#the man has impeccable timing what can i say? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rockingbytheseaside · 1 month ago

Note

Hii!! I love your writing sm like you’re literally my go to blog when I get bored and I end up rereading your fics 😋. Not sure if you have rules or anything so idk what I can and can’t request (IF YOU DO AND THIS ISN’T IN LINE WITH IT I’M SO SORRY.. 😭).

Could I request the harbingers crushing on reader? Like I can imagine them being slightly more lenient with reader which confuses most of the soldiers. Again feel free to ignore this 💗‼️‼️

(giggling and kicking my feet rn, this is the type of partially-satirical fluff I headcanon. Hope you like it)

✦ When they secretly have a crush on you

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe

✧ The ever-cold and impeccable Pierro – a mystery that even his associates and top harbingers cannot decipher. Not many can be considered as his close confidants, so none is certain of his personal life and preferences. A cold, stern man like The Jester probably doesn’t waste a glance on frivolous affairs or pleasantries. Even if many high-status people tried to approach him - aristocrats, business partners, or noble ladies; his cold gaze shuts off any initiation for close relations. No, he sees their greed for power too clearly to be swayed.

Yet Pierro harbors a deep secret. He does fancy a type… and that type is you.

It’s not simply your physical attributes or style, his ‘type’ is literally everything you embody. The shape of your jawline when you lower your face, the delicate shadow your eyelashes cast on your cheeks, how your chest moves when you take a deep sigh. From the minor and inconsequential attributes, he memorized it to his heart until the only thing his gaze is seeking is you across the room. He was always silently enamored, his eyes watching you with reverence. However, he is a mastermind, first and foremost. Concealing his inner sonnets for his love for you came naturally just as he conceals half of his face with a Khaenri’ahn mask.

You, on the other hand, were oblivious. Nervous, even. Facing off the most powerful man, cursed with immortality just as you all those centuries felt intimidating, especially when you couldn’t grasp why his gaze kept lingering so melancholically.

“It is… good to see you again, Pierro,” – that was your initial words when the two of you spoke formally. In truth, your mind was filled with wistful thoughts: he probably settled down with someone after 500 years of immortality.

In the meantime, Pierro’s mind was at comical odds with his cold exterior as he thought: Hmmm… Yes, I’ve already decided on the name of our potential third child.

But of course, he didn’t say that, even if he looked slightly mesmerized. Instead, he just settled with a polite: “A pleasure, indeed”. It's only a matter of time before he accidentally slips and calls you his spouse in front of people.

✧ Il Capitano was avoiding you like the plague, and you couldn't fathom why. Whenever you crossed paths, his oppressive silence would intimidate you further. He would linger behind you, a looming presence so quiet that at times, you’d forget he was even there. Alas, when you finally muster up the courage to approach him directly, he'd respond with the briefest of words, avoiding any attempts of chatter.

It infuriated you. So much so that you started wondering if perhaps you did something wrong. He sparred with you countless times, the taste of a battlefield is nothing foreign when he trained alongside you. You felt like a stranger. Why he was so eerily silent was beyond your comprehension, and alas, his pitch-black expression did not portray any facial clues on what he was thinking.

The truth of the matter is that Capitano has mastered the art of keeping his head impassively still. With a helmet on his face and lack of visage, no one sees his gaze ogling your form whenever you train. Your movements mesmerize him during battles, your legs swift and your stance is powerful. Of course, he would be silent when he is staring directly at your beauty in action. You rendered him speechless, and now the Harbinger is diverting himself by discreetly peeking at you. Thank the archons for his helmet hiding his gaze.

But the Captain scolds himself. No, he mustn’t! It is improper of him to even lay his eyes upon a being so diligent and strong as you, he must respect-… Nope, his head is automatically turning towards you anyway. Lost in his silent battle of self-reprimand, he didn’t notice you suddenly approaching:

“Captain, we need to talk. What is the reason for your cold shoulder towards me? If I have done something improper you must tell me… You always avoid me, even when we’re supposed to cooperate.”

The same characteristic silence followed him, however, seeing you cornering him so sternly, even the Harbinger had to drop his resolve.

“...You must forgive me. Your beauty had overwhelmed me to such an extent that I felt ashamed to admit how you rendered me speechless to approach you.”

✧ A long time ago, before Il Dottore bore the title of a Harbinger, there was a young boy named Zandik. This little Zandik was trainee Dastur, a prodigy of his field and academic year. But he wasn't the only top student of the Akademiya, in fact, this young man was standing in the shadow of a brilliant senior student whom he always looked up to with innocent wonder – you.

You weren't aware of the younger student with short turquoise hair trailing you. He, however, was aware of you because your portrait often graced the accomplishments of the establishment, thesis research, and any academic honors of the top young researchers. Since you were a senior, Zandik couldn’t share lectures with you, yet it didn’t stall him. Every thesis bearing your name, he read; every book you borrowed from the House of Daena, he memorized meticulously. His revenant studies of everything you did mesmerized his young mind, leading him to linger behind the lecture hall doors, drawn to where you so often spent your time.

It was a harmless habit, the boy believed; surely you never noticed him?

One day, Zandik spotted you chatting with your peers in the hallway. Unfortunately for you, you inadvertently left behind your precious notebook, forgotten in the rush to your next class. The young man didn't have it in himself to run after you and directly return it. Instead, it was his chance to study your secrets. His hands hesitated only briefly before he grasped the notebook, feeling the weight of the handwriting he so admired.

When he first opened the notebook, the first page read in massive writing: “I KNOW YOU'RE STEALING MY NOTES – THIEF.”

That was approximately 400 years ago. So much so that the memories of your student self were long forgotten in your mind. When you later on met the 2nd of the Fatui Harbinger, you expected the Fatuus to coerce you for cooperation. To demand you to leverage your expertise in Khaenri'ahn technology, or perhaps blackmail you into his maddening cause. But none of that transpired.

The grown man, now known as Il Dottore, stood blankly in front of you, eerily placid. His once youthful awe had matured into something far more inscrutable, like a long-buried sincerity breaking through his Doctor’s mask. Without a word, he extended a hand, offering you an old, tattered notebook. It was that same old notebook from your Akademiya days.

“... Huh? Where did you get this?”

“Perhaps a young boy was too excited to pilfer what wasn't his. I apologize for borrowing it. That boy never wanted his idol to think of him as a thief. If it wasn't so arduous to seek you out all those centuries, I would've returned it to you earlier.”

✧ With his face perched on his knuckles, Scaramouche sat down listening to your ramblings. You would think a Harbinger with his temper, would long since exhausted his patience, waving you off to scram from his presence. Yet the moment you start talking, he is obediently listening, like a devoted man waiting for his blessing from the Grand Narukami Shrine

“But I never saw you enjoy any snacks or drinks while you’re out,” – you mused with excitement, launching on a tangent about this mysterious Inazuman beside you. “Oh! How about this, I’ll start guessing your favorite pastime food or beverage and you tell me if I am right or wrong.”

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow, but crossed his arms indifferently - “A futile endeavor but suit yourself anyway.”

Undeterred, you accepted the challenge. You listed each and every single delicacy in Teyvat that you could recall, from Inazuman mochi, dango, and sake to even Mondstadt’s Cold Cut Platter and wine. The Balladeer only scoffed, amused at your silly attempts to deduce him, as if he was some mystery you should decipher.

“Ugh, Okay! My last attempt. Is it… green tea?!”

Scaramouche went silent at the sight of your anticipation - “Hm,”

“No way… did I guess correctly, at last! Are you a herbal tea enthusiast? Oh, I knew it, I knew it!”

You exclaimed with unattained joy, leaving the Balladeer to silently observe your self-proclaimed victory. The truth of the matter is - that wasn't the correct answer. Scaramouche doesn't care for any teas or snacks, not when his artificial palettes found human indulgences to be redundant. Yet, looking at your jubilant face, glowing with delight as if you’d uncovered some profound world secrets, he couldn’t bring himself to confess. How foolish.

“Hah, fine, you got me. You must be thrilled to guess something so mundane.”

“Well, maybe mundane to you, but I was pretty curious what a living puppet would prefer to drink.”

Your sudden words caused Scaramouche to freeze. He never told you he was a puppet by nature, and most people would never guess what he is. Yet here you were, stating it so simply and obviously. Most ridiculously, you didn’t seem crestfallen by the weight of this truth. “You knew…? I'm not sure if I should compliment your keen observation, or if this is another one of your random guesses. What gave it away?”

“I thought it was obvious.” - you eased a sincere smile, your hand reaching to carefully brush a stray hair on his head. “No regular human would have such a perfectly pristine face like yours. Even if they had the most luxurious face-care routine.”

If puppets had blood flow, there would've been a pink hue dusting his cheeks. It seems he was the fool here after all. Ever since that day, he has found the taste of green tea to be rather soothing.

✧ A popular misconception about Pantalone is that he allowed you to walk into his life and pursue him so easily. Trully wrong. In reality, it was this Harbinger who had been pursuing and courting you from the very beginning - like a lovestruck fool, no less.

At first, Pantalone tried to be the charmer. He’d offer you heavy bags of Mora as if it was pocket change and say in his best alluring voice - “Go spoil yourself with something new, dear. I want you to look your best on our next date.”

The issue was you were dense like a rock. Because you blinked at the mora and said simply: “Why? I already have comfortable clothes, I don’t need any right now.”

He wanted to slap himself. Any attempts at spoiling you with riches or gifts were futile, especially when you humbly rejected his monetary help out of casual practicality. You always stated that others in need would require it more. Very well, he won’t sulk just yet. He decided on his next act of refinement. He’d invite you with him to any luxurious events: galas, opera performances, dinner parties; all carefully orchestrated to impress you, showcasing how he can provide you with any wonder from the world, linking his arm elegantly with yours to flaunt how you’re accompanying the 9th of Fatui Harbingers himself.

That didn’t work as well. Whenever a business meeting occurred with vital connections, your gaze bore no interest in the wealth of the higher class, nor did you beat around the bush to dismiss yourself. Instead of marveling at the company of riches and endless champagne flutes, he’d instead find you marveling at the ducks swimming in the pond of a garden – “Look, duckies!”

Pantalone was in visible distress. All this gold that people die for yet you so naively dismissed him. Was he unworthy of your simple love? Was he too pompous for you and forgot his own origins? His self-doubt gnawed at him at night, so much so that his own subordinate would see him pacing in his office with a tremor of restlessness, thinking how he should open this topic with one he so openly treasures.

“My dear, please tell me what your heart seeks,” – he once opened the discussion with you, his hand clasping yours in an act of pleading. “I do not wish you to be uncomfortable with my actions. Just say the word and I will bring you what you want.”

Once more, you blinked at him in that same sweet innocence, but instead, you spoke with a smile: “Oh, you silly, silly man Pantalone. I never wanted your mora or status. I do not wish to be indebted to you, no. I just wish you to be as you are. If you want to take me to a restaurant, take me there, not because it’s a fancy establishment, but because it has your favorite food. Plain and simple.”

The young Harbinger didn’t know it was possible to fall in love even more. It seems he mistook your humble sincerity with naivety, never once pondering that perhaps you didn’t want a partner for the sake of connection or money. That being his true self was something he could even offer you.

In the upcoming days, Pantalone’s subordinate could clearly see was smitten beyond logic or reason. Like a grinning child, resting his chin on his palm when sitting behind a desk, feet almost kicking with excitement. He really was enamored with you from the start.

✧ If there is one thing Tartaglia’s heart relishes, it’s the rush of a challenge. And you, as a whole, challenged this young man on a daily basis. His bubbling persona and eccentricity to rush into action was an antithesis to your blunt calmness and reason. If he is the one launching into battle, you are the one who is yanking him by the collar while maintaining that unimpressed look.

Thus, as a challenge, Childe took it upon himself to make you break that serene attitude from you. At least once, and his heart will soar with victory. Unbeknownst to him, everything he did fumbled.

He started with cheesy attempts to flirt with you, flipping his ginger hair back while leaning on the wall with a captivating smile to make sure your eyes were on his form alone. It might have made you swoon, if he hadn’t miscalculated and leaned against the door instead, stumbling awkwardly when it swung open.

Another attempt was made when he tried to play the savior. The two of you were strolling when a Hydro Hilichurl Rogue stumbled upon your path in the wild, its makeshift scythe warning you two to get away. For the Harbinger, this was an easy opportunity to dispel such a puny target and save you. Except the Hilichurl Rogue kept throwing hydro slimes, which his vision of the same element was useless against. You managed to drag Tartaglia (almost) unscathed.

Everything was going against Tartaglia’s luck and he felt like an utter failure in front of you. He’s the 11th, for crying out loud, he always fairs well when something challenges him. Yet here he is, getting bandaged by you after fumbling countless times in your presence. Your first impression of him must be beyond salvageable at this point.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought you’re a problematic teen who gets into trouble all the time. Because you sure act like it,” – you stated to him simply. Securing his cuts and bruises on his shoulder.

“If I confess that such accidents rarely happen, would that change your opinion of me, or is it too late to start from zero? Ouch-” he winced when you tightened the bandages, his bruises not alleviating the sensation. The culpability of it all made him sulk, realizing he was probably putting you into trouble with all his shenanigans. “I’d die for you, you know.”

“That is the dumbest thing I've heard.”

Your words were concrete, his gaze averted with guilt and sorrow. But you continued quaintly.

“Why would anyone say something so senseless? I don’t want you to ‘die’ for me or anyone, even. What about ‘keep living’ for someone? For me… for your family, for yourself. Anyone can blindly plunge themselves to their death, but it takes actual courage and strength to keep living for those you care about. So please, do that for me instead of getting into trouble.”

The once serious expression on Tartaglia's softened with each word you spoke. Now he realizes that perhaps you putting up with his impulsivity stemmed not from frustration, but out of sincere worry. Maybe in his attempt to charm you, you were the one charming him all along. Especially when you sit so close to tend to him, it would feel so natural to wrap his arm around and embrace you.

“You’re right… I suppose it is reckless. Living for yourself seems truly priceless if it means seeing you beside me for another day.”

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iamred-iamyellow · 3 months ago

Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Strawberry Shortcake

♥ masterlist | request rules

♥ pairing: oscar piastri x fem!baker!reader

♥ synopsis: your mother owned a bakery in australia and oscar, your childhood best friend was your favorite regular until he had to move away for his racing career. you've since become head chef and people are beginning to wonder where or who oscar got his impeccable baking skills from.

♥ smau + written - fc: women on pinterest - as always none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing and suggestive jokes !!!

♥ a/n: literal tooth rotting fluff

-Australia, 2024-

liked by user26, user7, user14, and 18,302 more

y/n.pastries getting ready for spring with some new cupcakes <3

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user14 looks yummy 😋

yoursister do I get a family discount?

yourusername no 🥰

user7 face card is insane

user21 looks good! i’ll stop by and pick up some things soon 😊

user25 you’re gorgeous

user23 your cupcakes never miss

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Webs Most Searched Questions-

"Is Lando Norris..." he peeled off the thin white strip. "Related to Chuck Norris?"

"Yes," Lando jokingly admitted, gazing straight into the camera as Oscar tossed the card aside.

The team walked up to the two men and handed Lando another card of questions to ask his teammate.

"Does Oscar Piastri... really like pastries? I dunno, do you Oscar?"

"I do like pastries," Oscar nodded. "I like making them more, though."

"You know how to bake?" Lando questioned.

"An old friend taught me." he admitted.

"You’ll have to bring some treats in for the team one day, then."

"Maybe one day I will. Cupcakes are my specialty."

"Oh are they?" Lando raised a brow. "I'm gonna need some proof of that."

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by landonorris, mclarenracingf1, logansargeant, and 1,482,053 more

oscarpiastri made some cupcakes for the team like i promised

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user2 oh he cooked 😮‍💨

user1 the piping >>>

user3 i’m not surprised that he’s good at piping

user7 he can pipe me any day

user10 OSCAR CAN THROW DOWN

user6 no bc why do those look so good

landonorris i expect you to bring these every day now

user4 now whom exactly did he learn this from

user8 flavor?

oscarpiastri vanilla cupcake with buttercream, some with a lemon custard filling and some without for varied pallets

user9 get this man on a baking show asap

user11 and then Oscar opened a cupcake shop and him and Charles did a Collab birthday cake ice cream

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Your Bakery, March 12-

The golden bell on your bakery’s door chimed late in the afternoon as you swept, getting ready for closing.

