby.”

lando smiled and leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips. you smiled into the kiss as max groaned, which only made you pull lando closer by his hoodie. you laughed when max fake gagged and got up from his seat, the both of you breaking apart and laughing as he made his way back up the stairs, “yep, that’s enough. sick of you two swapping spit near me.”

“cheers, mate,” lando called back up the stairs before looking over at you. you smiled at the brunette.

“what?”

he shook his head, “just thinking.”

your eyes found the curl that had fallen out of place, your fingers moving to brush it back, “about what?”

“how much i love having you here,” he said and your lips turned into a smile, “i have someone to annoy max with now.”

you giggled, “that’s my favorite pastime and you know that.”

he smiled, nodding, “i do.”

there was a moment of silence before he spoke up again, “do you like coming here?”

you furrowed your eyebrows, “of course i do. what makes you ask?”

he took in a deep breath before looking back at you, “i bought a house.”

his words came out all of a sudden and you looked at him confused, “you… bought a house?”

he nodded, swallowing before he continued, “for us.”

your heart skipped a beat as he looked down at you, softly smiling, “i found the perfect house, and i put an offer on it and it was accepted. i know i should’ve told you, but, i really really want you to move in with me. like yesterday,”

you laughed softly as he smiled, “when did you put an offer on it?”

“a few weeks ago,” he said, “i know i should’ve told you, but when i say it’s perfect it’s literally perfect. everytime i look at it i just keep seeing you dancing around the kitchen or us watching a movie in the living room, i don’t know…”

you placed your hand on his cheek, “i love you,”

he smiled back, “i love you, too,” his nose brushed against yours, “will you please move in with me.”

you brushed through the curls on the nape of his neck, biting down on your bottom lip as you tried your best to hold back the smile threatening to breakout on your face, “since you asked so nicely.”

he snorted before kissing you sweetly, pulling you into his lap. you giggled as he held you close, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“do you have any pictures?” you smiled against his lips. he nodded, reaching between the two of you before fishing his phone from the pocket of his hoodie. you watched as he pulled the listing up on his phone, a smile on his face as he handed it to you.

as you scrolled through the pictures and smiled about all the little things he had thought you’d like about the house, all he could think about was what you would look like in a white dress.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader imagine #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fluff #lando norris x you #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #lando norris x reader fluff #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff #formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 fluff #formula 1 imagine #fluff

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societyfolklore · 3 months ago

Text

Apple Pie – Part 2

Title: Apple Pie – Part 2

Pairing: Dark!Endgame Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Summary: Steve knows it’s important to move on, and he’s going to make sure you do.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: / Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI, Possessive, Dub Con/Non Con, DARK, Coercion, Eventual SMUT, mentions of loss (husband blipped), burglary. (Will add other warnings relevant for each part)

A/N: This is set post Snap but pre the events of Endgame proper (probably about two-three years into the Blip/Snap) I promise this will get dark..

You walked the aisles slower than you needed to.

The grocery store was nearly empty at that hour- just you and the low hum of the coolers, the shuffle of your shoes on the linoleum floor. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a sterile glow that made everything look a little too sharp, too clean. You kept telling yourself it was because you were tired, but you knew better. You didn’t want to go home. Not yet. Not to the stillness. Not to that quiet space that swallowed sound and memory alike. The house always felt colder after sunset. Sometimes it felt like it waited for you, pressing down the second you walked through the door. Like it was holding its breath until yours caught.

You didn’t even need a cart, not really. Your little shop could’ve fit in one of those red hand baskets near the entrance. Another thing that was different now. Single people didn’t use carts. Not when all they had was a bag of salad, some chicken, and a bar of chocolate on their list. That list used to be longer. Used to include someone else’s preferences, snacks you never cared about until your husband was gone. The kind of cereal you only ever bought because he liked it. The fancy yogurt he’d said you deserved, even when you rolled your eyes.

But you’d taken the cart anyway. Let it rattle behind you like an excuse to move slower. Something to lean on. Something to fill the space beside you. It clattered gently every time you let go, like it wanted to remind you you weren’t really fooling anyone. You imagined what it would look like from the outside- this person moving aimlessly down the aisles, pushing a cart that wasn’t even close to full. You could feel the gap inside it as keenly as the one in your chest.

Your cart held the basics for dinner, another change. Simple food. Quiet food. You weren’t cooking for memories anymore, just maintenance. Nourishment without sentiment. You wandered longer than you needed to, paused in front of the pasta for far too long. Your hand hovered over a box of penne. Then another. You grabbed two, like that somehow made it more purposeful. Like a decision made with confidence, even if you weren’t sure what you’d do with them. You turned the corner into the canned goods aisle, stared blankly at rows of soup and beans, pretending to consider them when your mind was far elsewhere.

You should message, say you're sorry... Maybe offer to meet halfway. Maybe make a joke about it, like you used to, like things weren’t so heavy anymore.

You drifted into the wine aisle. You didn’t even drink much anymore, but it felt right. Something to set on the table. Something adult and simple. Something that said thank you without forcing you to say the words out loud. You were really just drinking your feelings. There wasn’t someone to tell you not to anymore. No one watching your choices or asking if you were sure you needed it. Well, that wasn’t entirely true- Steve had, the few times he’d done the shopping for you. His raised brows, the faint exhale like he didn’t want to say anything but couldn’t quite help himself. Like he was biting back concern and trying not to make it sound like criticism.

You slowed as you scanned the labels, fingers grazing the necks of bottles you didn’t recognize. Red or white, dry or sweet- it didn’t matter. It was just something to pour and sip and let sit heavy in your chest. Maybe you’d cook something with it. Maybe you’d open it before the food was even on the table. Maybe you’d leave it sealed and forget it existed until the next time the fridge was empty and you were lonely.

You felt guilty for how you’d reacted about the book. Steve hadn’t meant anything by it. He didn’t know. He’d just touched it- flipped it open without thinking- and you’d snapped like something brittle. It hadn’t even been cruel. Just… casual. Like it was just another forgotten thing. The way his brows lifted slightly in surprise. The silence that followed. How he'd let it go without a single word. How he’d looked at you like he understood anyway.

He’d apologized. Left quietly. Given you space. He hadn’t even looked upset. Just... patient. As if he was already waiting for you to come around. As if he could wait forever. Like time didn’t work the same way for him.

You hated that.

You should cook him something. A thank-you dinner for all the help. A peace offering. Something warm and familiar and safe. A meal could make things right. Could soften the awkwardness. Could put things back where they belonged. Could make you feel a little more like yourself again. Even if it was just once. Even if it didn’t fix anything. Something that reminded you how it felt to be generous without hurting.

You told yourself it was normal.

Just dinner. Just gratitude. Just you trying to be a better version of yourself for someone who hadn’t given up on you yet.

Driving home, the streetlights flickered on overhead, casting hazy halos of orange across the dark pavement. Your fingers tapped the steering wheel as you rehearsed what you’d say, the headlights stretching ahead into the quiet night.

"I was thinking- just one night. I’ll cook. You’ve helped so much. It’s just a thank you."

It didn’t sound desperate in your head.

The passenger seat held your groceries. There was enough for two now. You let yourself imagine it for a moment- someone there again. Not a ghost. Not a memory. Just a person.

You glanced toward the window. A flicker of something- a movement- caught your attention. Someone was jogging down the sidewalk, hoodie up, arms pumping with sharp precision. Their face was hidden, swallowed by the hood and the dark. It was getting cold, and you could see their breath trailing faintly behind them in the streetlight glow.

You couldn’t imagine running out in the dark like that. Not anymore. Not when every shadow made your shoulders tense. Not when the quiet felt more like silence pressing down. Steve kept telling you that despite how it might feel now, the world wasn’t really safe. That people got desperate. That fear didn’t always wear a mask.

Still, it was probably just a runner. Probably. Someone chasing steps on a fitness app or trying to outrun their own thoughts. You tried not to stare, but the sight of them fading into the distance lingered like a smudge on your nerves.

Your fingers tightened on the steering wheel as your street came into view. Familiar and dark. Empty.

Pulling into your drive, you looked at your home. No lights on. Just the silhouette of the house against the deeper black of the trees behind it. You let out a small groan as you reached for the keys- you’d forgotten the porch light again. For the third time this week. Turning off the car you gathered your things and opened your door, that's when you your stomach dropped.

The front door was open.

Not unlocked. Not ajar. Wide open.

You froze. Time hiccuped around you.

Your hands clenched tighter around the shopping bags until the plastic bit into your skin, and then you let go. The loaf of bread tumbled out first, followed by a tomatoe that rolled slowly toward the sidewalk like it had somewhere to be.

Your mouth was dry. Your tongue felt thick. You couldn’t seem to swallow.

You always locked the door. Always. Didn’t you? You never left it like that. Not even when you were rushing. Not even when you were exhausted. You could picture locking it earlier, couldn’t you?

Your legs moved before your brain could catch up. You stepped out of the car on autopilot, footsteps strangely muffled by the grass as you avoided the walkway. The air was heavier now, colder than it had been only moments ago. Every sound around you felt magnified- the distant hum of a television, the rustle of a branch, your own heartbeat in your ears.

The open door gaped like a wound, like the house itself was wounded. Violated. The porch light above was shattered, glass sparkling like ice over the welcome mat and the splintered wood beneath. You could see just past the threshold- the outline of the entryway, a shoe tipped on its side, the hallway beyond it too dark to read.

Your breath hitched.

You didn’t go inside.

You couldn’t.

Your hands were shaking when you dialed 911. The dispatcher assured you someone was coming, but the words floated over your head like fog.

You ended the call.

You stood staring into the open door like you expected someone to come rushing out at you, the dark insides making all the shadows seem alive. Every corner looked deeper than it should have. Every familiar object half-glimpsed was twisted just enough by the dark to look foreign. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. Could barely breathe.

And then you called Steve.

"Steve," your voice cracked. "Someone broke into my house. I- I don’t know what to do."

His voice was calm. Solid. Immediate.

"Stay outside. I’m coming. Don’t go in. Just breathe. I’ll be there in five."

You paced the driveway, heart hammering. You tried to look through the open door, but your legs wouldn’t move forward. Your mind raced- memories of dinners, of birthdays, of laughter that used to fill that house.

You had never changed the locks.

The tomato was still on the pavement.

Then the street lit up in a wash of red and blue, two patrol cars pulling up at the curb, engines humming as officers stepped out. The lights flashed across your yard and over the porch, painting the scene in emergency.

You watched one officer step forward and squish the runaway tomato under his boot without even noticing, the splatter lost beneath the crunch of his steps. His partner, a younger woman with a calm voice and clear eyes, approached you slowly.

She coaxed you back into the driver’s seat of your car, gently lowering your shaking body into place.

“Let’s just have you sit down, alright? Can I get your name?”

They asked you questions- when you’d left the house, if you noticed anything suspicious, if anything inside was missing. But your mind couldn’t latch onto any of the answers. You didn’t know. You couldn’t think past the gaping hole of your front door.

Then his truck pulled up.

Steve was out before the engine died. He was beside you in seconds, arms strong around you, holding you up before you even realized you were shaking.

"You don’t have to be scared, sweetheart. That’s why I’m here."

You leaned into him. A small sob coming from you.

"Why don't you go sit in my truck ok? You don't need to be this close.." Your legs felt like jello as Steve took you back to his car, turning the engine on so heat came through the vents and he wrapped you up in a blanket.

When you held onto his arm, he didn’t pull away.

"I’ll be right back," his tone gentle and even. You felt like your life was in ruins and he knew how to keep it together. Not like you. "Just going to speak to the police. I’ll stay in your eye line, alright?"

You nodded, too numb to speak.

You watched him go, the colored lights from the cruisers flicking across his face as he approached the officers. He looked at the house and shook his head, arms folding tightly across his chest as he spoke. Calm, direct. He didn't raise his voice, but the way he stood made people listen.

Eventually, you saw him pull out his wallet and hand over a card- probably a way for them to contact him. The officers nodded. One of them looked back at you as they talked.

Then Steve turned toward your car. He opened the door carefully, pulled your bag from the floor, collected your keys. He even locked the vehicle for you like it was second nature. Meanwhile, the police were stretching yellow tape across your porch, across your doorframe, sealing it in crime scene plastic like something dead was inside.

Steve returned to the car, sliding into the driver's seat without saying anything for a moment. His jaw was tight, a muscle ticking as he stared straight ahead. His eyes were unreadable. His presence filled the space before his words ever did, thick and heavy like the silence between thunder and rain.

"You’re not staying here tonight. Not alone."

You didn’t argue. You just nodded, turning in the seat, your fingers worrying the edge of the blanket still wrapped around your shoulders. Steve closed the truck’s door, the finality of it settling around you like a weight. As he walked around the front of the vehicle, your eyes drifted back to your house- dark, violated, unfamiliar now in a way that made your skin crawl.

"You’re not safe here."

You need someone to protect you.

His voice had softened again, but there was something beneath it now- certainty, command. Something immovable. He wasn’t just offering help. He was deciding.

“They said there’s been a couple of other places gone through,” he added, his voice quieter now as he pulled away, the flashing lights dispearing as he turned off your street. “You’re lucky you weren’t home.”

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, shrinking into the seat. Your stomach twisted as the what-ifs began to build. If you’d gotten home earlier. If you’d walked in while they were still there. If you’d been asleep.

You didn’t want to imagine it- but your mind did anyway.

"...Just needed things for dinner.." Your voice was distant even to you..

“They said it’ll be a few days till they release the scene.”

You nodded, dazed. Before thinking about what he said, it was like your mind was on a delay.

“Scene? Oh… right… yeah…”

Of course they needed time. Evidence, prints, reports- all the procedure. But you doubted they’d find anything. You doubted they even expected to.

Steve’s hand found your thigh, warm through the fabric of your jeans. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. It was just… there. Solid. Steady. You barely noticed it until his thumb started tracing small circles- slow, rhythmic.

That’s when shame twisted in your gut.

You shouldn’t let him do that. You weren’t sure what it meant. You weren’t sure you wanted it to mean anything. But you also didn’t stop him.

"Just breathe," he said again, his voice so low it barely stirred the air between you. "I’ve got you now."

Steve’s place was dim when you arrived. Only a few lamps were on, casting everything in soft amber. The shadows blurred gently at the edges, and the silence inside the house felt padded- soft, intentional, like the place was waiting for you to exhale.

He led you inside still wrapped in the blanket. His hand stayed at the small of your back, guiding but never pushing. The hallway stretched quiet around you, and when he opened the door to the spare room, it swung with an eerie stillness.

“You can stay here,” he said.

It was a spare room. Neat. Too neat. Too untouched. The kind of neat that made you hesitate to sit on anything. The bed was made perfectly, the comforter tucked with military precision. The dresser drawers were closed like no one had ever opened them. There wasn’t a picture on the nightstand. Not even a book or a glass left behind.

You hovered on the threshold for a moment, unwilling to step inside. Your limbs ached from holding tension too long. Eventually, you sat on the edge of the bed. The blanket still hugged your shoulders. The room smelled faintly of pine cleaner and dust. Nothing living. No trace of memory.

Your hands rested in your lap, fingers twitching.

Why would someone break into your house?

You lived on a quiet street. You used to know your neighbours. You’d waved to them. Watched their dogs grow older. Traded cookies at Christmas. And now? You couldn’t even remember who lived two doors down. You hadn’t been to a neighbourhood event in... years?

Steve returned with your handbag and something else folded over his arm.

“One of my shirts,” he said. “You can’t sleep in those clothes. You’ll be more comfortable in this.”

You took it silently. It was soft and oversized, a worn navy blue with the edges of an old Stark Industries logo almost faded out. Something clearly his, but broken in by time. You nodded, and the words tumbled out in a whisper: “Thank you.”

He reached out, brushing your shoulder gently. His hand was warm, grounding.

“Try and sleep,” he said, voice low. Then he reached up and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, like you were fragile glass. “I’ll be close by if you need anything.”

He left the room and pulled the door almost closed- leaving it cracked, just in case.

You changed slowly. Each movement felt exaggerated, like your body had to remember how to undress. The shirt was soft against your skin, and when you pulled it on, it swallowed you completely. It smelled like cedar and soap. Clean. Like something meant to last.

You crawled into the bed. The sheets were too crisp. The mattress too firm. Your limbs felt too heavy to shift, so you stayed curled on your side, hands clutched in the blanket.

The silence stretched.

Then, so faintly at first you almost thought you imagined it, the sound of music filtered in from somewhere beyond the door. Not a speaker, not a playlist- something older. Warmer. A record. The soft crackle of vinyl underscoring the slow rise of a piano melody you didn’t recognize. It was gentle. Careful. Like it didn’t want to intrude, only hold space.

Steve must’ve put it on.

It felt like something from another time. Something that didn’t ask anything of you.

And despite the mess in your head, despite everything you hadn’t unpacked from the last few hours- you slept.

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers imagine #captain america smut #marvel smut #avengers smut #Steve roger x yn #Steve Roger Fluff #Captain America Smut #steve rogers x female reader #captain america fanfiction #ApplePieAU #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers

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calebsdog · 2 months ago

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It was your birthday today. Through the entire week you've been handing out party invitations to your classmates. If someone was out sick one day you'd give them the invite the next. You would stop at nothing to make sure you got the biggest birthday celebration!

So... How come Gran's house was completely empty? Gran had soothed your nerves when nobody showed up at first.

"The clock just hit noon, dear. I'm sure your friends are already on their way. Sometimes people run a bit late." Her words were enough to keep you calm for a little while. But the clock kept ticking. First it was ten minutes. Then thirty minutes.

The first hour moved by painfully slowly. You sat and sat in front of the clock. It was okay to be a few minutes late to a party. Maybe even half an hour. Or there was the possibility of someone misreading their card and thinking they had to show up a different time.

But no sign of anyone after the first hour? How could that be possible? You were positive everybody in your class had received one. So why...

"Hmph!" Abruptly standing up from the floor, you stomp your foot. Your tiny hand grabs the colorful party hat on your head. The flimsy paperboard creases when you slam it against the ground.

Angry tears were beginning to well up in your eyes. You were super angry, of course. How dare your entire class abandon you like this? You drew each and every card by hand! One of your favorite crayons broke in the process.

But it wasn't just an angry feeling clawing at your chest. You've never been left in the dust like this before. Why had the world suddenly forgotten that you existed? It was your special day! Everyone should be thinking about you. There should have been a line outside of your door with people begging to be let inside.

It was all too much. You rush out of the kitchen. Tiny legs carrying you past party streamers, a banner hung in the entryway of the kitchen, and floating balloons. Gran and Caleb had also worked hard to give your guests a fun party. Now, nobody was there to appreciate it.

Caleb watches helplessly as his pipsqueak finally snaps. The longer that passed without a knock on the front door Caleb knew it was only a matter of time before you got fed up and stormed off.

His heart hurts in tune with you. Nonstop this week you had been gushing about how grand your birthday party would be. You truly believed none of your classmates would miss the opportunity to come celebrate.

Underneath the table, out of Gran's sight, Caleb's small fist clenches underneath the table. Not a single person bothered to show up? They couldn't even stop by to say hello? You clearly put your heart and soul into your party today.

It doesn't take long for Caleb to follow you. You're tucked away in the corner of your bedroom. He finds you with a party invitation clutched to your chest.

"Gege..." You whimper into your knees as Caleb approaches. Too miserable to move as Caleb sits down on the floor, you continue to cry.

"Does everyone hate me? I thought they were all my friends. Nobody cares about me!"