Your back was facing the entrance as you spoke up, “Perfect timing. I was just about to lock the door. What can I get for ya?”

“A strawberry shortcake.”

You spun around, recognizing the man’s voice instantly.

It was Oscar.

You hadn’t seen him in about a decade, but you still occasionally took time to follow his racing. You were hoping that one day he’d find his way back to you.

“Hi,” you greeted him with a warm smile.

“Hi.”

“It’s been a while.”

“It has,” he responded, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You reached down to grab the small cake from the cold display case, “You know, your mum reached out to me.”

“She did? What’d she say?”

“Just how she wants us to reconnect and all. She visits me pretty often.”

Oscar hummed, as you set the cake on the counter.

“…To-go?” you asked.

He shook his head no, “Would you like to sit down with me?”

You nodded, plating the treat and walking out from behind the check out. You locked the door and he grabbed two small pink forks, handing one to you as you took a seat across from him.

“My mum, she would uhm…” he stabbed the utensil into the cake. “At every race she got to see in person she’d bring me a pastry from here. She’d make sure to tell me it was made by you and how your business was doing and all. I always performed better when she brought me them, too. It was always nice to know a piece of you was with me everywhere I went.“

You practically melted at the confession.

“That’s really sweet,” you dragged the tongs of your fork through some of the icing.

“I see that you’ve made a name for yourself in the Formula 1 baking community.” you both laughed.

“I had a great teacher.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, both taking bites from the cake.

“I’m sorry i didn’t visit sooner,” Oscar apologized.

“I’m just glad you’re here now.”

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and 23,847 more

y/n.pastries race weekend

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oscarpiastri ferrari cookies really?

y/n.pastries i’m making mclaren ones too relax

charles_leclerc @/oscarpiastri is that any way to treat your father’s team?

user4 spectacular give me 14 more of em right now

user6 take my money 💳

landonorris so THIS is who taught @/oscarpiastri how to cook 🔥

y/n.pastries perhaps

user3 guys she’s so pretty

user1 @/nicolepiastri what’s the lore here

user8 obsesseddd

user10 hear me out she should sell these at the melbourne circuit

user7 this !!!

liked by oscarpiastri, arthur_leclerc, landonorris, and 100,583 more

nicolepiastri it was about time you two reconnected

tagged; @/oscarpiastri @/y/n.pastries

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oscarpiastri mummm

y/n.pastries 😅

landonorris what's up with that second picture

oscarpiastri no comment

user7 the amount of times i've seen f1 drivers dressed as nintendo characters is uncanny

user4 paul aaron and dino core

user1 AWWWW

user8 this is so cute

logansargeant @/oscarpiastri how come i’ve never heard of this? don't tell me you fumbled this bad

oscarpiastri 😐

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Australian Grand Prix-

At your bakery Oscar insisted that you attend this year’s Australian Grand Prix. You finally got the privilege of meeting so many amazing people such as Leo the famous paddock puppy and none other than Oscar’s best friend, Logan.

You stood in the Mclaren garage with Oscar’s parents as the team prepped for the race. You brought some cookies for Lando to which he complained that he wouldn’t be able to eat them until after the podium ceremony.

The two made their way back to you a few hours later, Lando in p3 and Oscar in p4. Lando snatched the tin of cookies from your hands.

“You know you’re supposed to share that?” you said as he took a seat, devouring the treats, but he just waved you off.

You gave Oscar a hug and he pulled you off to the side.

“So I was thinking… maybe I could take you on a proper date tomorrow?

You smiled, “That sounds great.”

liked by landonorris, logansargeant, georgerussell63, and 1,394,623 more

oscarpiastri morning

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user1 you don’t have to soft launch we all know you’re with y/n

user2 there’s only one person who can make those croissants and it’s y/n

user5 the third picture 😨

user3 she’s so lucky 😭

user4 @/yourusername how does it feel to live MY dream?

georgerussell63 @/alex_albon who takes all the shirtless pictures now

alexalbon still you mate

-F1 Winter Break-

liked by pierregasly, oscarpiastri, f1, and 1,492,053 more

y/n.pastries I am very pleased to announce three new limited additions to the bakery’s menu! Carlos Sainz’ pancakes, Yuki Tsunoda’s Fruit Sando, and the LEC Vanillove ice cream sandwich.

The fans have been dying to try my boyfriend Oscar’s (basic) vanilla buttercream cupcakes, so I’ll be keeping them as a year round pastry.

It has been an honor to work with the four of you <3

tagged; @/carlossainz55 @/yukitsunoda0511 @/charles_leclefc @/oscarpiastri

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oscarpiastri im so proud of you ❤️

y/n.pastries i love you osc

oscarpiastri i love you too

oscarpiastri also my signature cupcake is not “basic”

y/n.pastries whatever you say 😉

user1 guys yuki is slowly starting to accomplish his restaurant dreams

pierregasly no creds?

y/n.pastries for?

pierregasly helping yuki

y/n.pastries yea… no

pierregasly helping charles?

y/n.pastries 😐

user2 yukierre and piarles are so back

user7 the childhood friends to lovers is melting my heart 😩

user8 theyre so adorable it makes me physically ill

user3 i’m pretty sure nicole is jumping up and down right now

oscarpiastri oh don’t worry she is

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sanguineterrain · 4 months ago

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Hello sanne! I have a request, if it inspires you: what about reader who's been hurt and has amnesia when they wake up. And Jason is there and reader gets all flustered because pretty boy alert!! Pretty boy is speaking gently to them!! And in actuality Jason and reader are together. I hope that made sense 😭 love your writing so so much!!

this is such a sweet request!

jason todd x gn!reader. tw medical setting, reader is on pain meds and has been in an accident, major major fluff, established relationship.

****

The first thing you notice is that your mouth tastes... not good.

You try to swallow and clear out the taste. All that happens is a useless smack of your tongue. Your throat is too dry for any swallowing to happen.

"...been out for about twelve hours. Yeah, I've been here the whole time."

You're pretty sure that you know that voice. You're drawing a blank on that voice's name, but you swear you know the voice.

"They're awake. Yeah, bye."

It's deep and warm and soft and yes. You definitely know the voice.

Okay. Opening your eyes.

You do so with substantial effort. Your vision is bleary. All you can make out are blobs of gray. You've got a lot of eye boogies in your eyes. You can feel them.

But you're not really sure about where your hands are at this moment in time, so the eye boogies will have to camp out for a little longer.

"Hey." The bed shifts. That warm voice gets closer. "Hey, hey. Y'thirsty?"

A straw taps your lips. You clumsily take it and drink until it gurgles and there's no more water.

"Yeah, I'll bet you're thirsty. Want more?"

You shake your head. A cool, rough hand pets your forehead. Oh, that's nice. That's very nice. The bedside manner in this hospital is impeccable. A little forward, but you don't mind. The voice and his hand are both very polite.

Time to try to actually see some shit. You hone in on your vision, putting every iota of brainpower into processing what your eyes are telling your brain.

A figure. A man. Huzzah!

Oh. Oh, wow. A very beautiful man. A big, hulking, beautiful man.

He's young, boyishly handsome. His eyes are bright. A scar is etched from the top of his right temple to his lip. There's a white streak in his dark hair. Is that a trend now? You can't remember.

"Where 'm I?" you ask.

"You're in the Batcave. How much do you remember, honey?" the gorgeous, beautiful, dreamboat nurse asks.

Well, you remember being in a car, and then being ejected from that car, and then hot, blinding pain, and then... waking up.

"Car accident?" you manage.

Pretty Nurse nods. Is he a nurse? He looks more like a biker, with his leather jacket and empty holsters. He looks like he could pin you down with one arm and—

Whoa. Chill.

"Yeah, kinda. There was an explosion. You hit your head pretty hard." He strokes the back of your head, frowning. "How do you feel?"

You feel like your head has an anvil tied to it. But it's okay, because look at this biker-nurse! Wowza!

He takes your hand (you have hands! Huzzah!) and strokes your knuckles with his thumb, which is fine, actually, because he has really nice eyes. You want to tell him.

"You h've nice eyes," you say.

Pretty Nurse blinks, looking startled. His cheeks go a little pink. "Oh. Um, thanks, baby. Y'sweet."

Baby? Do you really have that much rizz as a medical patient? You can't imagine how irresistible you must be when you haven't been in an explosion.

But then everything shatters when you look down and see a silver band on his hand. What the shit! He's married? Or engaged, at least. Son of a biscuit.

And he's flirting with you? What a pig!

You snatch your hand back, suddenly sour. Pretty Nurse raises his eyebrows.

"What's a'matter?"

"You have a ring," you say, voice dripping in contempt.

"I—" He looks down. "Uh, well, yeah. I do."

Devastating. "If you're taken, you shouldn't be flirting with me, jerk."

He squints. "Wh—oh. Oh. Huh."

Pretty Biker Nurse looks like you've just said something funny. You don't see what's so funny about infidelity. May God strike him down!

He smiles coyly. "D'you know who I am, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you say, glowering. "Y'just a no-good philanderer who should be ashamed of hi'self. Don't care how handsome you are; I won't enter your web of lies!"

He laughs, bright and sweet. Damn him! You need a different nurse. This one is the epitome of temptation.

"Oh, baby. Oh, you're too cute. Can I take your hand?"

"Not if you're gonna flirt more," you say, lifting your chin. "Dirtbag."

"Your moral code is incredible, honey. Good to know I'll never have anything to worry about, though I never doubted you. Can I show you something, though?"

He lifts your hand and on your finger is a gold band. More delicately shaped than his ring, but similar.

"Oh my God," you say, panic growing. "I'm cheating on my husband."

He laughs louder this time. "Your fiancé, actually. Wedding isn't till August. And no, honeylove. You're not cheatin', 'cause I'm right here."

He leans in and kisses your forehead. Your hackles raise for a moment until... wait...

"You're my fiancé?" you ask, eyes huge.

He smiles shyly. "In the flesh. Y'remember my name?"

You feel like it's a J name. "J..."

"Jason," he says gently. "Yeah, wow. They got you on some pretty strong meds, huh? Leslie said you should start to remember more stuff in a day."

Jason. Pretty Biker Nurse Jason. Holy moly. He's engaged to you? About to marry you?

"You are so pretty," you blurt.

That makes Jason more shy. He smiles like he's done something he's not supposed to do. "Not as pretty as you, honey pie."

"No, you're... I mean, wow. Sorry I called you a jerk. How did I get with you? That's crazy. You're fine as hell."

Jason snorts, wide shoulders shaking. His cheeks are red. "Jesus, you're shameless."

Well, yeah. You're still not sure this isn't a dream. You have to let your fiancé know exactly what you think about him.

You prepare to tell him something smooth and romantic. Something about how kissable he looks.

"Y'look like a sexy biker."

Hm. Not exactly what you had in mind. Your brain feels like a blue raspberry slushie.

Jason grins. "Oh, yeah? That why you been starin' at me? Didn't know you had a thing for bikers. You're terrified of going on my motorcycle."

How does he know that? It's true; you like bikers from afar but you're not about to get on a death machine, thanks.

"You can rev my engine," you say, head slumping against the pillow.

"Oh my God," Jason says, clearly delighted. "Don't think I've ever seen this reaction to pain meds."

"Can't believe we're engaged," you say again. "How'd we even meet?"

"Well, I'm a vigilante of sorts, and the first time we met was after I saved you from a mugging. And then we kinda just... kept running into each other. You bought me coffee without realizing who I was. And we, uh, fell in love. As people do."

"You proposed to me in Spain," you say suddenly, the memory rushing back. "You... you wanted to prove you wouldn't put work above us."

Jason nods, lacing your and his fingers together. "Yeah, that's right. Three weeks in Spain." He pulls out his phone and shows you the lockscreen. It's of you two. Jason has sunglasses on. You're smiling. You can't remember ever smiling like that before.

Tears suddenly spring to your eyes, emotion smacking into you like an eighteen-wheeler. Jason leans in, concerned.

"Baby? Hey, what's wrong? Something hurts?" he asks, inspecting your head.

Your mouth quivers. "You... you love me so much."

Jason stops, tilting his head. "I... uh, yeah. 'Course I do. You're the person I love the most in the world."

That makes you cry, tears running down your cheeks. Jason's eyes widen in alarm.

"Sweetheart? What's—hey, it's okay. Why're y'crying, huh?"

He brushes your tears away with his thumbs, cradling your face. You sniffle.

"I'm s-sorry I called you a dirtbag," you blubber. "Y'not a dirtbag. You love me so much."

"Oh-ho, oh, honey. Baby, you've been unconscious for twelve hours. You're under heavy medication. I know you didn't recognize me, it's okay. Trust me, I've been called far worse," Jason says tenderly.

Dear God, you're a beast. What kind of person doesn't recognize their own fiancé?! You cry harder.

"I should've remembered you! I'm a bad fiancé," you wail.

"Aw, sweetheart. No, no, it's okay. C'mere."

Jason scoots you over slightly and pulls you into his arms. You cry into his shoulder, slobbering all over his sexy biker jacket. He rubs circles on your back.

"You're really cute and nice and I'm glad y'marrying me," you say, muffled in his shoulder.

Jason hums, the sound vibrating through you. "I'm really happy to be marrying you, sweetheart. You rock my world."

You sniff. "Really?"

"Mmhm." Jason kisses the side of your neck. "How 'bout you sleep a little more, hm? I bet you're exhausted."

Now that he mentions it, you do feel pretty worn-out. Especially after crying. And almost getting blown up.

"Will you be here when I wake up?"

"Absolutely, honey. I swear."

Jason eases you onto your back. Your eyes are beginning to feel heavy.

"Sleep, beautiful. I'm right here."

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #red hood imagine #jason todd imagine #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fanfiction #dc fanfiction #batman fanfiction #inbox #blurb

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ja3yun · 4 months ago

Text

Guilty as Sin | P.SH

ceo!sunghoon x assistant!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, desk sex, doggy, dom!hoon, choking, petnames (slut, good girl), slight dub con (hoon doesn't know what she's doing on the phone), age gap (reader is 22 and hoon is 27), not proof read, its not great tbh, anything else lmk! w.c: 3.8k synopsis: with your roommate gone for the evening, it is the perfect opportunity to let loose and think about a certain ceo while you fulfil your deepest desires. a/n: hi! this is ofc based on guilty as sin by taylor swift. just a heads up, the italics are her fantasy and straight text is what is happening in the real world. i tried to make it as clear as possible but sorry if its confusing near the end! this is just a little someting I wrote quickly (who would have guessed I could write a wc under 10k lmao). i hope you like it and as always feedback, comments, reblogs and likes are all appreciated.

part 2

Placing her trusted Charlotte Tilbury lipstick in her bag, your best friend and roommate of three years, Jimin, is finally ready to go out for the night. She looks glamorous from head to toe, effortlessly exuding the confidence and allure of a world-class supermodel.

Her hair cascades in loose waves, artfully swept over one shoulder, highlighting her elegant neck and perfectly styled tresses. Her tanned skin glows under the soft lighting, accentuating the contrast with her white spaghetti strap crop top, which subtly showcases her toned midriff. Her black suede shorts hug her figure, adding a touch of sophistication and edge to her ensemble. Strappy heels elongate her legs, making her look even more statuesque.

As Jimin adjusts her earrings, you can't help but admire her impeccable sense of style and grace. Her makeup is flawlessly applied, with a hint of shimmer on her eyelids and a bold, dark red lip that makes her look like she’s stepped straight out of a DAZED magazine.

In stark contrast, you are nestled comfortably on the couch in your cherry pink pyjamas, lost in the pages of "King of Pride." The soft fabric of your pyjamas provides a comforting embrace, and your hair is casually pulled back in a loose ponytail. Your face is free of makeup, showcasing your natural beauty and the relaxed ease of someone enjoying a quiet evening, just you, a glass of wine, and the much-needed company of Kai Young.

“Okay, how do I look?” Jimin turns to you, plastering on a big smile, extending her arms so you can get a full glimpse of her carefully orchestrated outfit.

Holding your place in your book with your thumb, you pretend to inspect her harshly, knowing anything less would be deemed as not caring - at least in the eyes of your best friend. “I think…you look like the prettiest girl in the room, no, the world” you compliment her earnestly.

Tutting, she rolls her eyes. “You and Jaeyun say the same thing every time,” she giggles, enjoying the compliment despite it being a secret mantra you and her boyfriend have conjured up to keep her happy. Jimin has a certain way she likes to be spoken to and if it isn’t the most dramatic, complimentary words you can muster, you might as well call her an ugly hag who cracks mirrors.