Caleb tugs your crying body into his chest as he's done a thousand times before. And though Caleb wishes he could keep a smile on your face forever, this definitely won't be the last time he holds your crying body. That was okay. His shoulder was always available.

"Hey," Caleb whispers close to your ear. He starts to rub your back while you soak his shirt with your fat tears.

"What does it matter? If they weren't as happy coming to your party as you were inviting them— then they didn't deserve to hang out at our house anyways. They're the ones who get to miss out on all the fun."

It was still early in the evening. It'll be a few hours before it's your bedtime. Caleb still has some time to make it up to you.

"They don't understand that the day you were born... Is the most important day in the world. But I understand, pipsqueak. So you just forget about all those jerks. I can make your birthday party way cooler than they could!"

#love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x mc #caleb x reader #lnds caleb #caleb #lnds #caleb xia #lnds caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x y/n #caleb thoughts #caleb lads #lads x reader #lnds x reader #love and deepspace x reader

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jjscrybaby · 25 days ago

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warnings: near death experience, one use of y/n, yelling, mean!jj, language.

apocalypse!jj masterlist.

day 17. geek killer.

Getting used to the world ending is easier for some than it is others. JJ succumbed to his surroundings almost instantly, within only a few days he was taking out the dead like he’d been doing it his entire life — you on the other hand hadn’t been able to touch a single one. Every time you’d even hear a groan you’d freak, jumping to hide behind JJ like he was your own personal bodyguard.

You’re yet to come across another living person, but you can assume there are some out there from the emptiness of most of the stores you’ve come across. A few times you’ve gotten lucky, finding places that are yet to be ransacked, but in most stores the necessities are all gone and you’re left with singular plasters and out of date cereal bars. You’ve started to get used to the lack of food and water, something JJ’s already been dealing with his entire life.

“C’mon, we can rest when we get there,” JJ huffed, noticing you starting to slow down from behind him. You’d been walking for hours, he’d finally found that map he was on about and now you had a vague idea of where you were — and where you were headed.

“My feet hurt,” you whined. You weren’t lying, the blisters you were sporting on the back of your feet felt like they were on fire.

“Suck it up,” JJ ordered, turning back to give you a sharp look.

You huffed, pouting as you followed after him. He knew of a mall somewhere around here, and he wanted to check the place out; you were running low on food and it was starting to get to the both of you. The moodiness you felt was getting on his nerves, everytime you’d even look at him the wrong way he’d snap.

It took another hour to arrive at your destination, and instantly you had a bad feeling. There were a few geeks — JJ had decided that’s what you’d call them — hanging around the outside area of the mall and you were on edge. JJ held a finger to his lips, telling you to be quiet as you snuck past them and in through the front doors.

“These can’t all be empty,” he murmured, looking around at the multiple rows of stores.

“What do we need?” You asked, taking a seat on the fountain edge to catch your breath. You winced as you moved your feet. Your ankle had gotten better, but there was still a dull ache.

“Food and water are the most important, if there’s any warm clothes around grab them too. It’s gonna be cold soon and you’re gonna need something that actually fits,” he stated, opening his backpack to swap his gun with his knife.

“Okay,” you murmured in response. You had a vague memory of coming to this mall when you were younger, fourteen or so, you’d bought the cutest jacket from Forever 21 and when you’d grown out of it you’d cried.

“Be on alert,” he warned, starting to walk off. You jumped up to follow him, ignoring the pain in your feet as you stuck close to his side.

The first store was ransacked, as was the second, and the third. You could see JJ getting agitated, curses leaving his mouth quietly every time you’d come out empty handed. The fourth you got lucky, there was a locked door at the back of the room and JJ had the talent of picking locks. You grinned as you entered, a fully stocked vending machine stood in front of you.

“Jackpot,” JJ smiled, turning around and shaking your shoulder excitedly; moments like these it felt like you were actually friends.

“How’re we gonna empty it? I don’t have any cash,” you said, sitting down on a dusty couch.

JJ snorted, shaking his head at you. He looked around, letting out an ah sound as he spotted a fire extinguisher hanging from the wall. You watched curiously as he lifted it up and smashed it into the glass. You gasped, covering your mouth as you let out a giggle. You’d never seen anyone do something like that before. He turned around and smirked at you, looking through the food and opening up his backpack.

“There’s soda,” you said, remembering how he’d been complaining about missing sugary drinks a few days ago.

“That there is, Princess. That there is,” he agreed, grabbing anything and everything to fill in his bag. “We’ve got enough for maybe a week, now. Let’s look around for some clothes.”

You nodded, smiling as you turned away from him and walked out of the room. Your smile vanished within seconds, there were multiple geeks around and they were heading straight for you. The sound of the glass smashing must’ve alerted them to you guys being there. JJ got to work straight away, not even blinking as he started to take them out; there were too many for him to do alone.

“Help me!” He ordered. He’d given you a knife on the second day, you kept it tucked in your waistband but you were yet to use it. “Now!”

You grabbed it, holding it with shaky hands as they started to come towards you. One was on your right, another on your left, you held up the knife ready to stab but you froze. You couldn’t do this. You screamed as you were shoved to the floor, teeth snapping together as the decayed faces came from either side. You sobbed, trying to push them away.

This was it. This was the moment you’d die. You’d lasted longer than you thought you would, if JJ hadn’t been around you probably would’ve died beside that dumpster. He wouldn’t grieve you, that much you were sure of, he’d find John B a lot faster without the dead weight of you beside him.

“Are you bit?” He was shouting, hands grabbing at your face as you hyperventilated on the floor. “Y/N, are you bit? Look at me!”

You turned to him, the geeks were dead and you were still breathing. You sat up in shock, his rough hands still holding your face as you whimpered. “N—no.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he whispered, sitting down. He shook his head, covering his face with his hands. You watched him, tears still streaming down your cheeks. “You’re a fucking idiot!”

“What?” You asked, hurt crossing your face.

“I can’t protect you every damn time they’re around! If you want to live then you’re gonna have to man up!” He was screaming, anger and frustration in his eyes as he waved his arms about.

“I— I,” you stuttered. He’d never shouted at you like this before, you hadn’t had someone talk to you like this since before the outbreak; you hadn’t missed it.

“Get up!” He ordered, standing up himself.

You rushed to your feet, eyes wide and scared. He just shook his head at you, disgust written all over his face. Your lip quivered. “You’re an asshole.”

“What?” He scoffed, turning around as if he hadn’t heard you properly.

“If I’m such a liability then leave me here! I’ll be fine on my own.” It was a lie, but you’d rather die than have him look after you. You grabbed your bag from the floor and took off, stomping away.

“Where are you going?” He groaned, a twinge of guilt in his tone.

“Away from you.”

You stalked off, not bothering to look if he was following. You went through the stores, finding the clothes he cared so deeply about. There was a pink jacket, if you weren’t so miserable you’d smile. You even found some new shoes, ones that weren’t covered in blood from your feet.

It only took five minutes for you to spot another geek, a man with half his skin ripped from his face. You fought the urge to gag. He was stood in front of the entrance to a store, one that from the looks of it had some good stuff inside; you could see a tent, that would be handy for nights spent in the woods. JJ wasn’t around anymore, it was time for you to man up.

You let out a deep breath, nodding to yourself. You could do this, you had to do this. You held your knife, taking slow steps towards it. The sound of your footsteps had him looking at you, a snarl leaving its messed up mouth. You waited for it to come closer, feet dragging along the floor as he limped. Teeth snapped at you but you didn’t let yourself freeze, you held up the knife and plunged it into the brain — just like JJ had taught you.

It dropped to the floor, the groans stopping all of a sudden. You stared at it, eyes watery but a sense of pride in your chest. You’d done it. Sure, it was only one, but you’d done it.

“That’s more like it.” Your head swivelled, JJ stood only a few feet away with his gun in hand; prepared to step in if necessary. You gave him a small nod, a shy smile on your face. “I— uh, I shouldn’t have shouted. You just scared me.”

“Didn’t think you cared all that much,” you murmured back, looking down at the floor.

“You’re all I’ve got left,” he shrugged, messing with his gun. “I mean, until I find John B.”

“Right. Until you find John B.”

#apocalypse!jj #jj maybank #outer banks #obx #jj maybank prompt #jj maybank x reader

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 5 months ago

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Taken By Surprise

Request: Roy is always super careful to keep his eyes front and centre when passing the busy Richmond Ladies team dressing room. One day, he assumes it's empty, but it's not 🔥

Roy Kent x Reader

1.9k words (word count got away from me again, oops)

Warnings: Roy being a bit of a peeping tom for a minute, fem masturbation w/a vibrator, fingering, dirty talk

Sometimes, Roy found he really liked being the last person in the building. It was quiet and peaceful, free from the shouts and noises that usually filled the Dog Track. He appreciated the solitude, especially because it meant the women’s changing room would be empty.

He was a man, but he never wanted to be a creep. He always averted his eyes from their changing room, kept his gaze down or straight ahead as he strolled briskly by the always open door, ignoring the sounds of chattering and the scents of the different perfumes and body sprays the women used. And of course, doing his best to avoid the sight of the women in their sports bras and underwear, strolling around casually, not paying any mind when the men passed by. But while Roy respected the female athletes and acknowledged how incredibly hardworking and talented they were, he couldn’t deny how pretty some of them were. Especially one striker in particular.

So, to avoid any sort of temptation, Roy always either left with the group of Greyhounds who strolled out after training, pleasantly distracted by their conversations, or else sat around in his office until he was sure everyone else was gone. Tonight, because he wanted to spend some extra time looking over his lineup for an upcoming match, he chose the latter.

He hummed to himself as he walked out, pondering what he should pick up for dinner, when a peculiar sound caught his attention. It was… a buzzing of some kind. A weirdly familiar buzzing, actually. One that had an almost Pavlovian effect on the lower regions of his body.

He paused in the doorway, gulping at what he saw in what should have an empty changing room.