Jaeyun and you have always rated her an unequivocal one hundred out of ten.

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to come?” Jimin asks for the fifth time in three hours. “Heeseung will be there, you know he has a bit of a crush on you.” She wiggles her eyebrows playfully, clearly enjoying how your face flushes at mentioning his name. Heeseung is handsome, no doubt about it, but he isn’t the man you would rush out the door for.

“I promise, I am quite happy here with my rich soon-to-be CEO and a glass of Pino,” you wave her off and open your book again, digging back into the chapter she pulled you from.To be honest, it’s not entirely a fib; you do want to stay in and enjoy a glass of wine, though your plans are slightly more elaborate than they seem—details she doesn’t need to know about.

“Well, don’t wait up. I’m planning to stay at Jaeyun’s afterwards,” she announces with a gleeful smile. Her infectious joy and the glimmer in her eyes catch the warm light from the lamp beside you, casting a gentle glow over the room.

As she gives a final twirl and heads out the door, leaving the apartment with a high-pitched goodbye, you wait to hear the faint turn of her key in the lock. Once you detect that reassuring click, signalling her definitive departure, you wedge your bookmark in the novel and place it on the side table, promising yourself that you will return to it later; you have another CEO to attend to.

Grasping your glass of crisp wine and your phone, you make your way to your bedroom. The room is softly lit, with fairy lights casting a warm, ambient glow. You place your wine on the nightstand, sitting softly on your bed as you unlock your phone.

A sigh leaves your wine-tainted lips as you open up Instagram, going straight to a certain someone’s page. The same person that has left you so needy all day that you have been counting down the minutes and seconds until you get some alone time.

Park Sunghoon.

Your boss, Park Sunghoon, who gave you a job as his assistant straight out of Grad school after attending one of his special lectures, the one who has shown you the ropes of the Marketing world and introduced you to important contacts to help you in the future, and the one who makes it insanely difficult to concentrate in any board or business meeting because of how insanely attractive he is.

Sunghoon is a gift from the gods: tall, wealthy, extraordinarily handsome, and incredibly hard to resist. He is admirable and focused, commanding a room in a way you wish he would with you, hoping that the passion and energy he has for the business could somehow translate into a more intimate setting, with you on the receiving end. He has worked tirelessly to build his company from rags to riches, becoming the youngest, highest-grossing CEO in the country, making every Forbes 30 Under 30 list there is. You are immensely grateful for the opportunity to work as his assistant.

That is why what you are about to do feels like a betrayal. Your heart tells you this is wrong, embarking on sinful acts such as this, but it also convinces you that thoughts inside your mind aren’t anything to feel ashamed about, as long as you look and never touch.

And so far, you haven’t ever laid a finger on him, much to your disdain. There have been times when all you can think about is pouncing on him while he sits at his desk, imagining bouncing on his cock until you’re high off his cum and kisses. You envision his white shirts and black ties discarded, your lips all over his toned chest and stomach, hearing him moan your name as you make your way to suck his cock better than any of his socialite flings ever could.

If the assistant and CEO dynamic wasn’t enough to deter you from making your fantasies a reality, the class barrier would be your first hurdle. Sunghoon comes from a world of privilege and status, a realm of luxury and power. Despite your impressive academic achievements and the progress you’ve made in your career, there’s always an underlying awareness of the different worlds you inhabit. You’re 22 and an assistant just starting to work your way up and Sunghoon is a 27-year-old CEO of a multi-million dollar franchise.

You are nowhere near his level.

Yet, the allure of his presence is irresistible. His charisma and the subtle way he looks at you during meetings ignite a forbidden desire within you. The professionalism you maintain in the office is a fragile veneer, concealing the simmering tension and your hidden longing. Each day, you master the art of restraint, keeping your fantasies locked away, only to revisit them in the privacy of your room, where the boundaries of reality and imagination blur.

Scrolling through his Instagram, you hone in on one particular picture, your favourite among them all: his GQ CEO of the Year cover. Maybe it was because you were there when it was taken, seeing him switch poses, flicking his eyebrows up and smirking into the camera, his fingers gripping the edges of his desk as the photographer shouted praises intertwined with instructions. God, how you would do anything to be bent over that table and fucked to oblivion by the man.

You reach into your bedside drawer and retrieve the pretty pink dildo you ordered from Adam & Eve, the size mimicking what you imagine Sunghoon’s looks like: slim but not skinny, long and arched, with a large bell at the end. It’s so wrong to imagine what your boss’ dick looks like, never mind buying a toy specifically to fantasise about him, but you can’t bring yourself to feel guilty about it—not when you’re cumming around it and screaming his name.

Position yourself comfortably, the soft sheets bunch up around you and close your eyes. The fantasy takes over, vivid and tantalising. You picture Sunghoon, his intense gaze locked on you, his hands rough yet tender as they roam your body. The thought of his voice, low and commanding, fills your mind, heightening your arousal.

And you get lost in the fantasy as you look at the picture illuminating your screen.

Pushing down your pyjama shorts, you discard them quickly, your cunt already greedy to be filled. You rub the dildo up and down your slick folds, gathering your natural lubricant as you look at Sunghoon’s stern face on your phone screen, remembering all the times he has reprimanded you for doing something wrong. You never fully took in the severity of the situation, your mind too lost in the lower octave of his tone and how badly you wished to be punished by him.

“Bend over. Now,” he says with venom lacing his tone, the words cutting through his quiet office.

You do as he says, leaning over the desk and hiking up your skirt, eagerly anticipating your retribution. The air is thick with tension as Sunghoon’s body looms close to you, teasing you even with just his presence. Your mind races as his hands situate themselves on your hips, pulling your ass back into him, the action causing your cunt to meet his bulge. The outline of his length protrudes through his Prada slacks, making your pussy ache all over him.

Leaning his body over yours so his chest is pressed firmly against your back, he ghosts his lips over your earlobe. “How many times do I need to tell you to do your job right?” His question is rhetorical, knowing that if you speak, you’ll get an even worse punishment.

His warm breath on your ear sends shivers down your spine, and you feel your core tighten in anticipation. His grip on your hips tightens as he slowly grinds against you, the friction of his bulge against your soaked panties making you whimper. The feeling of his hard cock pressing into you, even through the fabric is intoxicating, and you can’t help but arch your back, pushing yourself closer to him.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and taunting. “So desperate for it. Such a needy little slut.”

Before you can respond, he straightens up, his hands leaving your hips, his warm grip now replaced with the cold lingering of want. Without warning, he brings his hand down on your ass with a sharp smack. The sensation is electric, a mix of pain and pleasure that makes you gasp, the sting of the spank sends a jolt of arousal straight to your core, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan.

“Did you like that?” he asks, his tone mocking. He doesn’t wait for an answer as his hand comes down again, harder this time, the sound of the impact echoing in the large office. The force makes you tremble, your skin tingling with the aftershock, your cunt leaking down your leg in sheer joy and agony.

“Yes, sir,” you manage to gasp, the words escaping your lips before you can stop them.

“Good girl,” he purrs, and you feel his hand rub soothing circles over the spot he just spanked, the contrast of his gentle touch against the sting making your body crave more. He is giving you the perfect mixture of punishment and rest, somehow making you crave a spanking more than ever before despite your ass whispering pleas of ‘no more’

Another sharp smack lands on your other cheek, and you can’t hold back the moan that escapes your throat. The pain mingles with pleasure, your pussy throbbing with need. Each hit is harder than the last, and you can feel the heat rising in your skin, the stinging sensation turning into a delicious ache.

“Do you want more?” he asks, his voice dripping with seduction. “Do you want me to punish you properly?”

“Yes, sir,” you reply breathlessly, your body trembling with anticipation. These two words seem to be the only thing that can fall from your lips other than strangled moans and mewls of desire.

He spanks you again, the force making you lurch forward, your hands gripping the edge of the desk for support, the hit vibrating all the way to your throbbing bud. The sharp sting reverberates through your body, intensifying the ache between your legs. You feel yourself getting wetter, your juices dripping down your thighs, hitting the Versace shoes that Sunghoon bought you for a work event.

“Look at you,” he taunts, his voice low and commanding. “So needy, so desperate. You can’t even control yourself, can you?”

“No, sir,” you admit, your voice a whimper. “I need you.”

His hand comes down on your ass again, harder than before, and you cry out, the mix of pain and pleasure overwhelming your senses. You can feel the slickness between your thighs increasing, naturally preparing yourself for what is to come.

“You’re such a good girl,” he murmurs, his hand rubbing soothingly over your reddened skin. “Taking your punishment so well.”

He leans over you again, his lips brushing against your ear. “But we’re not done yet,” he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “I’m going to make sure you never forget this.”

With that, he draws back and gives another harsh slap, the impact of which causes you to squeal. The cadence of his spanking quickens, each slap sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your skin tingles with each hit, leading to a climax.

“Please, sir,” you beg, your voice trembling. “Please, I need to cum.”

He pauses, his hand resting on your ass. “You need to cum?” he repeats, his tone amused. “Just by my hand?”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, your body trembling with need. “Please, I’ve been a good girl, let me cum.”

He chuckles softly, his hand sliding between your thighs to feel your wetness. “You’re soaked,” he remarks, his fingers teasing your folds. “Such a needy little slut.”

His words send a jolt of arousal through you, and you whimper as he teases your entrance with his fingers. “Don’t you want my cock?” he asks, his voice low and seductive. “Don’t you want me to fuck you?” His words are condescending, knowing that with a few more slaps you’ll be clenching around nothing, yet, he can’t stand to see you cum and it not be around his delicious cock.

“Yes, sir,” you moan, your body aching for his touch, for his dick to be stuffed deep inside you. To be honest, you want anything he will give you. “Please, fuck me.”

Unbuckling his belt and letting his black trousers and boxers fall to his ankles, he positions himself behind you, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, and you push back against him, desperate to feel him inside you.

“Patience,” he murmurs, his hands gripping your hips. “I want to take my time with you.”

Finally wet enough to snuggly enter you, the dildo sinks into your cunt as you imagine him sinking in slowly, the wave of pleasure as you stretch around the faux shaft enough to send your head back into a frenzy.

He pushes in slowly, the stretch of his cock filling you inch by inch. The sensation is overwhelming, the tip of his cock sliding past all of your sensitive spots, stimulating your nerves just the way you need him to. You feel every inch of him, the fullness making your body shiver with desire.

“God, you’re tight,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips harder. “You feel so fucking good.”

He begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one sending waves of pleasure through your body. The friction of his cock against your inner walls is intoxicating, and you can’t help but moan his name, the sound mingling with the rhythm of his movements.

“Sunghoon,” you gasp, your back contorting to fit him deeper, head thrown back as he bucks his hips at a steady, agonising pace. “Please, fuck me harder.”

Scoffing, he slows down, giving you the opposite of what you are needily begging for. “You think you deserve to make demands?” Sunghoon asks, his hands roaming along your back, fingers untucking your shirt and crawling up to your bare back. You’re lucky he let the slip of his name out of your mouth rather than his preferred nickname.

In truth, you don’t, constantly fucking up in your job to the point that it has come to this, but by god will you never get a single thing right if it means receiving this pleasure. Yet, right now, you need to yield, appeasing his every word.

“I don’t deserve it, Sir,” you admit, trying to fuck onto his cock faster. “But please, I’ll be so good if you do.”

Laughing, his large hand snakes around your neck and pulls you back roughly, bringing your head to rest on his shoulder as he fucks into you agonisingly slow yet sharp. His warm breath washes over your cheek as he smirks menacingly. “You’re already being a good girl, so what else will you do?”

“I’ll do my job properly, I’ll make sure I never disappoint you.” It’s not even the slightest bit embarrassing as you try your hardest to fuck yourself onto his cock, squeezing for extra friction as you bargain with him. All you need right now is to be pounded mercilessly by the man you crave the most.

Satisfied with your response, he finally obliges, his thrusts becoming faster and more intense, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. The pleasure builds with each movement, your body responding eagerly to his touch. You feel the tension coiling in your core, the edge of climax drawing closer with every thrust.

“Do you want to cum on your boss’ cock?” he asks mockingly, knowing your immediate answer.

You struggle to give him an answer as his grip on your throat tightens, his digits pressing into your soft neck and cutting off your voicebox, yet somehow, you manage to squeak out a tiny ‘yes’, followed by a throat-ripping moan as he finds your sweet spot.

Suddenly, your phone rings as you move your dildo rapidly in and out of your squelching cunt, the toy now covered in your juices as both you and it work hard to reach that sweet release. Heaving heavily, you see the caller ID ring and your eyes widen, the name ‘Park Sunghoon’ flashing across your screen.

Idiotically, you answer, scared of the reprimand if you don’t, your boss never liking when you answer after more than three rings. Before you get the chance to speak, he is already blaring down the phone at you.

“Y/N, I need you to come in early tomorrow. There is a big meeting with Park Jongseong that we must prepare for,” he begins, tone borderline scolding but not so angry. “Someone forgot to put it in my diary.”

The subtle dig at you only heightens your feelings, the actual scolding you’re receiving meshing in beautifully with your fantasies. Your hand never stops the dildo from thrusting harshly into you, his actual voice much colder and deeper than the one you have in your mind, your body aching for each Sunghoon in its own way.

You stifle a moan but it still leaks through into the speaker, your climax imminent as your wrist quickens and legs spread, the muscles of your thighs and arms tightening with your actions.

“Cum for me, baby” he commands, his voice rough with desire. “I want to feel you cum around my cock.”

“Are you sick? Don’t come in tomorrow if you are, I have to fly to Japan on Thursday.”

Each CEO blends into one another as you come undone, dropping the phone on your stomach and arching your back off the bed.

The words push you over the edge, and you cry out as the orgasm crashes over you, “Yes, Sir!” your body trembling with the force of it. You can feel your pussy clenching around his cock, the sensation driving him deeper into you. His thrusts become erratic, and with a final, deep thrust, he spills into you, filling you with his release. The hot spurts of his cum coat your battered walls so deliciously, soothing the rawness from the relentless beating.

The room is filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing, the aftermath of your climax leaving you both spent and satisfied. Sunghoon pulls out slowly, his hands gentle as they caress your skin. He helps you stand, his touch tender as he pulls you into his arms.

“You did so well,” he murmurs, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Such a good girl.”

You pant heavily, forgetting for a moment exactly where you are and what you have done, the blurred line of delusion and reality becoming a haze as your eyes fight their way open, your high overcoming your body like a tidal wave

Clearing his throat with a deliberate rasp, Sunghoon's piercing gaze cuts through the haze clouding your senses, snapping you back to the stark reality of your surroundings. The weight of your actions descends upon you like a sudden storm, leaving you breathless and disoriented.

"Tomorrow at 6am, my office," he declares with a steely edge, each word measured and exact as he speaks with a smirk. The earlier rush of pleasure now dissipates into a cold knot of apprehension in your stomach. His voice carries a promise of consequences, leaving no doubt in your mind that he knows exactly what you’ve been doing.

"Do not keep me waiting," he continues, his tone low and ominous, "or you'll be punished.”

He hangs up abruptly, the chilling bleep of the disconnected call makes you swallow, realising that you have completely fucked up and have painted yourself guilty as sin.

perm taglist: @immortalvee @snoopypupp @sunpov @heeseungspookie @strawberrysavi @monstanctiny21 @diorsyun @heexzbae @pockettwinzz @yzzyhee @baekhyunstruly @zeeloveshee @haechonly @berryblog @emi-en @no-mannerism @jaehoonii @notevenheretbh1 @iikeustar @shawnyle @addictedtohobi @jiminie-08 @emberuby @nctislifue @lilyuwon @skzenhalove @heeshlove @idkdykilr @chocminteu @y4wnjunz @rikibun @ivesti @parksunghoonsgf @branchrkive @brownsugarbaybee @xxbluestrifexx @bambangan

#enhypen smut #enha smut #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #aj writes #enha x reader #enhypen x reader

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withleeknow · 4 months ago

Text

moonstruck.

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, angst if you squint; they're in love <3, mentions of menstruation, there's a bit about orpheus and eurydice so you're not familiar you might want to look it up beforehand idk, not as edited as i'd like. not a lot of warnings here tbh it's just pretty mild and mellow saur 🤷‍♀️ (also i don't exactly love this but i hope you'll still tolerate it anyway lol) word count: 4.7k playlist 🎧: moonstruck - enhypen // this is how you fall in love - jeremy zucker ft. chelsea cutler // pansy - taemin // tightrope - zayn

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

Minho is the kind of love that you thought only existed in movies and fairytales. Make-belief, too good to be true, out of reach.