Your back was to him as you sat on the bench, covered only by the thin towel you wore, hair still damp from the shower you’d taken after training. From his spot in the doorway, he could see that your legs were spread slightly, and your head was rolling back leisurely as the monotone buzzing continued.

He should say something, he scolded himself. Surely, you thought you were alone; it was wrong of him to take advantage of your obliviousness just so he could indulge in a little fantasy. No matter how attracted to you he’d been since your first day at Nelson Road, he couldn’t just sit here, all slack-jawed and watching you pleasure yourself.

His stupid fucking principles won out over his wicked desires, prompting him to clear his throat, a louder, gruffer sound than he intended.

Your vibrator fell to the floor with a deafening clatter, continuing to buzz and hum as if you weren’t completely mortified. Even before you turned around with wide eyes, you knew exactly who had interrupted you. That growling voice filled every single one of your fantasies, including the one you’d been enjoying before the man himself interrupted you.

“Coach Kent,” you choked out, entire body burning with embarrassment when you finally remembered how to speak. “I, er, thought you’d gone for the day.”

He blinked at you, straining to keep his eyes trained on your pretty face instead of letting them wander down your barely covered form. “I kinda thought the same. About you, I mean. And everyone else.”

You tugged your towel closer around yourself, praying he couldn’t see the blush that surely covered every inch of skin. “Sometimes, I, um, stay late,” you tried to explain, doing your best to ignore the vibrator that somehow sounded louder the longer Roy Kent looked at you. “Do some…” You gulped, finally looking down at the traitorous toy. “… relaxing.”

Roy nodded slowly, wearing that pensive expression he often sported, the one where you swore you could see the cogs turning in his mind. “Relaxing,” he finally repeated, taking a tentative step into the changing room.

His footsteps echoed on the tile floor until he stood in front of the little purple object that started your abject humiliation. You winced, tightening your grip on what suddenly felt like a far too flimsy towel, watching the man who occupied way too many of your daydreams drop to one knee and pick up your vibrator and turn it off, silencing the changing room.

Still kneeling, Roy finally looked up into your face, raising those thick eyebrows at you as he handed you the toy. His voice was low, laced with hesitation and maybe some hope. “Need any help with your… relaxing?”

Your mouth went dry as you wrapped your hand around the vibrator, noting the way Roy didn’t quite let go. “Is that an offer, Coach Kent?” you breathed.

He nodded, the tip of his tongue sticking out to wet his lips. “If you want it to be.”

Oh fuck. Some voice in your head suggested pinching yourself, to make sure this wasn’t just a rerun of a dirty dream you’d had a couple weeks ago. But when his fingers brushed against yours, you were brought back to reality, a reality where Roy Kent was handing you a sex toy while looking at you with pure lust in those brown eyes.

“I’d appreciate some help,” you finally managed, a pulsing tingle spreading through your body. “Your help, that is.”

Roy glanced over his shoulder, as though making sure the two of you were truly alone. “Everyone from the men’s side is gone. What about here?”

Despite the embarrassment and lust fighting for priority in your chest, you let out a small giggle. “You really think I’d be doing that if anyone was around?”

The grin he shot you went straight between your legs. “Just let me lock the doors then. Don’t think we want to take any chances.” In a flash, he’d shut and locked every door he could find before turning his fiery gaze back to you. He strode back, oozing confidence now, and straddled the bench beside you. “C’mere,” he growled softly.

Your arousal overcoming whatever remained of your embarrassment, you did as you were told, scooching closer to the manager whose eyes bore into yours severely. With a grunt, he laid his hands on you, his grip firm but softer than you expected, and shifted you until you were sitting with your back against his chest, an intimate position that made your heart race so fast you were sure Roy could feel it through your towel.

“May I?” he asked, tugging at the only thing you wore. When you nodded, he hooked a finger under your chin and turned your face towards his. “Use your words, darling.”

Darling. Oh hell, when was the last time a man made you gulp like this? “Yes, please,” you managed to whisper, your eyes shifting between his mouth and those fiery brown eyes.

With a pleased little hum, Roy swiftly shifted the towel until your cunt was exposed. When you gasped at the cool air against your sex, Roy let out a little chuckle that rumbled against your body. “Someone cold?” he tsked. His fingers began flittering up your thigh. “Should I warm you up?” With that, he attached his mouth to yours harshly, letting his tongue glide against yours as his fingers found your cunt.

You moaned into each other’s mouths as he inched two thick fingers into you, the sensation filling you better than you ever could on your own. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he was savoring the feeling of your walls pulsing around his digits.

“You feel so fucking good,” he mumbled against your mouth. “Already so fucking wet. What were you thinking about before I interrupted you?”

Play coy, you told yourself. Don’t be so damn desperate-

But then his thumb found your clit with ease, rubbing it with a tenderness you never would have expected from Roy Kent.

“You,” you moaned, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. “Was thinking about you, Roy.”

A strangled noise rippled through his chest and throat as he inched his fingers deeper. “Me?” he asked in a thick honeyed voice. “What about me?”

No use trying to be cool anymore. “Was imagining you bending me over-” The feeling of his fingers curling upwards had you whining. “-over in the shower,” you finished.

Roy let out a curious little hum. “I’ll keep that in mind for later,” he teased. His mouth found your neck, planting rough kisses along your skin. A shiver flew through your body when he let his tongue glide over the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Oh, do we like that?”

Your only response was to widen your already spread legs, silently begging Roy to bury his fingers deeper in your aching cunt. He obliged, finding the spot that made your back arch. His wicked smile felt good against your skin as he chuckled darkly.

“You’re doing so fucking good for me,” he cooed as indecently wet noises filled the changing room. “Just the way I imagined you would.” His breath was hot in your ear. “And I’ve imagined you a lot,” he admitted in a low voice. He moaned when he felt your walls tighten around him, a sign of your approaching climax.

His free hand wandered up your body until he found your breast. Keeping up the rough pace he’d set in your cunt, he cupped your breast, roughly groping you and pinching your nipple until it hardened to his liking. He began squirming behind you, his obvious hardon pressing against you deliciously. His moans, his touch, his scent, his everything had you gushing around his fingers, creating soaked noises you didn’t even know were possible.

“Roy,” you panted, rutting against his hand. “I’m so fucking close.”

He nodded, returning his mouth to your neck. “I know, baby,” he groaned. A third finger slid into your sopping cunt. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Gonna feel so good around my cock after this.”

His dirty words had your head spinning. “I want your cock so bad,” you babbled, vision beginning to blur. “Please, Roy. Please fuck me.”

“After,” he promised. “Cum all over my fingers, and then I’ll fuck you all you want.”

Those magical words throbbed through your body, all the way down to your pussy. “Yes,” you gasped as the tension in your lower tummy threatened to snap. “Please, Roy, please.”

His fingers scraped along your walls just right, sending you right over the edge. All you could see were stars as you felt yourself soak his fingers, his hand, his wrist, the bench you sat on. Later, you’d realize it was probably the most you’d ever cum in your life; it would have been almost embarrassing if it wasn’t obvious that Roy Kent was nothing short of pleased by your orgasm. Your body jerked against his as he pumped in and out roughly, determined to leave you a sopping mess. His pants were painfully tight at the sight of you writhing and moaning, so desperate and beautiful, just for him.

When you finally began to come down from your high, he pressed a kiss to your temple and carefully removed his fingers from your aching cunt. He brought his fingers to his mouth, holding your gaze as he licked the dripping juices you’d left him with.

“Delicious,” he moaned, throwing his head back. “Could taste you all day, gorgeous.”

The sight had your pussy throbbing again, begging him to make good on his promise.

“You could do more than taste,” you reminded him coyly, leaning back into him, desperate to feel that bulge closer to your still needy cunt. “A lot more.”

He nodded, returning his hand to your folds to massage you gently, earning a loud moan from you. “Someone mentioned something about being bent over in the showers?” he teased. “I think that could be arranged.”

#request ❤️#he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent imagine #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction

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st4rgirllv · 1 month ago

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𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐟𝐭. 𝐓𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐊𝐞𝐢

Do you think I'm batshit crazy, having you on my mind? Do you think I'm helpless? My algebra gon' equal you every time Do you think I'm calling out your name every night?

tsukishima kei x reader cw: academic rivals to lovers | angst + banter + soft confession, sharp tongues, romantic tension, one (1) kiss synopsis: you’ve always hated him. until you didn’t. until he looked at you like you were the only person on the planet who could keep up.

“you’re not nearly as clever as you think you are.” he smirks.

“no. i’m exactly as clever as i think i am.”

There are 27 people in your paleontology class. yet somehow, for the third time this semester, your name is right next to his on the group assignment list. you stare at the screen like it personally betrayed you.

tsukishima kei. again.

You’re convinced your professor is a sadist. Or worse: a matchmaker.

“I think she wants to see us kill each other.”

“Or kiss,” Yamaguchi had added once, not looking up from his textbook.

you almost choked on your coffee. working with Tsukishima is like trying to outsmart a chess grandmaster who’s already won before the game started. he’s quiet, sharp. condescending in that effortless, unbothered, smug way that makes you want to launch your laptop into the sun.

“You rewrote my entire introduction.” you barged into the cafe he was sitting in.

he glanced at you, then back to his leptop. “It was redundant.”

“It was precise.” you starred daggers at the boy.

“It was six paragraphs of you repeating the same thesis with more adjectives.” he threw his hands up. your mouth hung open, offended. he types like he’s bored. speaks like he’s challenging you. exists like he knows you’ll rise to the bait every single time.

And you do.

Because—may god help you—it’s addicting. late nights in the library turn into a routine. him with his earbuds half in, you with your annotated notes, both pretending the tension in the air isn’t tangible.

“I don’t hate working with you,” he says one night.

you blink.