When he rests his head on your shoulder, drifting in and out of sleep like he’s been doing for the past hour or so, you give into the urge to stare at him in wonder. An angel on earth, if there ever was one.

His long eyelashes that you could only dream to have, the slope of his nose, his pink pouty lips, his impeccably sharp jawline, and even his fluffy hair that’s ticking your cheek as you look at him as if you don’t get to see him like this every day. But that kind of beauty is something that demands to be showcased in the world’s most exquisite museum and admired by anyone who comes across it.

Minho is beautiful in every sense of the word.

And you adore him. You do. You love him with every single beat of your pathetic little heart and then some.

Surely, you must’ve saved a nation in one of your past lives to deserve someone as ethereal as him.

Turning your face to the side, you press a kiss against his forehead. The touch makes him stir awake, eyelids fluttering open as he groggily looks around and stretches out his limbs, in the limited space that he has anyway. His sleepy voice asks you, “Are we there yet?”

“Not yet. I think they said we still have about forty minutes before we land. Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Minho shakes his head, covering his mouth when a yawn forces its way out. He straightens his back to his full height sitting down, then slumps against the seat a little bit. He rests his cheek against the top of your head while his hands find one of your own to hold in his lap.

He rubs the skin of your fourth finger for a moment before he eventually stills, lightly snoring again while you look out the window, gazing at oddly shaped clouds and blues and the reflection of the sun on the waters below.

–

After you’ve checked into the hotel, freshened up and readied yourselves to explore the scenery, Minho takes you down to the beach. It’s a little chilly, spring hasn’t yet settled into summer. Even with a light jacket on, you still shiver every time the wind rushes by like it’s playing with the waters. But it’s nice – the sea breeze in your hair and the sunlight on your face, your lover by your side, his fingers intertwined with yours as you walk along the shore together. The blue of the sea almost blending in with the sky where they meet somewhere out there on the horizon. Seagulls flying overhead, families enjoying their relaxing vacation, children playing in the sand way down the shoreline where all you can make out are blurry silhouettes dancing about.

It’s paradise on earth. It’s an escape that you desperately needed. Exhilarated doesn’t even begin to describe how you felt when he told you that he’d booked a Jeju trip for your anniversary.

He’s always been the perfect partner. Always knows just the right thing to do for you whenever you need a pick-me-up. He may not seem like it, but Minho is beyond caring and considerate. He’s a man of few words but he certainly makes up for it with his actions.

“Hey,” he says, pointing somewhere ahead of you. “Remember what happened there?”

“Hmm?” Your eyes try to follow the direction of his finger, until they find a spot where two people are sitting, watching the water in front of them, content smiles passed between lips as they talk animatedly. “Didn’t you confess to me there?”

He smiles as the memory resurfaces in his mind. “Did you know I almost chickened out?”

You two started out as friends way before you got together.

Three years ago, just a few months after you’d both graduated from college, Minho asked you to go to Jeju island with him. You thought it was a little strange – though not that strange since you had been on trips with him before, but it was always in a group setting with all of your other friends. Never just the two of you.

Nonetheless, you agreed. You wanted to get out of the city anyway. You needed a change of scenery to clear your head and to recharge. Everything was starting to become too much for you - being 22 and in limbo. You felt like you kept falling behind no matter what you did. Everyone was moving forward and you were running in place no matter how hard you tried to get out of that slump.

Everyone around you was outgrowing you and your little life, and all you could do was pretend you were fine.

It was one of the lowest you’d ever felt, and you suppose that was why you said yes to Minho’s invitation. A vacation didn’t seem like it would help much, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

A few days away, with nothing but the sun and the sea to help you get out of your own head.

A tropical paradise and Minho. It wasn’t the end of the world. There were worse things you could think of.

That, and the fact that there had always been something between you and him. Not crazy sexual tension or anything, but just enough of a noticeable spark. An inkling of something that neither of you ever acted upon.

“Did you?” you ask. “Didn’t you plan the whole trip back then to confess?”

“What? No. Why would I willingly do that when you could’ve rejected me? Then I would’ve been stuck in a hotel with you and on the plane ride back.”

You squint at him. “Then why did you take me on that trip?”

Minho shrugs. “Friendship trip to cheer you up.”

Years with him and he still makes you feel as warm as he did the first time you kissed. You gaze at him with what must be the world’s most lovestruck look plastered on your face. You reach up to press your lips to the corner of his mouth, then watch as a blush spreads across his cheeks.

“You did confess though,” you argue.

“Well, yeah, but that wasn’t planned,” he tells you. “You just... We were sitting right there,” he tips his chin toward the same spot again, “and you had my jacket on because you were cold. You were watching the sunset and you looked so pretty. I couldn’t help it. Almost chickened out though.”

You stop walking, and this makes him stop too. Minho glances at you with his head slightly tilted, wearing a puzzled expression.

“You never told me that,” you say.

“You never asked.”

Pouting, you tug him toward you until he’s close enough for you to wrap your arms around his neck. Minho is good, so incredibly good for you that sometimes you can’t possibly fathom how you even deserve him. He never meant to get anything out of it; he just saw that you were struggling and wanted to make it better for you.

Maybe you didn’t do a very good job at pretending, not if Minho could see right through you.

Before him, you had a fear of heights. Not the literal kind, but rather the kind of heights that often accompanies big leaps, big changes. A fear of falling, maybe that would be more accurate. Falling and failing and hitting rock bottom with no way to climb back up. A fear that you would always be stuck with this life forever, trapped in an existence you never asked for. A fear that no effort to escape your reality would be enough, and you’ll always be trailing ten steps behind even if you try twenty times as hard.

You pull him down so you could properly kiss him, your lips slotting together perfectly like he was made for you, like he’s the only person you’re ever meant to kiss in this lifetime. You can taste his smile, minty and happy as he moves against your mouth, his arms sliding around your waist to hold you to his body by the small of your back.

“If I had known,” Minho pulls away slightly, mumbling against your lips, “telling you that would get me brownie points, I would’ve told you ages ago.”

You roll your eyes with affection.

“So all this time,“ he says, “you thought I asked you on that trip just to get into your pants?”

“You did get into my pants on that trip!”

“Let me remind you that I only wanted to do something nice for you. You were the one who almost jumped my bones right then and there after I said I liked you.”

You slap his chest as he throws his head back in a hearty laugh. Minho takes your hand in his once more as he drags you along, savoring the cool sea breeze and the golden daylight dancing on glittering waters before the sun bids you goodbye.

Minho is the kind of love that makes you want to curl up into a ball and ugly cry for an hour straight.

In a good way, of course. In the best way possible.

So that’s what you do, on a fine Tuesday afternoon, sitting on a couch surrounded by three cats as you wait for him to come home, perfectly sheltered from the harsh sun outside.

He returns eventually, toward the end of your crying session. When he sees the pile of tissues on the coffee table, soaked with your tears and snot, his heart nearly falls out of his ass.

Minho drops everything, rushing to you like you’re on the verge of spontaneous human combustion because clearly, this is a normal reaction to have when you come home to a girlfriend who’s been sobbing in the dark for god knows how long.

That, and the fact that said girlfriend doesn’t cry very often. Not by herself and certainly not in front of others.

Doesn’t mean that you’re immune to the occasional bouts of tears whenever shark week closes in, though.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Another rush of tears breaks as you look at him. You wipe your eyes and your nose with the tissue you’re currently holding, before throwing it on the table to join the pile you’ve accumulated.

You launch yourself forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. The sudden force takes him aback, makes him gasp a little.

He freezes as you cling to him like a desperate koala, before his hands slowly land on your back, rubbing slowly, hesitantly, as though he’s afraid he’s hurting you.

“What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?”

“PMS,“ you hiccup your answer out, to which Minho only responds with a relieved Ah, his hands now moving more assuredly on your body.

“Anything hurt? Sore?”

“No. Just… missed you today. Love you a lot.”

There’s something saccharine in his gaze when he pulls back and regards you with his big doe eyes, softened and endeared, yet there’s still a twinkle of mischief peeking through the sugary glaze.

He moves to make himself comfortable next to you on the couch but still makes sure to keep a hand on you so you don’t grow impatient.

Once he’s effectively squished between you and the armrest of the sofa, he says, “You missed me so much that you started crying? You could’ve texted me, or called. I would’ve come home sooner, crybaby.”

“I didn’t cry because I missed you. I cried because I love you.”

He pretends to think for a moment. “I honestly can’t tell if I should be offended or not.”

You jab a finger at his ribs.

Sure, the mere thought of Minho brings tears to your eyes sometimes. It’s not really a secret anymore.

There’s something about him, just him, how wonderful he is and how all of the stars in the sky must have aligned themselves to make you and him happen. He’s the love of your entire life, there’s never been any doubt about it. Your other half, perfect for you.

You’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and you’re positive that you will never feel this way about anyone ever again. Your love for him runs so deep, so powerful that it overwhelms you at times, drowns you in nothing but affection for him and only him. A love that spreads like wildfire through your calm and sacred forest.

It’s cliché beyond words, that one day you would be having these thoughts about someone. You used to watch this kind of sentiment romanticized in movies, used to cringe and laugh at sappy lines in books and TV shows though there was always a part of you that longed for that kind of love.

You didn’t talk about it often, not even with the people closest to you. You always found it a little embarrassing to admit that you wanted love. To love and to be loved. There was something so utterly vulnerable in the act of yearning and isn’t it such a scary thing? To be vulnerable? You never saw the appeal in showing someone the deepest, darkest parts of you.

What if they leave? What if you bare yourself to someone and they deem you not worth staying for? How would you come back from that kind of rejection?

You suppose it always held you back - the fear of being open that goes hand in hand with the fear of being left behind. Maybe you have more fears than you’d like to admit.

Then came Minho.

No, that doesn’t sound right.

He didn’t come crashing into your life like a tidal wave and unraveled your every belief.

He was always there by your side, a calming presence that you could lean on when things got tough. A friend, a solid foundation. He’s the relief after every monsoon, the first day of sun after a long and harsh winter.

He saw you for who you were, all the messiest parts of you, and loved you anyway. In spite of your mess? Because of your mess.

He taught you that love isn’t always extravagant gestures and grand declarations that Shakespeare would applaud.

Love is acceptance. Love is staying with you on your gloomiest days and holding your hand through your dreariest moments. Love is lingering glances by the doorway before he goes to work because you’re half asleep but you’re still trying to reach for him even in your dreams.

It’s sharing joys and burdens alike. Reminders to eat and gentle wake-up calls. A photo of you in his wallet, a silly picture of him as your phone’s wallpaper. Giggling with him after he tells a joke not because of the punchline itself, but because his manic chortle is even funnier.

Love is Minho cradling your face in one hand and holding onto your shaking fingers with the other, his steady gaze holding yours, and his voice whispering gently in the darkest of nights, “Your storm is my storm.”

At the end of the day, love is pretty simple. Love is him.

“Do you ever think about Orpheus and Eurydice?”

Minho laughs, the sound vibrating where you lay your head, his hand still absentmindedly rubbing the skin of your waist over your shirt. “No, I don’t think about Orpheus and Eurydice.”

You figured as much.

Your fingers trace invisible patterns on his chest as you hum your acknowledgment. Then you ask, “If it was me, if you were Orpheus, would you look back?”

His hands pause their ministrations, a little taken aback by the question you suppose. Your brain tends to pingpong between the most random things sometimes.

“You know,“ he says with an even voice, though the corner of his mouth still curls upward in amusement. “Other people just ask the worm thing.”

“The worm thing is boring. And we both know you wouldn’t love me if I was a worm.”

“You wouldn’t love me if I was a worm either.”

“That’s true. I don’t like worms,” you agree, chuckling while your boyfriend scoffs. “Answer the question, would you look back?”

There’s no right answer because you’re not expecting a correct response. It’s a hypothesis that can never be tested because you aren’t a nymph and Minho isn’t a bard with the ability to sway all life with his music. It’s a silly thought but it’s one that you’re curious about nonetheless, just to hear what he would say. Why not?

You’ve read many interpretations of the tragedy. In some, Orpheus hears Eurydice stumble and turns to catch her fall. In others, he can’t hear her at all. The story will forever be among your favorites, one of the things that never fails to turn you inside out no matter how many times you mull over it.

Minho is quiet for a moment. You think he’s about to shoot back with a witty retort that he always has up his sleeves, probably something about how he would find a loophole and trick his way out of the deal, or that he would personally fistfight Hades to get you out of the underworld. This wouldn’t surprise you at all.

Instead, he says, “Yes, I would look back.”

But regardless of how you choose to view the myth, the ending does not change. Orpheus always turns around.

He turns around because he loves her.

Minho’s fingers slip under your shirt to brush your bare skin, angling his head sideways so he could kiss your forehead.

Maybe he’s just saying it for the sake of being romantic, for the sake of saying what seems to be the right thing. It’s an answer that you can never give substance to, but you believe him with all your heart.

You believe him. You do.

“If it’s you, I would look back.”

Minho is the kind of love that eclipses the sun and dims the light of the moon. The kind of love that drowns out all the noise and makes everything a little more bearable. Not just the most horrible things – your fears and struggles alike – but even the smallest, most mundane things.

If there’s one thing that you absolutely hate, it’s the smell of nail polish. You hate the way it lingers in the air even after the bottle has been capped, hate how the smell of toluene stains your fingertips even after washing your hands several times with scented soap.

Though, the only time you try to tolerate it is when Minho convinces you to stay in and pamper each other. Pizzas that he picks up for dinner and tiramisu ice cream for dessert. Face masks and fancy candles that you save for special occasions. SoonDoongDori napping on various surfaces in your living room, an old vinyl playing from the record player he got you for your first birthday you shared together after you started dating.

You each take turns doing the other’s nails on the carpeted floor. It’s become somewhat of a tradition that you indulge in every month, where you would spend cozy Friday evenings indoors just because neither of you can be assed to indulge in a “proper“ date night. Being hermits together sounds infinitely more appealing to you than any other alternative.

“I’m not done,” you say, snatching Minho’s hand back after he pulls it away to admire your work. You blow on his fingers to make sure that the layer of black polish you applied earlier is dry, then you’re reaching for a bottle of beige polish sitting amongst the ones scattered on the floor. You take a tiny brush from the nail kit - one that’s rarely ever touched because neither of you knows how to do nail art - and dip it into the sand-colored polish.

“What are you doing?“ he asks, watching as you trace some squiggly lines on his middle finger, the lighter color settling nicely on top of the black even if he has no idea what you’re trying to draw. “What is that?”

“Soonie,” you say simply. “When you flip people off, you can show them Soonie.”

You don’t need to look at him to know that his attention is fixed on you even though he doesn’t give you a response. You feel his gaze on the side of your face, soft and warm and never leaving for even a second. He doesn’t say anything while you work though, maybe he doesn’t want to mess up your concentration while you’re so engrossed in what you’re doing. He only chuckles at your answer, then nothing afterward.

You don’t mind the lack of conversation. It helps you focus better on what you’re doing because you’re no artist by any means. You can’t draw to save your life, let alone master something as intricate as nail art, but this is therapeutic. It’s perfect to help you unwind after a long week - doodling your beloved cat on your boyfriend’s nails while Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls sets the ambience. You’ll get the ice cream when you’re done with your impromptu project, along with a little headache from inhaling too much of the polish scent perhaps, but isn’t that a small price to pay?

You take your sweet time with the teeny tiny details, like Soonie’s delicate whiskers and the darker strips of fur on his face. He still turns out a little wonky, a little lopsided here and there but it’s not like you expected it to turn out like a Picasso.

The real Soonie seems to sense a disturbance in the force when he wakes up from his nap and saunters toward you curiously. You pick him up and sit him in your lap so he doesn’t come too close to the fresh polish on Minho’s nails. “Look,” you say with a proud smile, pointing toward the small cat doodle. “That’s you.”

He studies it for a moment, focused on your portrayal of him but then he’s quick to decide that he’s not interested anymore before wiggling away from your lap to go join Doongie on the couch. You chuckle lightly, watching him as he walks off, wondering if this is what it will feel like when your future children enter their teenage years.

When you turn back to Minho, he’s still staring at you, a dazed look in his eyes as he blinks slowly, his hand resting limply on his thigh.

“What?” you ask. “Do you not like–”

“Marry me.”

The rest of your question dies in your throat, wilting away like cherry blossoms when summer nears. He doesn’t break eye contact, still that dreamy gaze when he peers at you. Nothing has ever changed in the way that he looks at you.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to speak. You think anyone would be when their boyfriend drops a proposal out of nowhere while you’re doing each other’s nails in your comfiest sweatpants.

Everything that you’ve been afraid of comes bubbling to the surface, every doubt, every fear, even every fleeting insecurity. They manifest as a ringing in your ears, a buzzing in your head that makes it hard to think about anything at all.

But then he shuffles closer, closer and closer until his warm breath fans your cheek, his nose nudging your cheekbone gently. It’s similar to what Doongie does sometimes when you’re lounging in bed and he just wants some love.

When Minho takes your hand and laces your fingers together in his lap, everything stills. The rumbling comes to a halt, the distant thunder fading slowly into the background of your mind palace until it’s reduced to mere white noise. “Marry me,“ he says again, and his voice is so tender that you ache. Tender and sweet and so full of wonderful adoration. If you ever have to describe what love sounds like, you would say it’s him and his voice, right here and right in this exact moment.

“A little dramatic to propose just because I drew your cat.”

He chuckles, presses a kiss to your cheek before he ducks down to deliver another kiss on the side of your neck. Then he pulls back, just enough to get a clear view of you and your now glassy eyes.

“Bottom drawer in our bedroom,” he tells you. You can’t lie; you have half a mind to leave him here and go check. “I bought the ring two months ago, but I knew I wanted to marry you two years before that. I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to do it but I realized the perfect moment doesn’t exist, because every minute I spend with you is perfect. I love you so much. It’s not because you drew me my cat, by the way. I think I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you.

“I love your weird brain and your blanket-hogging ass. I love that you’re crazy enough to listen to a song literally over a thousand times without getting bored. I even love you when you set ten alarms in the morning and still manage to sleep through all of them. I know you hate your smile but it’s my favorite smile in the world. Did you know my favorite color is the color of your eyes? The best part of my day is when I get to come home to you and the kids waiting for me. I want all of you forever. I promise I’ll love you twice as much on days that you don’t love yourself. When we’re old and gray and we look like raisins, I’ll let you go first so you won’t have to spend a single day alone. I’ll–” He stops when you let out a teary giggle, no bite in his voice at all when he says, “Please don’t laugh at me during my big romantic speech.”

It only makes you laugh harder, though it’s just as emotional. If you focus on the other part of his sentence, you’ll only crumble into a million pieces right here. “How very romantic of you to include the visual of us as raisins in your speech.”

Minho rolls his eyes – fondly, of course. When he pretends to squirm away from you, you tug him back by the collar of his shirt to plant an apologetic kiss on his lips which he eagerly accepts.

“Please continue,” you say, smiling against his mouth. “Tell me all the ways that you’ll love me.”

“You ruined it. I retract my proposal,” he grumbles, but his arms betray his words when they tighten around your frame, holding you close to him to steal another kiss. Then another, and another, until your faces are wet with tears and you realize that you’re both crying.

“I’m sorry,” you say through sniffles and tears. “Please keep going.”

“Make it up to me first.”

“How?”

“Marry me,” he repeats a final time. “I’ll give you a better speech on our wedding day.”

Years and years from now, when you’re old and gray and look like raisins – as he so poetically put it – you’ll remember this moment down to every miniscule detail. How the cats’ peace is disturbed by your tearful giggles and the strange look they give you before wandering out of the room, in favor of somewhere without two crying idiots. How the record starts skipping but neither of you can be bothered to do anything about the obnoxious sound. How the material of his shirt feels when you bunch the fabric in your hands because you need to kiss him, need him to be as close as humanly possible.

You’ll remember the sob that he hiccups when you tell him through choked up whispers, “Yes, I’ll marry you,” and how his lips feel when they tremble against your skin. You’ll remember the way he holds onto you like a lifeline, because he’s always been your salvation for as long as you’ve known him. You’ll remember what happens after, later that night when he finally slips the ring onto your finger. The words he whispers into the crook of your neck, “You mean the world to me,” and the emotions in his voice when you both realize this is the start of the rest of forever.

You’ll remember everything, all of it, every clumsy touch and every graceless kiss. Ugly crying on the floor and yet, it’s more perfect than anything you can ever dream of.

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kuroananosanji · 6 months ago

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Canon vs fanon Sanji discourse is always funny to me because… girlie which fanon Sanji are you talking about? There’s so many! You’ve got:

Bisexualji: Basically canon Sanji except he’s bi. His women loving antics can range from no different from canon to a bit toned down. Usually low-key about his sexuality but otherwise normal about it.

Internalised homophobiaji: What the name says. Feelings have to get punched out of him (usually by Zoro). Can be annoying to read/write but the when done well it’s chef’s kiss (pun intended)

Slutji: Most featured in E-rated fics. The fact that he sleeps around (mostly with men) is sometimes used to make someone jealous (mostly Zoro). OOC but when it’s one of those every man on the Grand Line dicks down Sanji fics… it doesn’t really matter does it.

Frenchji: When Sanji is essentially turned into APH France - refined, high-class, has impeccable fashion and uses expensive cologne, wears a deep V blouse, long wavy hair is always preferred. Mostly seen in 40!Sanji fics.

Twinkji: The most common target of these “fanon Sanji ew” complaints but unless you’re on Wattpad he’s actually a rare occurrence? Identifiers are an exaggerated height difference with Zoro, skinny, completely gay, 2000s yaoi level of bottom. I have to say I’ve maybe come across this 1% of the time.

Whumpji: He’s traumatised, he’s depressed and anxious, he thinks no one loves him, he thinks he deserves to suffer. Vinsmokes are 11/10 the time involved. Luffy is sunshine incarnate in these.

Princeji: When he’s either in a royalty AU or never escaped Germa. Usually acts more “pure” than his canon version because Zeff didn’t raise him to be sassy and chivalrous. Maintains the 5-9 year old Sanji personality. Very cute. Even cuter when combined with rogue/knight Zoro.

Tsunji: This is just canon Sanji. The louder he screams at you the more he loves you. His love language is beating you up then leaving a plate of food next to your work station. Objectively the best Sanji.

#disclaimer that I read mostly zosan so this is very zosan biased #zosan #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #one piece

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teamatsumu · 9 months ago

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L&DS BOYS - LOVE LANGUAGES

content warnings: fem!reader, fluff, sfw headcanons

XAVIER - PHYSICAL TOUCH

Xavier knows he is smart, and witty enough. But when things get a little too real, he finds it hard to express himself.

And the feelings he has for you are the most genuine ones he has felt in his long, long life.

While he might not be someone who can wax poetic about his affection for you, he shows it in other ways, and physical touch in his favorite way to get his feelings across.

When you walk next to each other, he sticks close, arm brushing against yours. Occasionally, the back of his hand makes contact with your own. It's almost as if the tension builds and builds, until he finally connects your fingers, either intertwining your hands together or linking his pinkie with yours. No words leave his mouth. His touch says enough.

If the train is too crowded, he will pull you closer to him with a firm touch on the small of your back, making sure you don’t receive any unwanted bumps from strangers.

For a few weeks in your relationship, he developed a strange habit of pinching your cheeks and lightly pulling on them. You let him do it, knowing he would eventually move on and find some other part of you to focus on. Though the action did make your face heat up.

Another weird hyperfixation he has is nibbling at your fingertips absentmindedly. He plays with them often, but when he is distracted by a movie you two are watching, he will bite at them every so often. Sometimes, he is so focused on the screen that you doubt he even realizes what he is doing.

(He realizes. He just thinks every part of you deserves love. Don’t question it. It makes sense in his head.)

Cuddling with him is the perfect gift for your senses, stimulating you wonderfully.

Small nips on your skin, little lingering touches. He traces your skin with eager yet gentle hands, as if trying to memorize every curve and dip.

He buries his face in your neck and breathes in deep, and in that moment, bodies tangled with each other and the sheets, vulnerable and open, he will whisper, “I love you”.

It’s an affirmation more than a revelation, since his actions up until this point have all shown you that he really, truly does love you. So you whisper it back, trying to pour all your love into it, before slotting your lips together and using physical touch to convey your feelings right back.

RAFAYEL - WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

Rafayel is, in the simplest of terms, a yapper.

This man could talk for hours if you don’t stop him. About his art, about the meaning of life, about his experiences. He can express so much while also having an impeccable talent of being completely vague. Sometimes, you don’t even understand the things he says. And you’ve given up trying to decipher his every word.

But when Rafayel is talking about you, he makes himself abundantly clear. There’s no ambiguity about it; he loves you. And he will say it a million different times in a million different ways. Whether it be a bold declaration of how much his heart yearns for you, or endless teasing that is meant to rile you up and get a reaction out of you.

“I don’t think your talent lies in art, babe. It’s a good thing you’re a walking art piece yourself. No wonder I’m in love with you.”

“You’re leaving so soon? But I don’t think I’ve admired you enough for today. Don’t leave me!”

I’m impressed, Miss Bodyguard. You’re talented, and easy on the eyes. No wonder you captivated me from that very first day we met.”

Expect to wake up with a lot of voice notes on your phone. Minutes long. Sometimes rambling, sometimes actual ideas for new pieces that he wants to run by you. You better reply to all of them individually.

When you cuddle at night, you can talk for hours. No topic on earth is off limits with him. He will lay you down on a blanket on the beach, and as you watch the stars, he will tell you stories from olden times about star crossed lovers and tragic fairy tales. And he will turn to you, tell you how beautiful you are, how ardently he loves you, how he will never forget any moment he spends with you.

It’s almost like you can tell the exact moment he falls in love with you. Because he tells you. He never stops telling you. He voices his fears of you leaving him, he makes you promise you will never go away. He is clingy and he is whiny, and he is so endearing.

It’s hard to dismiss him when he is so loud about his love. And it’s hard to not fall for him just as he falls for you.

ZAYNE - ACTS OF SERVICE

This is an indisputable fact. Dr Zayne shows his love through acts of service.

He is intensely aware of your needs, and is miles ahead of you in determining what you require at any given moment.

It’s his way of showing you that he cares. He worries for you, and born from that worry is the urge to take care of you.

If you have had a long day, you will come home to a text from him saying he has ordered takeout and it will arrive at your house shortly, since he knows you are too exhausted to cook anything. It is always something different, but it is always food that he knows you enjoy. He will mix it with some healthy options too.

If you ever crash at his place, you will wake up to a tall glass of water and two aspirin on the side table, along with a note in his neat handwriting telling you that there is fresh cooked breakfast in the oven (he made it before he left for work).

Once you two are in a steady relationship, he keeps his house stocked with products you use. A spare shampoo and conditioner, toothbrush, a bathrobe of your size, a hair brush, you name it.

When you mumble something about the hand cream in your purse that is nearly running out, you will find a brand new tube next time you open the purse, and there is no need to even ask. You know Zayne put it there.

He is intensely observant. Even after knowing him for so long, it catches you off guard. He knows which of your clothes need to be dry cleaned and which ones are good for the washing machine. He knows which scents you use. Which products are harsher on your skin. He knows that contacts irritate your eyes after long hours of wearing them, so he keeps a small bottle of eye drops in your side table for that very purpose.

He scolds you for neglecting yourself, and he won’t hold back the harsh tone if he thinks your behavior is particularly destructive. To him, the best way to show love is to make sure your beloved is living the best life they can.

It is the littlest things, the tiniest details. And it shocks you, even after so long.

#love and deepspace #xavier #zayne #rafayel #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace fanfiction #lad #lnd #l&ds #xavier fluff #xavier x you #zayne fluff #zayne x you #rafayel fluff #rafayel x you #love and deepspace fluff

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 22 days ago

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With Me Forever

Dark!Mommy!Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Word count: 1.3K

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Stockholm syndrome, Dubcon, kidnapping/confinement, psychological conditioning/manipulation, Mommy kink, emotional manipulation, pet play, loss of autonomy, magical manipulation, breeding kink, objectification, power play

Authors notes: Man Idk who took over while writing this one, but they were amazing.

The room is dim, heavy velvet curtains drawn over the windows, allowing only slivers of muted sunlight to filter through. You’ve been here for days—weeks, maybe even months. Time feels warped in this house, your new prison. Every surface is lavish, grand even, but that doesn’t dull the sharp edge of fear that grips your heart.

Agatha is watching you again. Her presence is unmistakable—she's never too far from you, whether you see her or not. You’d taken notice of a cicada in the room she kept you in. It never got too close to you, but always somewhere you could see it.

Her deep, sultry voice curls around your senses like smoke as she enters the room, heels clicking against the hardwood floor. She’s dressed impeccably, as usual, in a pair of dark purple suit pants, a white button up and a navy blue overcoat, her sharp eyes glittering with amusement as she watches you on the bed.

"Good morning, my little bunny," she purrs, her voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Have you decided to behave today?"

You turn your head away, trying to ignore the way your body reacts to her. Every fiber of your being wants to resist her, to fight back against the constant manipulation, but it’s hard—too hard—especially when your body betrays you. You hate how she’s gotten under your skin, how her touch has become something you crave, even as your mind rebels.

Her hands are the only touch you’ve felt in a long time let alone a nice touch, something tender that doesn’t leave a mark on you. Your body wanted more of it even though you knew this was all wrong. She kidnapped you. She’s keeping you here for her own amusement and pleasure.

Agatha chuckles darkly, sensing your internal struggle. She moves closer, her fingers trailing lightly along the curve of your neck. You flinch, but you don’t pull away. You can't.

"My sweet girl," she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear, "it’s only a matter of time before you stop fighting. You’ll see that everything I do is for you, for us. I could give you so much more than anyone else ever could including that other little witch you were so fond of. All you have to do is surrender."

Her words are a poison, dripping into your thoughts, planting seeds of doubt. She’s always been careful, never harsh and certainly never violent. Instead, she plays with your mind, with your desires, making you question everything.

Is it really so bad to want her?

To give in?

"You and I could be so much together," Agatha continues, her hand sliding down your arm, her nails grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver. "I know what you can do and I could teach you things that would make the world bow at your feet."

You close your eyes, trying to block her out, but it’s impossible. She’s everywhere, inside your head, inside your heart. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, you feel yourself breaking, crumbling under the weight of her words, her presence.

"You’ll never leave," she says softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Not because I won’t let you, but because you won’t want to."

And the terrifying part is that you know she’s right.

You feel her hand move over the curves of your body, goosebumps running over your whole body. Her fingers were always freezing as she somehow made your skin feel like it was on fire. The only movement you were allowed was to arch into her touch. Your body once again betraying you as it did just that, asking for more from her as you don’t dare look her in the eyes. She chuckles, dark and low, at the action.

“Your body doesn’t lie to me bunny. Look at me. Look at Mommy.” She’d started to call herself that. Mommy, you thought it was just a jab at all the Mommy issues you have and it very well might be the case, but fuck you just wanted to make Mommy happy. Yet you still want to fight against her. You don’t want to give her the satisfaction. Not yet at least.

Her hand starts rubbing your thigh, each stroke drawing closer to your heated core. You close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. You feel her movement and the bed dips down between your legs. You’re moved slightly with where her weight is and you feel a hand on each thigh.

Her strokes are gentle as she leans down, her heated mouth meaning your skin. A rush of heat to your core hits and a needy whine comes out of you.

“All you have to do is ask, bunny.” She mumbles against your skin. This was the game that was played every time. Like some even more twisted form of conditioning. She’d wait until you were all needy, begging for her cock, begging to be bred by her. It wasn’t fair. You bite your lip debating if you want to hold out this time, you’ve done it a few times, but you’d always regret it because she’d work you up and ruin your orgasm each time.

“Please Mommy…need you…need you inside of me…” You manage out and Agatha looks down at you, slowly rubbing around your overly sensitive nub, but not actually touching it. You swallow hard before continuing. You know what she’s waiting for and you want to say it. You want her to know, need her to know.

“I’m yours Mommy please I’ll be your good bunny! Need Mommy’s cock inside of me. Only yours makes me feel good. No one else could make me feel good like you Mommy. No one could make me cum like you do Mommy!” You feel tears prick the corners of your eyes.

A smirk appears on Agatha’s face, a snap of her fingers and your clothes are gone. She has her purple enchanted strap out and ready. It was already pushing at your soaked entrance. Making it easy for Agatha to slip inside of you.