“woah, did the earth just stop rotating?” you looked around like everything's suddenly just gonna collapse.

he doesn’t laugh. but he does look at you like you’re a puzzle he’s finally starting to enjoy solving.

the presentation goes too well. your arguments flow. Your graphs align. Tsukishima—cold, dry Tsukishima—actually smiles when you finish your closing remarks.

And then he says: “Her analysis on bias resilience was the backbone of our entire framework.”

you freeze. he didn’t have to say that.

he chose to.

After class. Empty hallway. Your heart’s still pounding from adrenaline. he adjusts the strap of his backpack, tilts his head. “you looked like you were going to pass out.”

“I was fine.” you replied fast.

“You were blushing.”

“You quoted me in front of the whole class!”

he shrugs. “You were right.”

silence. a beat. a shift.

And then:

“What are we doing, Tsukishima?”

his eyes meet yours.

“We argue. We compete. You look at me like you want to kill me half the time.”

he steps closer.

“You look at me like you’re trying not to kiss me.”

your breath catches.

“Say it,” he murmurs. “Say you don’t hate me.”

you swallow.

“I don’t.”

you pause.

“I think I admire you. Which is worse.” he smiles—a real smile, crooked and soft and just a little cocky.

“Good. Because I admire you too. Even when you’re insufferable.”

And then he kisses you.

Not gentle. Not soft.

It’s months of rivalry, tension, frustration, admiration—exploding in one moment of messy, brilliant, genius-level chemistry.

you pull away first. barely.

“We’re still turning that paper in, right?”

he chuckles.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You love it.”

and for once, he doesn’t argue.

ᯓ★Masterlist

#haikyuu #hq x reader #hq #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima fluff #tsukki #enemies to lovers #argue argue kiss kiss #academic rivals #type shit

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purinfelix · 11 months ago

Note

hi!! I really love your work! I was wondering if you could do one where Gavi and the reader hate each other, but one day the reader had nobody to turn to so for some reason she found comfort with Gavi if that makes sense

i don't want to talk about anything ₊˚⊹ - pablo gavi

pairing: (academic rival) gavi x reader w/c: 1.5k a/n: ANON i love this idea and im sorry its been sitting in my inbox for so long - i decided to sort of involve it with the academic rivals fic i wrote, since it made sense to me, hope u don't mind! <3

No matter how many times you blinked, the words of your essay refused to stay still on the laptop in front of you, the feeling of your eyes growing tired only adding to your frustration. According to the irritatingly loud clock on the wall, you had been at the university library for almost five hours now, on top of an entire day of lectures and tutorials. Your head ached, and your mouth was dry ever since you had run out of water an hour ago but had been too engrossed in studying to go get more, and every time you closed your eyes you considered falling asleep right there and then. You hadn't even gone insane before, but you were pretty sure this was as close as you were going to get.

Forcing yourself to stand up you tried your best not to dwell on how unprepared you felt for your upcoming finals, or how many assignments you still had to finish. Even with how tired you were, your brain still managed enough energy to stress you out, even as you definitively shut the textbooks you had brought with you. You were more than aware of how childish this was, having thought you'd outgrown your ridiculous study methods years ago. But something about your recent dip in grade, how frustrated and helpless it made you feel, had spurred you into a frenzy you were too far into to stop. You couldn't recall the last spare hour you hadn't spent studying or the last conversation you had that hadn't been about exams.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder you reluctantly left the desk that had been your home for the majority of the evening. After a struggle, you managed to get the library doors open and were immediately. met with the miserably biting cold of the late winter night - the thought of the long trek back to your dorm room acting as salt in the wound. Your hands are already freezing as they dart into your jacket pocket in search of your phone, and you flick it on to check for any response to the many, many texts you had sent to your friends. Most of them were invited to study with you or questions about lectures, but all you were met with was a pathetically empty inbox, the reflection of your own tired face once it switched off, and the stinging realisation of just how isolated you had become, and how lonely you felt. Perhaps it was this, or the howling wind whipping around you, that caused tears to prick up in your eyes as you bit your lip painfully hard to stop them from falling.

You're overcome with a sudden desperation to get back to your dorm as quickly as possible before anyone can see you crying like an idiot. The added barrier of your own fatigue makes this difficult though, and the immense cold doesn't help. Before you know it though you're already halfway there, passing by the campus football court which is still brightly lit and lively despite how late it's getting - a fact you curse as you make out a familiar figure, and the single last person you want to see right now.

Gavi seems to spot you too and even though you hand your head to prevent any more tears, you can hear his loud footsteps as he leaves his friends and game to jog up to you. He calls out your name and the smug tone in his voice is enough for you to will your legs to move faster. When you don't stop, you hear him pause before running up to match your pace.

"Long day at the library, huh?" he jeers, walking beside you and clearly not taking any notice to the fact that you're not in the mood to entertain his ego. Usually, you would've jumped at the opportunity to flex your work ethic in his lazy face but not now, not with how you're feeling. All you wish is for him to leave you alone before he sees you crying and it gives him another thing to make fun of you for - but just as this entire day has turned out, your wishes are far from granted.

"You know, I did notice you've been slacking a little lately. Even I found the last quiz pretty easy and I could tell you struggled with it."

You scoff loudly at his words but don't offer a response in fear of him being able to tell something's off from the quiver you're bound to have. A small part of you does question why he's been paying so much attention to you lately but has little time to when you feel him reach out to grab your hand, suddenly jerking you back and stopping you in your tracks.

Finally, you crane your neck up without thinking and lock eyes with his, and you hear the next comment he was preparing catch in his throat. It happens so quickly that you almost don't notice it, but his smug expression softens immediately and you can almost make out the concern in his eyes once he sees your tear-stricken face. The contrast from the teasing way he normally looks at you is so stark it almost stops the flow of tears from your eyes, and you almost wish it had because now you're standing here sniffling like an idiot, and he's standing there watching you.

"Hey…" he mumbles, and the pity in his voice is enough to make you want to run away, even as he drops your hand. Still, you can tell he's not enjoying the awkward situation any more than you are but is trying his best.

"I'm fine," you blurt out instinctively, messily wiping the stream of tears from your cheeks before laughing - at what you're not entirely sure, but you're desperate for an opportunity to lighten the mood.

"You don't look it," he sounds so mature that it almost takes you aback.

You hang your head, half in shame and half so that you don't have to look into his eyes when you lie. "I'm just really tired."

It's almost irritating how sudden his movements can be and how easily they can catch you off guard, but his athleticism has never blended itself to subtlety. Still, it's hard not to be shocked when he pulls you once more and before you realise it you're enveloped in his arms, pulled flush against his chest. His body still radiates heat from the exercise he was just doing, a fact that you find comfort in. Before you can stop yourself, you're already sinking into his touch, its catharsis being exactly what you needed, but hadn't realised. You wrap your arms back around him and close your eyes as you rest your head against his chest. The rhythm of his heart is bold and quick as you listen to it, and you chalk this up to the exercise as well - an excuse you're not lucky enough to have for your own quickening heart.

He's the first to break the silence. "You're the smartest person I know, you know." He says it barely above a whisper, and he seems to be confessing more to the night sky than to you.

If you had just a little more pride in yourself, you might've met this with one of your usual jabs. Strangely enough though, all signs of the competitive nature you reserve for him have gone missing. Maybe it's because of your surprise that he seems to know exactly what you need to hear, but you're sure it's more because of how tired you are.

"Thank you," is all you can quietly muster up, but given how earnestly it comes out, you hope it'll be enough.

"I don't mean to stress you out, not just now but all the time. I'm sorry for that," he sighs, and you can tell without seeing his face that he really means it.

"It's alright, I appreciate it," you laugh softly, before adding, "sometimes."

He squeezes you a little harder and standing there in his arms, despite how mind-numbingly strange the situation is, you allow yourself to forget about some things for a bit. Forget about how late it is, about all the work you still have to do, about how you're not meant to like him at all, how you're hoping no one you know sees the two of you right now. For just a minute, the two of you share a world you had only gotten teasing glimpses of during your heated conversations in hallways, your quick comparisons after grades get released or quippy comebacks. Only now, not a single word needs to pass between you two - the sound of his beating heart and the strange sense of comfort that falls over you being all you need.

#pablo gavi #gavi x reader #gavi x you #gavi fluff #gavi oneshot #gavi imagine #gavi fanfic #football #fc barcelona #fanfic #football fanfic #purinfelix #jet writes ★#jet answers ✧

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doumadono · 4 months ago

Note

Hello! I'd like to ask for an emergency request if that's alright—your inbox says there's still 2 slots available so I wanted to give it a try. I don't wish for anything overly complicated and to put it simply my request would go as follow: could you write something (whether headcanons or one-shot, it's up to you) with Shigaraki and Dabi with a very, VERY lonely fem!reader? As vaguely as it sound, I find it fitting to add some background: reader is an only-child who comes from a small family with basically no aunts, uncles, cousins—the other half of the family either dead or living far away abroad. Due to constantly moving since early childhood, there's no such a thing as childhood friends, neighbour friends or any sort of community to belong. Additionally, she's always been single since it was impossible to build any long-term relationship while constantly changing the place of living. She's independent, used to being all alone (in school, job, home...) and doing everything alone (shopping, cinema, coffee shop, watching movies...) but sometimes it can get really lonely being all by herself in the world... If it's not emergency enough it's okay but if you'd be willing to write something on the subject I'd be very grateful!

Synopsis: after you skip Toga’s party, Dabi and Shigaraki start following you, noticing how lonely you really are. Confronting you at your favorite café, they make it clear - you’re not alone

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST - PART 2

The café smelled like freshly ground coffee and warm vanilla, the kind of scent that usually wrapped around you like a comforting hug. But today, it did nothing to ease the weight pressing on your chest.

You curled your fingers around your cup, letting the warmth seep into your skin. Your favorite drink sat untouched in front of you, steam curling lazily into the air. The noise of the city outside hummed through the glass windows, the chatter of people blending into a steady backdrop, but none of it really reached you. It was just you, your thoughts, and the empty seat across from you.