“F-fuck…” You arch into her, not realizing how much you needed her.

“You’re so tight, bunny. You feel amazing. Mommy’s going to make sure you feel amazing.” She manages out, you can tell she’s breathless just from entering you. Feeling how tight and wet you were.

“Please Mommy I’ll be your best bunny ever!”

She simply smirks as she grips your hips and before you can say anything else she’s pounding into you relentlessly. You can’t help but moan as she hits your spot over and over again. You don’t feel one of her hands move up to your head, it isn’t until you hear the Latin come out her mouth that you know she’s using her magic she’s making you more fuzzy, more needy for her. Another form of conditioning, her magic.

You watch her fingers, watching her hand flex and fingers move. It isn’t her magic making you fuzzy and needy. You grab her wrists and don’t think about it as you take her fingers into your mouth, sucking on them eagerly.

You look up at her with half lidded eyes, dark and lustful. You were ready to be completely hers. She could see it in your eyes.

“That’s my good bunny. Just like that. You’re Mommy’s bunny aren’t you?” She asks, her voice full of lust, her heated breath you could swear you saw. You nod and mumble an ‘mhmm’ around her fingers.

You don’t think it’s possible but she speeds up. You’re moaning around her fingers and she can tell you’re close. She keeps her pace, letting you fall over the edge as you let her fingers go, choosing to lunge forward to hold onto her as you rocked your hips into her. Her hands find their way to your back, her natural nails clawing down your back.

“My bunny.” You feel her fill you, her hot cum hitting against your walls. You were hers completely and you had been for a while, you knew that. There’s nowhere else you’d rather be, you don’t even remember that other witch’s name.

“Your bunny Mommy forever.”

#ley writes #ley writes one shots #leys kinktober writing #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #dark!fic #dark!agatha harkness #dark!agatha harkness x fem!reader #mommy!agatha harkness #mommy!agatha harkness x fem!reader #stockhom syndrome

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iznsfw · 8 months ago

Text

Lucid Dream

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 7 - Kim Minju

IZ*ONE's Kim Minju x Male Reader Smut

8,525 words

Categories | married man!You, wife!Wonyoung, daddy kink, degradation, rough sex, OC is not a good person

Content warning | cheating, humiliation, Wonyoung slander (it hurt to write but I read "Gone Girl" by Gillian Flynn recently so I guess that went into the whole wife-hating thing)

Skipping again a bit (still will do Chaeyeon and Chaewon and everyone because IZ*ONE best girls). Expect a commission and an IZ Days of Xmas fics this month again <3 I love you all, you make me happy. And as always, sorry for the inconsistency!

Wonyoung is beautiful.

You stare at her as she undresses in front of the full-length mirror. She’s the kind of woman whose vanity seldom rolls eyes because her adoration for herself—smoothing down her dark hair, strictly adhering herself to that keto diet, doing her skincare with the dedication of one who prays nightly to god (pick any)—is wholly justifiable. Look at her. Anyone would understand.

The dress she wore for her hosting show slips off her body. Her abs reflect in the mirror, the result of hard work in the gym. Wonyoung’s waist is impeccable. Magazines have written over and over tips to attain it but it seems that the signature Bratz doll feature can only belong to Wonyoung. The makeup was cleaned up by her stylist but her eyes still shine, her lashes are still long, and her lips are still plump.

Wonyoung is standing there in nothing but her underwear, an attractive set of lace.

Wonyoung is the perfect female form, a goddess from above choosing a man from below.

Wonyoung is beautiful, a feat that no matter how amazing besides true, she remains the same old fucking bore.

“Did you like my MCing, babe?” she asks.

“Uh-huh.”

Her legs, long and thin, move in planned strides down the room. To the bed. You know where this is going.

Your feet are killing you. Recline, welcoming yourself into the softness of the expensive mattress and pillows your wife paid for all in all. “Wonyoung, I’m tired.”

She’s a celebrity. Of course, endless days filled to the edge with schedules chase after her. She ought to understand. The nights are her only rest hours, yet with this energy, it’s like Jang Wonyoung never gets exhausted. Always bubbly, always sweet, always so seductive.

All these are positive traits that any other man would adore and own had you not married her.

Wonyoung makes an adorable sigh. “But you say that everytime,” she replies sullenly.

She’s pushing her lips out into this cute pout while her brown puppy eyes beg you to give in like you used to. Once upon a time, you were putty around Wonyoung. Never could give an answer without your voice shaking. Never could come near her without blushing.

She’s the prettiest woman in the world.

You’re the most awful, undeserving man in the world, for all you could think, as you look at her, is: Fucking bitch.

“Well, maybe it’s because I’m always tired.”

“How about,” she puts a finger on her chin, “I do the job for you?”

Her knees are bruised. You notice this when she drops to them so she could pull your pants to the ground. So she’s been doing this for so long? Lowering herself for you? Sucking you off? You thought that she’d get the hint by now: you don’t want to have sex with her.

So instead, she uses her mouth. Better than her pussy anyway. What are you saying? She’s a tight woman. But it’s the same thing everyday: she gets on your cock and you hear her annoying voice straining as she rides you. Her cunt, soaked and useless, makes you want to call her its name. She’s always needy. It isn’t flattering when you don’t reciprocate it.

It’s a goddamned chore. Wonyoung’s throat welcomes you. The other way around, actually: your cock welcomes a claustrophobically closed passageway and has to deal with it until you cum. It’s an unwanted visitor. She rang the bell, said hi, and you let her in. Doesn’t mean you like her there.

“Doing so good, baby,” you say. Oh, yeah, doesn’t mean you mean it either—although you do feel Wonyoung smile happily. She’s happy when she makes you happy. When she makes you give her the illusion that you have any happiness in this worn-out marriage.

Her lips seal around you. You can feel them suckling. Your knees are tense. The moans are forced, though. Hearing them come out from your own mouth makes you want to place a pillow over your face and press it down as hard as you can.

She slides you down her throat. Admittedly, you love the way she chokes. Her eyes get all watery, like she’s crying from pain. That sounds appealing.

You’re a critically messed up man, you know. But they’re what make the world go ‘round. Why do you think they write romance books about them—the bad boy, the mafia boss, the killer? Plus, one of those “terrible” people inspires the biggest Korean celebrity to continue hosting, dancing, and singing. So who’s so terrible now?

To conclude, if anything, you’re the one responsible for Wonyoung’s success.

To conclude, you groan as desperately as you can then release in her mouth. Wonyoung gags. Another pretty sound. Her eyes look up while she attempts to swallow. Saliva sticks to her chin. Semen floods up to the roof of her mouth. It reminds you of how it ends up there more often than in her womb.

You would’ve made beautiful children with Wonyoung in another world where she wasn’t famous and you actually loved her. You would have been a softer, kinder man. She would have been a person who’s easier to love and make love with.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, that… was incredible.”

If you weren’t a director, you’d be the one on camera. You’re a great actor when it comes to your wife. Your incompetence in the house is masked by husbandly exhaustion; an artificial gaze of attentiveness hides your indifference to conversation.

She smiles coquettishly. “I try.”

The wide closet parts. She chooses a pair of silk pajamas that hang around her thin frame. She climbs onto the bed and wraps an arm around you. Her skin is always cold to the touch. Like she’s dead or something. How interesting.

You stroke her hair. “I’d return the favor but… I’m actually gonna pass out. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She kisses your forehead. Wonyoung’s a sweet girl. “Good night.”

You smile. Say it back. Her eyelids flutter closed. Her palms are flat against each other and are placed under her cheek. Cute, you guess. She sleeps.

You don’t.

You should have—nothing good ever happens after midnight.

2:05 a.m., more specifically.

Amazing how time slips through your grasp like air. You reach and reach, desperate for a return, desperate for a flash to the past. As always, your efforts aren’t fruitful. The seconds pour through the pinched waist of the hourglass and you can’t stand it on its other head. You’re unable to revert back to the moment you took your arm from underneath your wife’s skull. The moment you opened your phone. If you hadn’t, maybe things would have been different.

But it’s past two, and you’re resting your back on the pillowy headboard with your phone in your hands. The circumstances just play right into danger: Wonyoung’s asleep, the night is eerily quiet, and the screen is there, awaiting the secret routine. Which girls would you cum for today? Why aren’t your thumbs clicking over censored sites?

Your feed shows a naked woman, her eyes staring up and her mouth wide. Scroll past that—you prefer the amateur videos, where the expressions balance between exaggerated and naturally provoked. A ton of videos could help in the bathroom where you take your nightly “shower,” and it’s not one of those.

Maybe you need the real thing.

Look at Wonyoung. Perhaps you should have let her ride you just so you could cum in a warm pussy again. After all, it’s the least you could do when you were once a fan of her. That’s how everyone starts: puppy-like adoration. But she doesn’t have the star quality she once did onstage; the coy thoughtful princess you envisioned her as. That’s why you haven’t fucked her in weeks.

You’re about to wrap your hand around your cock and ready yourself for another night of conflicted pleasure. This video is perfect for that already. You could jerk yourself off then get a good night’s sleep. Simple. This is the safest option for a dangerous want. By just watching, you’re not cheating on your wife. It’s just porn. Jerk off, cum, cum again probably, then sleep. Nobody gets hurt.

“Fuck me… please,” whimpers the woman in the video. Her legs are spread open. Her partner’s swiping his cock at her lips while she looks at him with equal hunger, equal desire. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Then, a text message notifies you, peeking from the top of your screen. It dares you to click it.

And it says the exact same thing.

fuck me please, i cant take it anymore.

i miss you

You look around, like you’re afraid someone might see it. There’s only the dimness of your bedroom that greets you. It’s safe, but this message isn’t.

The number is familiar. Has one of your friends gone crazy? Or did they send a text to the wrong person? Take it for spam, a perfectly coincidental one, or a scam, a typical, preying-on-the-married, pwning message.

But why would a contact spam you at a time so strangely perfect?

Don’t bother. Your fist works on your dick as you watch the video. The woman’s so wet that although she isn’t squirting, her juices start to stick to the man’s thighs. Her mouth is wide open as he finally pounds her.

What you’d give to have good sex like that again.

XXX-XXX-XXX sent a video message.

Fine. Click it, you’re curious.

Oh, so apparently, the answer is your marriage.

The video shows a face that’s more intimate than familiar. The ebony-black hair already tells you who she is, as does her body. Her form is encased in a floral tank top and nothing else. Although her chest is covered, she’s still a little daring with how her nipples stamp the fabric. She turns herself around to let you admire the curve of her wide hips and her round butt.

There’s only one woman with a body so perfect. And she’s the one and only Kim Minju.

There are reasons for everything. This is yours for why you didn’t give this number a name:

No one needs to know just from a text that you cheated on Jang Wonyoung.

That was so long ago, back when you were still boyfriend and girlfriend. You were drunk and missed Wonyoung’s old self. Why did she have to be such a bitch? Why did she dedicate herself to work and leave you dry? It’s not like the industry would go bankrupt without her. Minju came over, listened to your complaints—every little whine about Wonyoung being busy, every little jab at her workaholic character—then said something along the lines of, why don’t you have a little fun while she’s away.

And you thought… yeah, that was a really great idea.

That was the beginning of the end. After multiple secret meet-ups and raunchy sex in alleyways, you didn’t contact Minju again. You forgot her. You thought she did, too. She should have understood that your infidelity, albeit alluring, would be a thing of the past.

But here she is, in your messages, with a pornographic clip of herself in a round-cornered bubble. She’s waiting for a reply.

Although you’ve long lost your aspirations to be a better husband, you type what a good man should. This man is proper, faithful, and loving. He loves his wife only and the only other people he loves with this deep of a bond is his family.

Stop texting me or I’ll block you.

It’s not enough. You’re not a good man. You aren’t proper or faithful or loving or any of that shit. You were about to masturbate to an internet celebrity after turning down sex with your wife. What about that makes you a good person?

:( you miss me sooooo bad it’s pathetic, Minju replies.

You look at her again. You may not be able to turn back time with your metaphorical hourglass, but you can turn this hourglass body into any position you want. You could push her against a window for all to see, perhaps fuck her to the floor, or slam her on a desk like a teacher would to a test paper. Minju would let you do anything to her.

Stop it.

She really has to. As much as you dislike Wonyoung, she’s your wife, and you vowed on your wedding day to only have eyes for her.

But you’re only one man against a body like Minju’s that curves in every right place.

Three circles float up and down in a contained bubble before she texts you back:

alright…what a pity :( i’m already outside!! i guess ill have to go back…

You’ve never bolted out of bed so fast.

You look back at Wonyoung as you stand in the doorway. She’s still in deep slumber. Now, are the curtains closed? The entrances locked? Scan the house thoroughly, until you inch your way to the front door.

Hesitate. You didn’t know you had a conscience but here it is. It tells you to wonder if Minju really is behind it, like she said. She knows how to use the privilege of being Wonyoung’s close friend. That’s how she came to your house like she used to with no worry for paparazzi or suspicion. Best friends don’t fuck their best friends’ husbands, right?

Open the door. This one did.

Minju grew more beautiful in her absence. Her hair is silkier this time and her shy smile is brighter. The long coat is smoothed by her fingers, and you wish you could be the brown piece of fabric her pale hands run down. What makes you guilty for thinking it, even when you’ve done it, is the fact that she looks so innocent. It’s like it would be a crime to even buy her a drink.

How could she be innocent with that photo she sent? The time you spent together: you folding her over a table and promising to fill her up? Fucking her while Wonyoung is busy and counting on you to welcome her home? Sending nudes like there’s no tomorrow? Nothing about Minju is pure, yet she acts like she could do no wrong.

“Minju,” you say. Your voice sounds fragile. She has a way of breaking you befote you’re breaking her into breaking another bed.

She blinks theatrically. Everything she does is angelic. “Glad you opened the door.”

The knob is cold in your fist. It chills your animalistic brain and urges you to consider the consequences. Right, it says, here’s what a human—a good one—would think. If Wonyoung wakes and sees you with Minju, she’d have a lot of questions. If paparazzi are somehow hiding in the forest that extends to acres before your house, everyone would know you’re cheating on her. Most of all, you’re married, monogamy and everything.

So what will it be? This is your last and only chance to send her away.

You know what you have to do. Take a few breaths. “You have to leave. I’m not joking, it isn’t right.”

In response, Minju unravels the ribbon of the layers sealed around her waist. It falls apart. You do, too.

She’s a real danger. As it turns out, the girl isn’t wearing anything underneath that trench coat. She’s an artist’s naked muse—bare long legs, wide hips, and a sizable bust that has sculptors carving something else.

The cold hardens her pink nipples. You notice how her breasts are much bigger than your wife’s. How her hips are more tempting to grab, so you do. How her body is meatier, a lot more enticing that you wouldn’t refuse a day without touching it.

Minju fuels your infidelity, and you won’t stop for it if it kills you.

She simpers, fingers curling into your work shirt. “Still wanna make me leave,” she asks, “when you can breed me all night long?”

You laugh, huffing it out as you pull her inside and close the door behind her. Minju looks gorgeous pressed to it. She looks gorgeous in whatever situation, actually. Her thighs squish against the carved design and look thicker as a result. More reasons to dive into that shaven cunt and abuse it.

“You’re not leaving until we make a fucking mess, Minju.” You take your shirt off. Throw it on the ground. “And we better make it quick.”

“Of course.” She nods. She’s slyer than a fox, but she submits to you without a second thought.

You lean in to kiss her. The heat is unbearable. You can feel it from Minju’s body transferring to yours. It’s the effect of her natural skills as your personal slut: trying to fit her tongue deeper in your mouth while you pull her close like she’d dare to run away.

You haven’t gotten this hard for anyone else. It’s always been Minju you fall for. You miss the way she kisses, the way she roams her hands all over your torso, the way she’s goddamned insatiable. Feeling it all now in one, heated moment makes you dizzy. You’re taking in too much of her, but without her, you’d go thirsty again.

Your fingers are in her hair; hers are on your waist. Your teeth are clamped down on Minju’s bottom lip; hers are apart and allow soft moans to pass through—one, two, three. You fit each other in so many wicked ways. They did say misery loves company.

Open your eyes. The dream doesn’t stop. Minju’s still pushing her mouth in your face and you’re letting her. You don’t know if you ought to be relieved or downright horrified. You’re cheating on Wonyoung again with a woman whose body is just a bit nicer. You should be furious at yourself. You aren’t.

You’ve made out with each other on the way to the dining room. You and your wife worked hard for its designed walls and sturdy, well-furnished ornaments. A lot of money was raked out to make this house the best place to call home. So, why do you want to ruin it?

Well, because of her.

Minju leans on the dining table with a funny smile on her face. “She really doesn’t do it for you, huh?” she asks.

It makes you wince how you know who she’s talking about. Who else is she referring to other than poor Wonyoung? Poor, skinny, ugly Wonyoung?

Nibble at her earlobe. Hear little gasps come out of her. “Don’t talk about her,” you say.

You don’t want to have any afterthoughts about fucking Minju. Besides, being reminded that you’re disloyal to a woman who loves you very much is painful, even to a man like you.

Wonyoung is an angel. Minju isn’t—but you run after her to darkness.

“Ohh, come on, I know I’m better than her.” Minju squirms with erotic moans. Your kisses are going south, and she loves their little detour. “You don’t fuck her like you fuck me.”

When was the last time you worshiped Wonyoung? Like what you’re doing to Minju now? Your lips haven’t passed over it in ages that you probably wouldn’t know where the bigs and smalls of her body are. Like there’s anything to know.

“Actually,” you snort, “I don’t fuck her at all.”

You stop chuckling. That was the wrong thing to say. That was the wrongest thing to say out of the millions of other cocky phrases you could’ve thrown to Minju. The look on her face, the one that’s of pride and submission and dangerous knowledge united, tells you to watch your mouth.

You’re five seconds minimum too late to listen.

Minju grins. There’s the answer she wanted. “That’s how it is? Just looking at a girl and thinking you wanna stamp a divorce approval on her forehead? Jesus. This is why I never got married.”

“First off, nobody put a ring on you because you’re a slut, Minju.”

“That’s only the third reason.” Her fingers drape the sides of your face and tugs you in. You’re invited to the sight of her infallible tits. “These are the first two.”

The girl isn’t as busty as that woman Wonyoung likes to call her industry mom, but you bet they’re better. No, it’s a matter of truth. Minju’s boobs aren’t too big or too small; just the perfect, filling size to hold onto when you’re railing her from behind.

You choose to suck on them for now. It’s like a trip down memory lane when you kiss down her neck and collarbone. You remember how good her smooth, soft skin feels beneath you, how her moans are a favorite tune. Minju bites her lip while you do so to her shoulder.

It’s crazy to think that she just so happened to be born with this. She was born to be a pretty face with a sex-defined body that you pull and push and pry apart. Best thing is, she’ll lay back down and beg for more. It’s like she knows her purpose, which would’ve shot down her dignity and humanity.

Her nipple pops in your mouth. Your sucking guarantees its hardness, and Minju starts whining. She arcs her body, wanting something rougher. Thus, you seize the span of her hip to rub her pearl with fierce speed.

“Oh, fuck, god—” What others might take for blasphemy, you take for praise. Minju’s already soaking wet. She would have had embarrassing laundry to do if she wore panties. Maybe it’s a good thing she arrived wearing nothing.

She’s still so sensitive. You caress her clit after a few kisses down her midriff. She fidgets needily like you aren’t already touching her. You’re nearly right—this touch is nothing when she needs something harsher. That something involves you treating her less than a human being, putting her down and tearing at her hair.

“Please just fuck me,” she whispers. “Breed me, breed me, breed me—”

Yeah, that’s what she wants.

You don’t need further motivation, not when you’re presented with the prettiest pussy you’ve ever seen. Her fat lips are soaked. They frame the clitoris you’ve been stimulating that shines with slick. Then there’s the tiniest hole below it that begs to be used.

Your digits shove past all tightness. Her wetness allows a deeper exploration, so you curl your digits like you’re beckoning the orgasm forward. You know how easily you can get it out of her. All it needs to get Minju cumming around you is a slap, roughness, and giving her what she wants anyway. You know your methods, she knows hers. It’s a recognizable cycle that despite this, you can’t break.

Part your fingers widely to spread her. She’s so wet that she soaks your knuckles. There’s an ocean inside her waiting to be waved to shore. A storm, too, brews from the base of her throat as Minju whimpers. Her body lifts off the table but you force her down on it. She isn’t going anywhere, not without a fight.

Oh, and fight she does. She was an idol before an actress, so her muscles still memorize the circling motions that repeat on your fingers rather than move onstage. She sang once. That was a long time ago yet her voice sounds perfect as it strains her moans. Every little thing she does is a reflection of her past.

That’s why when she leans back, pupils dilating north, and says “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” you get deja vu.

Your palm hits her clit, adding impact to your strokes. “There you go, little slut,” you snarl. “Are you happy now? Maybe even a little grateful?”

If Minju’s ass isn’t pressed down on the glass mantling your dining table, it hovers so her pink little hole receives you better. It’s not without the help of her weak hands clinging to the table for dear life, but she seems to be losing her balance. Her hips are shuddering. Her beautiful face is squeezed up into a blissful wince. Her breaths are becoming blunt little gasps that say none of the gratitude you want to hear.

You slap her boob. Red blooms from her pale skin that deepens when another impacts her bosom. The recoil dizzies you. If anyone’s getting the impression that you’ll slap her bouncy tits until you hear a proper word of thanks, they’d be right. First impressions are right just for once.

“T-thank you—” Her voice cracks, breaking like her. “Fuck, shit, thank you, thank you.”

Squeeze her cruelly and pull on the perky nipple. Your thrusts become mindlessly paced. Your hand returns to your cock while the other ruins her pussy. The pleasure is telepathic. It’s connecting you; her screams and squirms make you do the same. The electricity firing up in your veins is a shared network. When you point your fingers to her spot, she arcs her back in the same direction. How beautifully fucked up is that?

“That’s not enough. You didn’t come here for nothing. What do you want, Minju?”

Minju babbles. You got your gratitude but not a proper answer. To be fair, she can’t speak when you’re fucking her like it’s your dick inside her, and when your lips are all over her collarbone.

“And you better keep quiet,” you add, curling your thrusts, “or Wonyoung‘s gonna hear. Do you really want her to know her precious friend is a big slut?”

However, despite the rumors she starts, Minju could be a very good girl when needed.

“Need you to make me cum,” she whispers. Her midriff is fluid as water with the way it rolls, showing off the hourglass shape of her waist and a soft tummy. “Do everything to me you can’t with Wonyoung. P-please, I can’t take it.”

Even if she can’t (wrong by the way), you’ll make her. She asked for it. She walked up to your house with a purpose: to be used, to be treated like less of a human being. So it’s understandable that you slam her down the table and seal a hand around her neck.

She’s so light that the forceful push doesn’t break the fragile glass. But there’s something of hers instead that’s going to be broken.

“Oh fuck! It’s so–” Minju’s eyes roll back. “Ohh… oh!”

Little sparks of wetness shoot in the air. Your pace turns merciless. With just three fingers, you puppet her body. Strings are pulled—her arms raise and her long legs strain to pull you in. You push and she keens, you pull and she yells. You’re making her desecrate the place with her water.

“C-can’t breathe.” A squeeze of her beautiful features—eyelids wrinkling, mouth parting, cheeks filling with scarlet—occurs before she squirts again. She whimpers pathetically, sounding so pitiful you want to laugh. “Ah, fuck, daddy—”

Something stirs inside you. When men hear that name, it ought to feel purely platonic and familial. They’d hear it from their daughter and feel compelled to protect them from men who’d do to them what you do to Minju. But you much prefer hearing that two-syllable word when it comes from a naked woman squirting all over the floor, from whom once you register it, you’re urged to pin her down, tie her down, hold her down.

Ironically, you release her. That isn’t because it’s over though. “On your knees. Follow me.”

Minju releases a gasp, grateful for the oxygen. The color returns to her face yet she barely has the energy to get off the table. You’re a generous man, and hey, it still counts as helping. So you yank her hair and force her on the ground. She fucking moans, a feat deserving of a healthy spank to her ass.

You walk to the living room. She follows you withher hands and knees bearing the cold tiles. You lead her to the place where you spend your time watching movies, rehearsing, and hanging out with Wonyoung if she’s ever home.

Speaking of, glance at the door of your bedroom. It’s still closed. It’ll stay that way.

Look down after wondering why Minju’s noisier. She’s playing with herself on the floor with no care for the cold chill of the tiles or the little dirt wedged between them. She lightly rubs her abused clit, quivering at the contact. You expect that from her—she’s corrupted, an irredeemable cause. She’ll get herself off anytime anywhere.

But what’s unexpected is what those watery eyes are focused on: you, in a framed picture on the wall. You look younger, happier. You’re in formal garments standing next to Wonyoung in a church.

It was you on your wedding day.

You spit on Minju. “Filthy cumslut.”

The drool slides down her cheek like a tear. She darts her tongue out and licks it. One could’ve thought it was candy considering the lift of a smile.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she says resolutely. Her fingers still toy with her entrance. They won’t serve her well when there’s a bigger, better thing behind your pants to do it for her.

Your pants are already off. “Get up. Get the fuck up,” you command, but you do it for her.

You grab her neck and force her up. The look on her face is addicting, the way the shock turns into carnal need, the way she bites her lip. You press her to the wall, right under the framed wedding pictures, and finally plunge yourself inside her.

“Oh, oh, oh!”

What did Minju do to get this tight? Her walls are squeezed closer around you than you remember. They’re still wet from her squirting, easing your burden of fighting against the tautness of her core.

Her groans are pitched just like how you pitch yourself in her and make her fight for it. She tries everything: gathering the strength she has to push her ass into your crotch, rolling her body, looking back to watch your cock disappear between her lips.

“So big, daddy!” she cries. With a lick of her lips, she turns to face you. “Mmm, d-do you ever get this massive when you’re fucking Wonyoung?”

That seals it. There’s no restraint in using her body. Her plump ass leading to her toned back is a temptation by itself. You’d burst all over it (maybe in it) if you weren’t already firm in breeding her. But dear god—it rises and descends into your angled pumps so effortlessly that you aren’t afraid to spank it like you’re angry at her.

“Keep your whore mouth shut.”

Spank after spank you bestow and you realize, oh, you and Minju are really made for each other. The more her ass reddens, the more hot pain sparks on your palm. She throws herself back hard, you piston her harder.

Your puzzle pieces stick together so perfectly that it’s a shame you didn’t meet under different circumstances. She could’ve been an adorable girl next door and you could have been a guy looking to slip her a love letter. She would’ve been your loving girlfriend, a beautiful wife, someone you’d actually enjoy touching, so different from the woman asleep in the bed upstairs.

But that’s never happening. Minju’s a slut through and through, and she’ll forever be a sin you won’t go to confessions for. She was made to be fucked then discarded of when she’s no longer of use. You see it in the way she’s in a mantra of craziness, the way she yells, the way she looks back at you like she’s daring you to hurt her.

You choose the dare rather than to tell her the truth. You curl her hair into a fist and pull her into you.

“God, I’m so close.” Minju’s trembling body grows warmer in your touch. “I’m gonna cum all over your big gorgeous cock. I can’t hold out longer, daddy.”

Your teeth dig into her earlobe. You could make her bleed and she’d still find a way to make the pain heavenly. “I thought I told you to be quiet. Is Wonyoung waking up and ending your life worth it for this?”

“What if I say yes?”

“Fuck.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice, making her see you’d give her away to get a night with me? You’ll give up all this stupid shit t-to be my daddy. Because Wonyoung’s just sooo worthless, isn’t she?”

Savage her cunt and shove your fingers down her mouth just so she could shut up. You love this. Minju’s always so ready for you.

No, actually—now that you think about it, you hate it. You hate how she’s curvier than your wife, how she’s more alluring than she could ever be, how she moans despite the blockage in her throat. Everything about her is so sexy that the sound of her choking up spit makes you throb.

This is the wrong time to have a conscience. You’ve already split her apart. You’ve already got your fingers in her hair that pull hard to the point that damage is highly likely. You’ve already—

—got Minju screaming, biting down on your skin as her legs spread. What a strange thing to have as a natural reflex. That’s all she knows to do: spread her legs, hope her innocent face attracts a guy into her home and his dick into her pussy. Her skin, white as snow, has become impure with red blemishes. You see her purple-bruised neck flex when she yells into your hand.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Minju yells. Her fingernails leave fine scratches on the wall. “Fuck, I’m squirting so much I don’t know what to do—oh fuck!”

You bump the manic girl up on your knee before spreading her legs. A godless squirt of her juices hits Wonyoung’s face, the savior being the glass protecting the picture. Others bless their homes with water blessed by esteemed priests; you like to stand out. Choose to have Minju’s unholy juice flood the photo you once held dear.

Did something possess you? An evil spirit, a god of fertility? All are clichés but you can’t help but think so when you notice how fast you’re pumping Minju. It’s like greed’s finally reigned you. It’s difficult to resist. Minju just wrings your cock perfectly dry with her tight cunt, keeps you speedy with her desperate moans. You’re vandalizing her with your climax and she doesn’t want to be clean ever again.

“You think you’re special, Minju?” You press her to the ruined picture. Her side profile mashes on the glass. “You’re nothing, only a useless hole, just like that bitch. Now clean it up.”

Her eyes light up in shock. Excitement? “What?”

You pull her head back in order to have her full lips pressed against Wonyoung’s face. The clear squirt is still dripping from it. Minju’s face is red, and although your cock left her moments ago, she insists on tensing like it’s there. Is that how she lives? Her way of bonding is riding on the high she got the night before and the night before that. She always has sex in her mind that thoughts of it occur to her as they would to an animal.

That’s right; she’s an animal. Perhaps even a dog would have more self-control than her, ironically.

“Lick your mess,” you command. “Now.”

Minju whimpers. You bury your fingernails in her scalp until she loses her fake hesitance. Her tongue glides on Wonyoung’s face and relieves her of the mess. Her lips part and close, taking in her own taste.

She looks like she’s making out with your wife. Her pretty face smudges the other pretty face in the picture and it’s so much hotter than it’s got the permit to be. Wonder how it’ll look if she’s actually kissing the real Wonyoung—picture them with their legs locked together and tongues coming out to play—and you’re hard enough for another round.

“That’s right. You want to be Wonyoung so bad? You want to be the one I drive into the bed everyday? So fucking make out with her.”

“Y-yes, daddy. Oh.” Minju’s moans fog the glass. “I taste delicious.”

It’s probably a hygienically reprehensible thing to do. But her mouth is dirtier than the picture anyway. You force her lips deeper into it until you pull her away, satisfied.

Not quite.

Rub her clit a few more times. Hose her squirt all over the floor. You’ll have a mess to clean up. Oh, there’s all the evidence: her squirt on the floor, her lipstick in the shape of a languid kiss on the picture frame, the mess she made in the dining table where you ate her rather than your food.

But it’s all worth it. An evil idea plants and sprouts in your mind. “Bedroom.”

Minju pants. Her hands are flat on the wall. She turns to you, saliva and lipstick smeared on her chin, and asks, “W-which one?”

“You know exactly where.”

Her wide eyes tell you wordlessly that she got the point. She’s well aware of what room you want to use her body next. It’s not even supposed to be a question given the ways and moments you fucked her there.

“But daddy—if, if she hears us?”

You grin. “Then you’ll have to be pretty fucking quiet.”

The best thing about Minju besides her body is her passiveness. She may act up sometimes but she still needs your cock, and she’ll do anything to get it. So when she hangs her head to hide her smile, you spank her. It speeds her steps to the staircase. Continue doing so all the way.

It’s funny how she struggles to even lift a foot. Streams of your cum and hers slide down her legs, staining the carpet. You’ll have to wash that out, too. If you have the maid do it, she’s likely to put two and two together.

Even from the back, Minju’s body is beautiful. Her reddened ass twists from side to side and brings attention to her wide hips. The deep line on her spine is a path you trace your fingertips on. She quivers.

“Daddy,” she whines.

Hit her butt. Let it fill your palm. “Keep on walking.”

It’s borderline dehumanizing. You’re treating her with a ferociousness a woman like her should never have to go through. The eyes of the painted men and women on your walls lock on her. It’s like their hard stares are real. Minju bears the blows to her cheeks during her walk of humiliation up the stairs. Tiny yelps are caused by each one. It’s in her to be quiet now that Wonyoung is quite near, although not as close as she is to another heavy orgasm.

You slap her pussy, making her shake, then lead the juices mingling in it up to her asshole. She chews on the inside of her cheek to hide her moan. She reaches the last step with a huge sigh of relief.