You weren’t surprised by the feeling anymore - the familiar weight in your chest, the hollow ache of knowing that, at the end of the day, it was just you. No family to call. No childhood friends to reconnect with. No one to notice if you skipped a meal or spent the entire weekend inside without speaking a word to another person.

Which is why it wasn’t exactly surprising that no one questioned it when you’d declined Toga’s birthday gathering a few days ago.

You’d made some excuse about feeling sick, about needing to rest. It wasn’t entirely a lie, not when loneliness had a way of making you physically exhausted. The truth was, you hadn’t been in the mood for anything.

Still, you hadn’t expected anyone to care beyond a passing “feel better” from Twice or maybe Toga pouting about missing your presence. And what you hadn’t expected surely was being followed. And you definitely hadn’t expected them to show up here.

The screech of a chair dragged against the floor cut through your thoughts.

"Alright, this is fucking depressing," Dabi stated, moving a chair. "So this is what you do when you’re too busy for Toga’s party?" The black-haired man drawled, slouching down into the seat like he owned the place. "Sitting in a café, looking like the poster child for depression?"

Your fingers twitched around your cup, your mind catching up to the fact that he was here. You barely had time to register that before another chair moved, this time with more hesitation.

Shigaraki.

Unlike Dabi, he didn’t sit right away. He hovered, almost like he wasn’t sure if this was a good idea but had already committed. His red eyes flickered to you before landing on your untouched drink. "That’s getting cold."

You blinked. "What—"

"You've been staring at it for fifteen minutes," Shigaraki muttered, finally sitting down beside Dabi, slouching like he was trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible by pulling his hood lower on his face. "Took us a while to figure out your routine," he muttered, sounding vaguely irritated. "You go to the same places. In the same order. It’s kind of pathetic."

Your mouth opened and closed. "Excuse me? You've been watching me?" you asked, suspicion lacing your voice.

Dabi smirked, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Yup."

"For how long?"

Shigaraki gave a noncommittal grunt. Dabi, on the other hand, leaned forward on his elbows, improving the face mask he wore. "Oh, you know. Just a couple of days."

Your stomach twisted. "Are you serious?"

"You didn’t even notice we were following you," Shigaraki continued, fingers twitching slightly against his sleeves. "That’s careless. If it were anyone else, you’d be dead."

You stared at them, brain short-circuiting. "Why?"

Shigaraki shifted, eyes darting toward the window before landing on you again. "You looked miserable."

"You didn't leave us much of a choice," Dabi added quickly, stretching his arms behind his head. "You think we wouldn’t notice you acting weird? Turning down a party? Avoiding everyone?"

Shigaraki tilted his head. "Toga was worried."

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "So that was why you followed me around?"

Dabi snorted. "We observed."

"Like creeps."

"Hey, if you didn’t want creeps watching you, maybe don’t look like you’re about to start narrating a sad movie monologue every time you sit alone in this café," Dabi shot back, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously, do you even talk to anyone outside the League?"

You hesitated.

And that was answer enough.

Shigaraki exhaled sharply through his nose, leaning back in his chair. "That’s what I thought."

Your fingers tightened around your cup, the familiar ache in your chest pressing down again. It was one thing to know you were lonely - it was another to have someone point it out like a glaring neon sign.

"Why do you care?" you muttered, voice quieter now.

Shigaraki didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared at you, fingers twitching slightly like he wanted to fidget with his sleeves but resisted the urge. Finally, he muttered, "Because it’s fucking annoying."

You frowned. "What?"

Dabi chuckled, shaking his head. "What he means is, it pisses us off that you think you have to do everything alone." His voice was lighter than Shigaraki’s, teasing even, but there was something underneath it - something genuine. "Like, come on, you’re part of us, ain’t ya?"

You swallowed hard. Part of us.

The thing was, you had never really considered the League of Villains your family. Sure, you worked with them once in a while, trusted them in the way soldiers trusted the people fighting beside them, but outside of missions? Outside of sitting in the hideout and tolerating their antics?

"I don’t really have anyone," you said finally, voice quieter than you intended. "No family, no old friends. It’s just me. And most of the time, I don’t mind, but sometimes, it gets lonely." You stared down at your cup, fingers tightening around the warm ceramic. "That’s all."

"That’s fucking stupid," Shigaraki uttered bluntly.

You blinked up at him. "Excuse me?"

The leader of the League of Villains scowled, shifting in his seat. "You do have people. What the hell are we, then?"

You opened your mouth, but Dabi cut in, his voice oddly serious. "You think we’re just watching you for fun? That we care if you go missing for days because we’re bored?" He leaned forward slightly, eyes locked onto yours. "Newsflash, sweetheart. You’re ours. You’ve been ours for a long time now."

Something in your chest tightened. "But—"

Shigaraki huffed. "You put up with us when no one else does. That counts for something." He glanced at his hands, fingers twitching again. "So stop acting like no one gives a shit about you. Because we do."

Dabi drummed his fingers against the table, tilting his head. "We’re not exactly model citizens, but we take care of our own. You’re one of us, whether you like it or not."

Your throat tightened, and for a second, you couldn’t speak. You swallowed, trying to force down the sudden wave of emotion creeping up. "You guys are really bad at this whole cheering someone up thing, you know."

Dabi snorted. "Yeah, well. If you wanted sunshine and rainbows, you picked the wrong friends."

Shigaraki crossed his arms. "Are you coming back or not?"

You hesitated, but before you could answer, Dabi suddenly reached over and stole your cup right out of your hands.

"Hey!"

He pushed his face mask down enough to take a sip, but then he immediately made a face. "What the hell is this?"

"My coffee, you asshole!" You tried to snatch it back, but he held it out of reach.

"This is gross," he complained, handing it to Shigaraki, who - surprisingly - did not drink it, just set it back in front of you like a normal person would.

Dabi grinned. "Guess I’m buying you a new one. Something that doesn’t taste like liquid disappointment."

You rolled your eyes. "I like it."

"And that’s the problem," he shot back, already waving down a barista.

Shigaraki stood up, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. "You’re coming back to base after this," he said, not even asking, just deciding. "No more sitting in cafés alone like some kind of tragic novel protagonist."

You looked between them, exasperated. "So that’s it? You’re just forcing me to rejoin society?"

Dabi smirked, tossing an arm lazily over your shoulders. "Damn right we are. Whether you like it or not."

You shook your head, unable to stop the tiny, tired laugh that escaped your lips. It wasn’t much - not some grand, emotional declaration or a life-changing moment - but it was something.

And maybe that was enough.

Because when you looked up at them - Dabi, slouched with a cocky grin, and Shigaraki, pacing back and forth as he already wanted to leave the place - the ache in your chest didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

@pixelcafe-network

#emergency request #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki fluff #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #dabi fluff #dabi x you #touya todoroki fluff #touya todoroki x reader #league of villains #fluffy fluff #anime fluff #mha fluff #bnha fluff

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thatacotargirl · 1 year ago

Text

Shadows and Surprises (4)

Part 4 of Azriel x Reader fanfic! I hope you are all enjoying - please let me know your thoughts! I am going to try and post these chapters on Sundays from now on.

Summary: Azriel meets y/n at Rita's and spends a single night of passion with you before heading your separate ways. Only, the Mother had different ideas.

Warnings: pregnancy.

Tag list - @mirandasidefics @lilah-asteria @nyxbranwenn @nickishadow139 @dee-writes-smut @impossibelle @mybestfriendmademe @minnieoo @hauntedstudentobservationus @st4r-girl-official

Azriel's POV

Azriel had absolutely no idea how this dinner was going to go. Truth be told, he expected you to politely decline and to take your dinner in your bedroom, give yourself some time to adjust to the change of pace your life had taken so suddenly that day. You surprised him once again - but that's what you seemed to do to him. Surprise him. You surprised him by taking an interest in him at Rita's that night, allowing him to tentatively approach you and offer to buy you a drink. You surprised him with a baby, his child. You surprised him by allowing him to not only be part of his child's life so easily, as if you hadn't only known him for a few drunken hours, and in turn, to be part of his life. He wasn't sure that his emotions had really settled down and processed the day - but he felt, deep down, that he quite liked your surprising nature.

Azriel offered you his arm and walked you slowly to the dining room in a comfortable silence; although he felt your body tense as you both approached the door and heard the laughter and chatter behind. He gave you a look - an offer to turn back - but you took a deep breath and nodded towards the door. Azriel opened it, and everyone went silent.

As you walked towards the 2 empty seats on the table, Cassian bounced out of his chair and walked towards y/n, giving her a bear hug.

"How are you feeling, y/n? Are you sure you're not too tired?" he asked, glancing down at your stomach. You chuckled. Y/n had no idea what she was in for living here with him and Cassian - both quickly becoming Mother Hens to y/n and the unborn child.

Y/n laughed in response, giving Cassian a gentle shove on the shoulder. "I'm fine, Cassian, thank you". You had seemed to ease quite a bit with Cassian's presence - perhaps because you felt you had more than one person in your corner. For some reason, Azriel felt a pang of jealousy at how quickly Cassian was able to put you at peace. He pushed the feeling down and guided you by the elbow to your seat.

Mor, however, had other plans - bounding over to y/n and pulling her back up out of her chair and into a hug.

"It is so nice to meet you, y/n! Azriel had a lot to say about you after your little tusk that night post-Rita's", Mor winked. Azriel went bright red, but y/n only laughed.

"Clearly he had a lot more than just things to say", y/n replied, gesturing at her stomach. There was a brief, silent pause; and Azriel held his breath. The pause broke almost immediately,though, as the entire table bursting out into a fit of laughter at your joke. Azriel felt himself relax a bit into his chair, feeling the initial awkward atmosphere dissipating.

Amren didn't stand, instead holding up her glass in gesture to y/n. "Pleasure to meet you", she calls out, taking a long gulp of her drink. Y/n replied kindly, and took her seat at the table. The House produced platters upon platters and everyone dished themselves a plate.

Dinner went forward as uneventful as it could have been. Jokes were passed, at Azriel's expense, and y/n was questioned relentlessly by Mor about her pregnancy and the baby, but there was a comfortable aura in the room and that was all he could have hoped for.

"Is it a boy or a girl?", Mor asked, having dragged her chair around the table after the meal to sit in front of y/n, her hands resting on y/n's swollen stomach.

"I have no idea! Madja said it is impossible to know, but there are some potential indications. I had a rough first trimester, which Madja said is more like a girl - but I also get headaches a lot - which is more like a boy".

"Az, what do you think?", Mor asked, her hands not leaving the small bump.

"I don't mind as long as they are healthy", he replied, watching in awe as Mor placed her head against the bump to try and listen in. Azriel realised that Mor was touching the baby bump before he had and felt that surge of jealousy rear its ugly head once more.

"And that they have wings", Cassian grinned.

"Ah, they do have wings", y/n replied nonchalantly, not realising quite how important that fact would be for the 3 males sat at the table. They all exchanged big smiles, thinking about the day they would be able to take Azriel's son or daughter, their nephew or niece, out to the forest to learn how to fly. Y/n looked up and smiled in response.

"For a 50/50 chance, we got lucky then", Cassian said, raising his own glass upwards in thanks to the Mother. Y/n smiled at him, but Azriel didn't miss the slight glassy-eyed look she had, the way her smile faltered if only for a millisecond and, when she recovered it, the smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

Azriel watched as Mor peppered y/n with more questions about pregnancy and the baby, and noticed as y/n's shoulders began to sag slightly with exhaustion. You had also noticed that Rhys was more withdrawn than usual, offering his input into the conversation less than he would normally. Since he had come back from under the mountain, you knew there was something he was holding back, but never wanted to push your brother more than he was comfortable with. You had let him know you were there for him, and would wait.

"I think it's time we head up for the night", he said, standing and offering a hand to y/n. He saw the grateful look in your eye as you accepted.

"Thank you for a wonderful dinner", y/n said, giving Mor, Cassian and Rhys another hug each and Amren a small wave before walking to the door.

"Tomorrow?", Mor called after them. Y/n turned to give Mor a nod, and walked up the stairs ahead of Azriel.

"What's tomorrow?", he asked.

"Mor has asked me to go shopping with her for some maternity clothes and perhaps some bits for the baby. I know we have months to go, but we can't be too prepared I suppose. Plus, she was so excited, I didn't have the heart to turn her down".

Azriel felt the pang again. He hadn't even placed a hand on the swollen bump where his unborn child was growing, and Mor was already taking you shopping for baby items?

"Can I join?", he asked, before he could stop himself. Y/n faltered on the stairs.

"Would you want to?".

"Of course I would, why would you think I wouldn't?".

Y/n looked at the floor, cheeks blushing a deep red. "I just didn't think you'd be interested in going shopping". Azriel could tell that wasn't the real reason, but the deepness of the red your cheeks had gone told him that you weren't comfortable enough to share the reason just yet.

"I'd like to come, if that's ok", he replied, placing a hand on y/n's lower back to gentle guide their direction back towards the stairs and to their bedrooms.

"Yes, I'd like that", y/n replied, face still a deep shade of crimson. "Thank you for tonight, and for everything Az, I really appreciate it".

"You're more than welcome".

When he reached y/n's door, Azriel didn't know the correct way to say goodbye. Does he hug you? Offer you a kiss on the cheek? The hand? High-five you? He opted for a light squeeze on your bicep.

"Shout if you need anything".

Y/n nodded and departed behind the bedroom door, leaving Azriel alone in the hallway.

Y/N POV

"Mor. No", y/n said, watching Mor pull a slinky emerald green dress from the rack.

"What?! It says it's maternity!".

Y/n couldn't even grace Mor with a response. The dress, if it could even be called a dress, was just lines of emerald green velvet ribbon which showed off more than it covered. A beautiful dress, but not an everyday maternity dress.

They had been shopping for hours now, Azriel in tow holding the bags, and y/n had begun to get tired. With a beautiful new wardrobe of maternity clothes courtesy of Rhysand's card, it had been a successful shop. They had looked at baby items and started a list of things you would need, but they hadn't picked up anything to buy today. You were looking for the perfect first item to buy your baby and hadn't quite found it.

"I think I need to call it a day, Mor", you say, struggling to pull yourself up off the store sofa. Azriel and Mor rush to your side, each taking an arm and helping you to your feet. You chuckle.

"If I am this bad at only 4 months, wait until I'm 8". Mor laughs, but Azriel looks at you with a fierce expression on his face.

"Then I will carry you".

You gape at him, but Mor only laughs at how serious Azriel's face was.

"Az, she will be fine".

Azriel didn't look the slightest bit convinced. He picked up all the bags and followed you and Mor out of the shop and towards the House of Wind. Mor winnowed up, taking the bags with her, whilst Azriel flew you - careful to mind your stomach. You had noticed his apprehension about your stomach and it made you uneasy. He almost seemed, apprehensive, of it?

Once upstairs, Mor kissed your cheek and winnowed home, leaving you and Azriel. You left the bags in the living room, too tired to deal with them now, and made your way to your bedroom. You had just taken your makeup off and got yourself into bed when you hear a knock at the door.

"Come in".

Azriel walks in, a tray in hand. He places it next to you on the bed, and you are delighted to see it brimming with delicious food and your indigestion tonic. You pat the space next to you on the bed, inviting Azriel to join, and tuck in. You notice him walk over slowly, almost as if giving you an out to change your mind and send him away, before he sighed and climbed carefully on to the bed next to you. He watched as you finished the food he had prepared and took a dose of your tonic, settling back on the pillows.

"How are you feeling?", he asked.

"Tired, I didn't realise how exhausting it was to grow a baby. Everything hurts all the time".

"What is hurting now?" concern lacing his voice. You sigh.

"My legs, my feet, my lower back, my shoulders. Turns out carrying around another small human does a number on you".

Without a word, Azriel pulls the covers down from your body and moves to sit at the end of the bed. Taking your legs and placing them in his lap. He starts to rub them and you let out a contented grunt. You stay like that, in silence, for a while - Azriel taking the time to release the pressure you felt from a day of walking around the shops.

"Az?", you ask quietly. He looks to you and raises a brow.

"Why haven't you touched the bump?".

He stills.

"I- I didn't want to upset you or offend you".

You stare at him. Upset or offend you? It's just as much his child in there as it is yours! Your face softens as you take in his, his eyes longingly looking at the swelling.

"You can, Az".

Azriel moves slowly to sit next to you again. You see his scarred hands shake as he places them on his legs, as if considering how to do this. You know there is a story there, a traumatic one, but you don't want to push Azriel to tell. You see him reach one hand out and gently place it on the centre of your stomach, his eyes glancing to you to make sure you are ok with it. You nod, encouraging him to continue. He reaches out the other and cups your stomach. He stays there a while, looking both content and unsure all at once, before he looks to you and smiles.

"Thank you".

Your heart almost breaks.

"Az, you don't need to thank me. This is your child. You can do this any time you want". He nods, his stoic Spymaster face back on as he returns to the other end of the bed and picks your legs back up.

"Keep this up, Az, and I'm going to fall asleep".

He grins at you - "that's the aim".

You give him a half-lidded smile as you feel your eyes forcing themselves shut and your body sinking into the bed.

Azriel POV

Azriel keeps up his massage until your breathing becomes slow and steady. He looks up to see you sleeping peacefully, your hair fanned out across the pillows. He smiles, and glances down at your bump, still uncovered by the duvet and peeking out of your pyjama top.

He still hadn't wrapped his head around the fact that you were here, pregnant, with his child. He didn't think it would sink in for quite some time.

Slowly, he moves himself up the bed towards you, careful not to wake you, and places his hands gently on the bump. Resting his head on the bed, he turns to face your stomach.

"Hi baby, I'm your dad".

#a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #acotar x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel #acotar fic #acotar azriel

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mirisss · 5 months ago

Text

To Show Up, Is To Care

BND Woonhak x female! reader

Wordcount ≈ 2.2k

Warnings: A little angsty but mostly fluff,

Summary: Woonhak meets a girl named (Y/n), he falls in love instantly with her, but despite his best efforts, she won’t give him a chance, that is until he finds out why she won’t give him a chance. Woonhak gives it one final try to show her that he is serious.

Third Person POV

The scent of freshly ground coffee filled the small café, blending with the hum of conversation and the occasional clatter of dishes. It was late June, the kind of warm, lazy summer that made the world feel just a little bit softer.

(Y/n) preferred her job here. It was predictable, routine, and didn’t require much emotional investment. Customers came and went, she brewed their drinks, took their orders, and wiped down tables. That was it.

But then there was him.

“Good morning, partner!”

She looked up from the espresso machine to find Woonhak grinning at her, apron tied loosely around his waist, hair slightly tousled from the summer breeze. He always came in like this—bright, energetic, a little chaotic. A stark contrast to her own quiet presence.

“I made you something,” he announced, sliding a cup toward her.

She eyed it suspiciously. “I didn’t ask for anything.”

“Yeah, but I’m trying to impress you.”

(Y/n) let out a slow sigh. “You could impress me by actually starting your shift on time.”

Woonhak laughed, unfazed. “You’re cute when you’re annoyed.”

She turned away, pretending to focus on the machine, but her cheeks felt warm.

He had only started working at the café a month ago, but he had already made himself impossible to ignore.

~~~

Over the next few weeks, Woonhak settled into a habit of bothering her.

It started with small things—bringing her coffee she didn’t ask for, sneaking extra whipped cream onto her drinks, playfully bumping into her while they worked.

Then, it escalated.

“(Y/n),” he said one afternoon, leaning dramatically against the counter. “Hypothetically speaking, if I were to ask you out, how fast would you say no?”

She didn’t even look up from restocking the syrup bottles. “Instantly.”

Woonhak clutched his chest like he’d been shot. “Ow.”

“Good,” she said, closing the cabinet door.

“Come on,” he whined. “One date. Just one.”

She turned to face him, arms crossed. “Why are you so persistent?”

“Because I like you,” he said, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And that was the problem.

Because she liked him too.

But liking someone meant expecting something from them. And she had learned, long ago, that expectations led to disappointment.

So she shut him down.

Every time, without fail.

But he never stopped trying.

~~~

One evening, the café was nearly empty, the sun dipping low on the horizon, casting long golden streaks through the windows.

(Y/n) was wiping down the espresso machine when Woonhak plopped onto a stool across from her.

“You’re quieter than usual,” he observed.

She glanced at him but didn’t respond.

He propped his chin on his hand. “You know, if you ever wanna talk about something, I’m a really good listener.”

(Y/n) hesitated.

There was something about the way he said it—soft, unassuming like he wasn’t expecting anything in return.

She didn’t know why she spoke, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.

“When I was a kid,” she started, voice almost too quiet, “my parents used to throw these big birthday parties for me.”

Woonhak perked up. “Yeah?”

She gave him a hollow smile. “They’d invite my entire class. Dozens of kids. They all said they’d come.”

A pause.

“They never did.”

The smile dropped from Woonhak’s face.

She looked down, fiddling with a sugar packet. “I spent every single birthday sitting by the front door, waiting. Until my mom would come and say, ‘Maybe next year.’” She let out a bitter laugh. “But next year never came.”

Woonhak’s hands curled into fists.

She didn’t notice.

“My parents stopped trying after I turned ten,” she continued, voice steady but distant. “I stopped trying too. I don’t invite people anywhere. I don’t celebrate anything. Because people never show up for me. My parents didn’t even come to my graduation,”

A silence stretched between them.

Then—

“I would’ve shown up.”

Her eyes snapped to him.

He was looking at her with something she didn’t recognize—something warm, something certain.

“I would’ve come,” he said again, softer this time.

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

But old habits die hard.

She turned away. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

But Woonhak had already decided—it mattered to him.

~~~

A few days later, Woonhak was on a mission.

Her birthday was coming up, and she didn’t even mention it. If anything, she was avoiding the topic.

So he did what he had to do—he planned something himself.

He roped in their co-workers. He called the few friends she did have. He even got his own friends—Jaehyun, Sungho, Riwoo, Taesan, and Leehan—to help.

“She’s gonna be so mad at you,” Riwoo warned as they hung up decorations in Woonhak’s tiny apartment.

“Yeah, but she’ll get over it,” Woonhak grinned.

And then, when everything was in place, he made the call.

“(Y/n), I need help. It’s urgent.”

“…What? Where are you?”

“My place. Just hurry.”

Minutes later, she arrived, confused and breathless.

She pushed open the door—

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

The room erupted.

Balloons, streamers, a cake—people smiling, laughing, calling her name.

She froze in the doorway.

Her heart stopped.

She felt like a child again.

But this time, she wasn’t alone.

Tears welled in her eyes as she turned to Woonhak, standing in the center of it all.

“I told you,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ll always show up for you. Always. No matter what it is—a date, a celebration, a dentist appointment, or just showing up at home.”

A breath.

“So… will you give me a chance?”

(Y/n) didn’t think.

She ran into his arms, burying her face in his shoulder, clutching him like he might disappear.

Through quiet sobs, she whispered, “Yes, I’ll give you a chance.”

And for the first time in years, she believed someone when they said they’d stay.

Because Woonhak was different.

And maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t alone anymore.

For a moment, everything was still.

(Y/n) was in Woonhak’s arms, her tears soaking into his shirt, her heart pounding louder than the cheers that had erupted around them. She couldn’t believe this was real.

Then—

“WOOOHOOO! FINALLY!”

A chorus of claps and whistles filled the tiny apartment as Woonhak’s friends lost their minds.

“OUR BOY DID IT!” Jaehyun cheered, fist-pumping the air.

“Took him long enough,” Taesan laughed, clapping Woonhak on the back.

“Now this is a reason to celebrate,” Leehan grinned.

(Y/n) pulled away slightly, blinking through her tears as she looked around the room.

They were all smiling at her.

She swallowed hard. She wasn’t used to this. People showing up. People celebrating her.

Woonhak’s hands rested gently on her shoulders. “You okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded, though she wasn’t sure how to process everything.

The past few minutes felt surreal—like a dream she hadn’t let herself have.

She never expected Woonhak to keep trying after she rejected him so many times. She thought he would give up, that eventually, he’d decide she wasn’t worth the effort.

But he didn’t.

He was still here.

And so was everyone else.

She wiped at her eyes and let out a breathy laugh. “I can’t believe you did all this.”

“I told you,” Woonhak grinned, tilting his head. “I always show up.”

Her chest ached—not in the painful way she was used to, but in a way that felt new, like something broken inside her was finally starting to heal.

Jaehyun clapped his hands together. “Alright, enough of the emotional stuff! Let’s PARTY!”

The room exploded into life.

The music was turned up, the lights were dimmed just enough to make everything feel warmer, and (Y/n) found herself actually enjoying a birthday for the first time in years.

Woonhak’s friends were all insanely fun.

Riwoo had somehow convinced half the people in the room to play a chaotic game of charades, where Sungho kept acting out the most ridiculous scenarios that had everyone crying with laughter.

Taesan and Leehan had taken over the tiny kitchen, somehow turning it into a makeshift drink station.

(Y/n) wasn’t used to this.

The warmth. The noise. The joy.

She had spent so many birthdays alone, she had convinced herself that she didn’t need them. That birthdays didn’t matter.

But sitting on Woonhak’s couch, a slice of cake in her hands, surrounded by people who had chosen to be here for her—she realized just how much she had missed this.

Woonhak plopped down beside her, stealing a bite of her cake without warning.

“Hey!” she protested, swatting at him.

“What? You weren’t eating it fast enough,” he teased, licking frosting off his lip.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t bother arguing.

They sat there in comfortable silence for a moment, watching his friends attempt a ridiculous dance-off in the middle of the living room.

Then Woonhak turned to her. “Are you happy?”

(Y/n) looked at him. Really looked at him.

She had spent years convincing herself that people didn’t care. That no one would ever stay.

But Woonhak had stayed.

And as she sat there, surrounded by laughter, warmth, and the boy who refused to give up on her—she realized something.

She was happy.

For the first time in a long, long time.

She smiled softly. “Yeah. I think I am.”

Woonhak beamed, nudging her shoulder. “Good. Because I plan on celebrating your birthday every year from now on.”

(Y/n) let out a small laugh. “That sounds exhausting.”

“Nah,” he shrugged, grinning. “Not when it’s for you.”

And for once, she let herself believe it.

Because this time, someone had finally shown up.

And maybe, just maybe—he always would.

~~~

Two days after the party, (Y/n) stood in front of her mirror, smoothing out the fabric of her dress for the tenth time.

She wasn’t nervous.

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

But as she checked her phone for what had to be the millionth time, she realized how tightly she was gripping it.

WOONHAK 🐰💛:

On my way! (7:45 PM)

Leaving now! (7:46 PM)

Actually already left—just in case traffic is weird. (7:47 PM)

Okay, I’m five minutes away. (7:50 PM)

Wait, now I’m four minutes away. (7:51 PM)

Three minutes! (7:52 PM)

I’m outside!! (7:53 PM)

She let out a small, amused sigh.

Of course he showed up early.

When she stepped outside, he was already waiting, leaning against the railing of her apartment steps, hands in his pockets, bouncing slightly on his feet.

The second he saw her, his face lit up.

“Wow,” he said, eyes wide. “You look… perfect.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, but her cheeks felt warm. “You’re saying that because you like me.”

“Nope,” he grinned. “I’m saying that because it’s true.”

She shook her head but smiled as he held out his hand.

And just like that, they went on their first date—a late-night walk by the river, ice cream in hand, and endless conversations that neither of them wanted to end.

And just like that, Woonhak continued proving to her—day after day—that he wasn’t going anywhere.

It became their thing.

Woonhak always showed up early.

For dates, for movie nights, for grocery trips—everything.

When they had plans, he would text her 100 times beforehand, just to remind her that he was on his way.

It was silly. It was so Woonhak.

And it made her heart ache in the best way possible.

Because she had spent years convincing herself that people didn’t care. That no one would ever show up for her.

But Woonhak did.

Every single time.

And she loved him for it.

~~~

A year later, (Y/n) still couldn’t believe how full their tiny apartment was.

Friends filled every corner, laughter and warmth spread through the room, and decorations hung from the walls.

Woonhak had done it again—another birthday, another celebration, another reminder that she wasn’t alone.

As the night wound down and their friends slowly trickled out, (Y/n) stood by the door, watching them leave with a soft smile.

She turned to find Woonhak standing in the kitchen, stacking empty plates, humming to himself.

Without thinking, she walked over, giving him a back hug. They stayed there for a minute before Woonhak turned around to face his girlfriend.

He turned, eyes flickering with curiosity. “What’s up?”

(Y/n) didn’t answer.

Instead, she leaned in, kissing him softly.

Woonhak froze for half a second before melting into it, his hands instinctively resting on her waist.

When she pulled away, he blinked at her, dazed.

She smiled, heart full.

“I love you,” she whispered. “Thank you for always being there for me.”

Woonhak’s lips curled into a grin—the kind that made her stomach flutter, the kind that felt like home.

“I love you too,” he whispered back, pulling her into his arms.

And for the first time in her life, (Y/n) knew—

She would never have to doubt that again.

Because Woonhak would always show up.

And that was all she ever needed.

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