The finality of the torture doesn’t last long. Fuck, it doesn’t even exist. You collect the semen and wetness from her legs, then drag it right back to her pussy.

You shove your fingers deep in her cave. There. Now your cum stays inside her. After that, it’ll drip all the way to her womb. She screams through pursed lips.

Push her hard against your bedroom door. Her stomach’s flatness goes up to the point that it’s the only thing engendered into the wood. Minju’s tiny gasp is already loud for you. Her beautiful side profile is mashed deep into the solid barrier between the two women.

Minju whimpers. Is she scared or heavily turned on? The thing with her is she likes both. So, yeah—she’s wet at the thought of being caught with you, being fucked within a distance of your wife wherein she could finally pin down your infidelity.

The little angel closes her eyes when your words hover near her prone ear. “Shut up,” you warn, “unless you want to lose your career. Or this dick.”

You slip your shaft between Minju’s shapely thighs. A friction is nurtured and grown into rough, pant-accompanied humping that leaves both of you breathless. Her pussy lips splay warmly on you and you’re allowed to rub yourself on her clit.

Minju tenses up. Her breaths are kept to a hummed volume yet their huskiness gets you to fuck her legs faster. The core between them is so warm and you haven’t even welcomed yourself in it again.

You carefully open the door. You don’t know what you’re expecting: Wonyoung crying with her face in her knees? An anger you never knew she could have? But what shows calms you. There’s your wife who remains asleep on the bed. From the soft snores, it’s easy to tell she’s deep in a dream.

“Wonyoung’s so pretty, daddy,” whispers Minju. You push her to the footboard where she holds on tight. “Do you think she’ll want to join if she wakes up? Or she’ll leave you for me?”

“Are you sure you want to act like that?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Depends on what you’re gonna do to me.”

Everything. You’re planning on doing everything to her.

Push her to the small pole of the wood. You’re forced to shove your fingers in her mouth again to keep her from yelling. The contact it makes to her clit is already overwhelming. But she’s all for overwhelming—she wants the kind of sex that leaves her beaten and bruised, the kind that leaves her sore and not knowing if she should tell you to keep going or halt.

You know what she’d choose.

Minju grinds on the pole. She’s dancing her hips again. Somehow, things of the past don’t leave her. Her idol days still leave an impact on her. The guy she made cheat on his wife a long time ago returned to her life to cheat again.

No, you’ve never been one for sentimentality, but things have somehow stayed the same. The slut that is Minju today was a slut all those years ago, too.

Grab her hips and force her to hump the ball of the pole. She soaks it instantly. Minju is corrupted to no hope of return. There’s your cum, leaking from her pussy and to the bedsheets. Her juices wet the pole and increase the creaking noises that would wake Wonyoung up if not for whatever dream she’s having.

“Oh, daddy! Oh, daaaddy—” she stammers, words bitten and broken in the major need to be quiet. “Just… fuck me. Please?”

“As long as you—”

“Be a good quiet girl, yes. I’ll do anything, daddy. Anything for this cock.”

She kneels down. Her tender mouth seals around your left testicle. You nearly shout right there and then. Minju’s running her lips on the underside of your swelling dick. She feels so good, and she is so good. She has all the tips and tricks to keep you hard memorized, if her brain wasn’t too full of other dirty thoughts.

The rasp in your throat materializes and makes her squirm her legs together. She puckers her lips then slips your cock through their joined entrance. Her almond eyes look wider tonight. Your tip pokes the back of her throat. She lets it rub there for now. You find pleasure in the texture that makes you leak. No, you can’t cum. Not yet.

Take a last look at Wonyoung before diving your rod to the depths of Minju’s throat.

It’s funny that the girl still has a gag reflex. Sucking dick is second nature to her. So is getting throatfucked. The walls of her oral hole flex to keep you in. She makes sharp inhalations only to take in the musky scent you thrust on her. In her?

Choking comes after. The orifice grows tighter which makes you fuck it harder. Saliva’s slick liquid state sheens your erection. Minju’s lost her breath a long time ago but she’s lost more than that now. The regular beat of her heart is gone. You can’t search her face for any color other than the palest white.

“You have to stop gagging, Minju,” you say. Don’t help her though; keep ruining that throat. “Maybe you really do wanna get caught. Makes you really wet, doesn’t it?”

She nods. Your hard tip bobs in her mouth as she does. Her pretty eyes, with their long lashes and big pupils that always seem to gleam with innocence, fill with watery tears.

“How cute.” You’re surprised that her hair is intact to her scalp after you pull it back. “But I make the rules around here. And I need you to seal that mouth shut and use it for good.”

There’s a possibility that, like Minju, you’re a dancer as well. But the upward grind of your body has no grace in it. It’s a rough, punked up beat that renders the girl humming and screaming. This roughness is nowhere close to natural.

You dip your cock in her just to see how far you could go, how far is needed to keep her quiet. Feed her more than she could suck. Every sensitive spot of yours is on fire thanks to Minju’s dutiful tongue and hard sucking. Your sack slaps her chin so hard it’s surprising it doesn’t hurt.

But, like you iterated, Minju isn’t normal. She takes the pain for pleasure and doesn’t give a damn if she gets wounded because of it.

The tears finally fall from her eyes.

The lines blur. Who is she—the woman asleep on your bed or the woman you fucked to be disloyal to her? Minju’s beautiful; so is Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung is beautiful but there’s a category of beauty wherein the girl you’re destroying right now falls in. That’s the section for women who look pretty when they cry, who’ve accepted they’re as fucked up as whoever finds them and takes them in for who they are.

Your wife is pretty. You guess. But Minju is a beauty who lets you do everything to her, and that makes her a little bit more important.

Defile, defile, defile. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you get cum in her hair—(”I have a photoshoot, babe, you can’t!”). Semen sticks to Minju’s locks right now. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you be this rough with her—(“And what if they see? I shouldn’t look dirty to the fans.”) Minju is sitting there taking it like she’s just a cum dump. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you tear off her clothes because “they’re couture so it’s not really mine.” The coat Minju wore coming here lies discarded on the first floor.

Wonyoung doesn’t let anyone defile her. It’s her most fatal flaw. It’s the flaw that makes her husband see all the tiny imperfections she doesn’t allow the camera to see and chase highs in another woman’s throat.

So when Minju cries, gags, chokes—you realize it’s all so simple.

Slip out of her. The delusions clouding your head make you steal a look at the bed. Oh, now it’s unbelievable. Wonyoung is still asleep.

Not that it’s any inconvenience to you.

You prop Minju up to the vanity table. The counter carries the heave of her small chest. She can barely lift her head up. It makes her carry a look of humiliation that’s not at all true. She’s the most shameless woman you’ve ever met.

“Daddy… daddy…”

Twist her chin so she can look at herself in the mirror. Her body is amazing despite the handprints and bruises peppered on her stomach, butt, and neck. She flusters but your finger presses on her lips before she can look away.

“Not a single sound,” you remind her.

She nods. Good girl.

Minju’s a capable girl. Well, mostly. She offers those amazing dicksucking lips, shapely curves, and sometimes, her ass for ruining its own tightness. But nothing beats the feeling of her cunt. It’s all the right things: wet, tight, and perfectly quivering as they wrap around your shaft.

Minju closes her eyes. Bites down on her lip. She fights to be true to her promise of silence. Being a good girl and bad girl simultaneously is one of her versatile traits. The table creaks louder than expected. You would’ve shot another look at your spouse again, but Minju’s pretty face is in the way. Her cheeks are scarlet and her brows bead with sweat. She really is a beauty.

Your strokes are ceaseless. The thing that shocks you the least is the fact that her legs look as if they spread wider and wider. She splits while you split her apart. Place a hand on her tummy to muffle the sounds of skin colliding and wood creaking, and reach a better end: your cock is hitting her guts, making a bobbing print on her flat stomach.

“Look how deep I am, Minju.” You grin wickedly at her reflection. “You call me daddy anywhere, don’t you? How about I become a real one?”

Minju bounces herself on you. That’s a yes. A definite, enthusiastic yes.

Your penetration is rougher, gliding on places she can’t even imagine. If you cum right now, and this far in, you’ll live up to your name of “daddy.” Minju isn’t the only one who has to keep promises.

Corner a pulse point on her neck. Her core squeezes and although its resistance is tough, your pumps are more so.

“You’ll be my secret good girl. Daddy’s gonna put a fucking baby in your stomach, and no one has to know it’s mine. No one has to know you’re mine.”

Minju pouts, not out of sadness but of the orgasm that’s creeping from her feet to her center. It’s so close she could reach for it, taste it like a strong wind. You allow the tiny breaths and pants that leave her to be exemptions from your bedroom law.

“Wonyoung would be so happy for you.” You lick the sensitive spot behind her ear. “‘That’s so great, unnie! Come on, tell us who’s the lucky guy.’ And you’ll have to stop yourself from telling her that I did it. Can you do that?”

Minju emphasizes each repetition with a responding throb and push of her cunt. “Yes, yes, yes—”

Allow that, too. Burst inside Minju. Flood her insides with cum that shall infiltrate her fertile womb. Soon, that tummy would be round rather than flat. It’ll be your baby.

Minju got what she wanted in the end.

The next day, Wonyoung will wake up crying.

It’ll happen early in the morning, when the moon is still up and sheets still wrap your exhausted form. But she’s sobbing so loud that it’ll rouse you.

“What’s wrong?” you’ll say.

She’ll tell you about a dream she had. Wonyoung’s going to narrate a complex dream of Minju, her beloved former member and best friend, seducing you. It happened right in the house and in front of her. You dared to do it to her while she was sleeping and thought she didn’t know.

And you?

You’ll take her in your arms, kiss the inside of her trembling wrist, and say, “Oh, honey—it’s okay. I’m here, baby. I’m here. I’m here.”

1K notes · View notes

gyusimp · 2 months ago

Text

𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨 [𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭]

ᴹⁱⁿᵒʳˢ ᴰᴺᴵ! | ᔆᵐᵘᵗ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ | ᴬʳᵗ ᵇʸ⠘ ˢʰᵃᵈᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᴸᴼⱽᴱ ᵒⁿ ᵀʷⁱᵗᵗᵉʳ

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Kenji will always be very sweet. No matter how stupid he made you after sex, he will treat you gently and help you get back on your feet. He will clean you up first and then himself and he will be happy to take a shower together if you are okay with it. Although he is a bit of a fussy person so it is 100% certain that he will not go to sleep without changing the sheets for new ones. For your comfort and his, and he might put some air freshener in the air lol.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I feel like Kenji is very proud of his entire body, but especially his arms and torso. Have you seen that broad back? That man is to die for and he knows it, that's why he loves sleeping shirtless and teasing you. As for you, he loves everything about you, but he definitely has a fixation on your thighs and touching your ass whenever he gets the chance.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He's open to possibilities as long as you are too. Besides cumming inside you, he likes to do it for some reason where a few drops get on your strands of hair or a few drops run down your collarbones. He has a habit of teasing you by kissing you after taste you, so you'll taste yourself on his lips.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He's fantasized about doing things with you in his Ultraman form, why? Because yes. It's really nothing more than a fantasy because not even his pinky finger could fit inside you, but imagining you so small and needy in the palm of his hand has made his thoughts go beyond the limits he thought he knew.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Nothing. Kenji has no prior experience, not even a little. As famous and handsome as he is, we know that he suffered from bullying in his childhood years which affected his social skills so if I can't imagine him with friends, much less having encounters of that kind. His first time with you was an adorable disaster but you took care of making him feel safe always and over time he managed to improve his technique quite a bit.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any one where he can see your face but is also addicted to you riding him or if he's too needy he'll let you on top and spread his legs for you to do whatever you want.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on his mood. He usually acts normal but if he wants to tease you or is really excited he might tell a couple of dirty jokes to make you blush.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

This man is a total grooming person. I can see a shelf in his shower full of hair products, aftershave, skin moisturizers and all that stuff so yes, Kenji pays attention to detail and if he isn't completely shaved there will always be a neat, impeccable trim. You're never going to see a mess down there. Ever.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

There are times when you two are too horny to get romantic but that doesn't mean it's just sex without love. But, when he's truly focused on making love to you in every sense of the word, he's the most romantic man in the world. He makes you feel like you're on cloud nine with his soft caresses and kisses, his words are so deep that when you both finish, you end up seeing everything in rose-colored glasses and even loving your insecurities after he completely praised you from the bottom of his heart.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I don't see Kenji doing this kind of thing, he's a mature adult and quite busy too so if he ever did it, it was in puberty out of pure curiosity. Now he has you so if he's horny he knows you can always help him and if he's lonely he'll just get moody.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I think after taking care of Emi and researching parenting and fatherhood issues he had some praise kinks left, but nothing serious. He doesn't show it anywhere other than the bed and you discovered it little by little on your own when he told you things like how he was eager to fill you with his seed and how excited it made him to think of you carrying his baby in you one day. Whenever you bring it up he doesn't completely deny it but it's because he's a little embarrassed to admit it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Nothing like the comfort of his bed or yours but he's open to new places to make it more exciting. Places like his basement or the stadium locker room when the team has left have been the perfect spots for a quickie.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He likes you touching him, your hands are his weakness. Also for some reason when you are dressed up nicely, like clothes he is not used to seeing you in for example a skirt and heels to go to work or a nice dress for an event. He always thinks "is that my girlfriend?" and feels the need to rip your clothes off already.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn't agree with the idea of hurting you so he's against BSDM. If you were to ask him to do something related (like asking him to hit you or call you names) he would try to do it at first to fulfill your whim but after a while he would feel uncomfortable and maybe not want to continue. Maybe what he would tolerate a little longer would be to call you names just by seeing your intense reactions and they would be mild words like "slut" or "bitch".

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

As I mentioned before, he is inexperienced in person until after a couple of times. He likes to receive but he prefers thousands of times to give. The feeling of your folds against his tongue and your pussy between his lips is indescribable for him. He loves to grab you by the thighs and wrap his arms around your legs while he gets lost between your crotch for hours being blessed with the sound of your voice before his actions.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It will also depend on his mood. A happy, romantic, sweet Kenji who longs to spend time with you after a long week at work will be deep and slow but careful. But a Kenji who is stressed out from losing so many games, fighting with players from other teams and tired of being a baby kaiju's single mother and breaking his back being Ultraman will throw you on the mat face down and grab onto your hips to pound you like there’s no tomorrow and then flip you over to put your knees on his shoulders because you’re dumb enough to do it on your own (of course you’re okay with all of this).

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He is a fan of quickies, he couldn't live without them. He tends to have mental breakdowns more often than you think and between so many games, interviews and training sessions he sometimes comes home too tired to do it slowly and formally, so you can also offer him several quickies a week so that they are little breaks for him and he can de-stress and continue.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He has a slight interest in doing it where he can get caught, like the time where his hands got too far with you in the stadium locker room before a game and his teammates were feet away getting ready in the hallway outside.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He is a professional athlete who is used to hours of training, cardio and all that stuff. His average is 3-4 rounds when he feels mentally stable and physically rested. You usually ends up with pain in your lower back and the back of your knees.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't have any toys and he wouldn't use them on himself. If he ever bought one it would be to use it with you so you could both experience something new together.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He likes to embarrass you but in a good way. Maybe he'll mention things about how desperate you are or how abundant your release was today with just a few touches. This man's ego is big and it expands to the sky when he can see you under him sweaty and moaning his name repeatedly so it's the perfect setting for him to joke around in more egotistical and arrogant ways with you to make you blush.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

If you're in a completely safe and alone place, Kenji will never shut his mouth. He's unconsciously very expressive in that aspect and will say whatever he wants and needs to say, even if something bothers him. His tone of voice is thicker and more desperate as if he's throwing little tantrums asking for more from you. Sometimes it confuses you when he claims that you're too tight around him. Is he complaining or is he grateful for it?

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He loves to make dirty calls with you when you are at home and he is away from you. He feels very proud of himself knowing the power he has over you and how he manages to make you wet even when he is not present, calling you with some dirty nicknames that he saves just for you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's not too far from average. When the baby is asleep he's pretty normal sized although still noticeable in tight jeans or his Ultraman form. But when the baby wants action he's maybe an inch or an inch and a half taller than average. Kenji is a tall, thin young man so his strengths would be more length than girth.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

In the middle, not too low or too desperate. Although sometimes his thoughts are the ones to blame for making him feel horny and that's when he asks you for help to solve it, but on a scale of 1-10 I'd leave it at 7. He knows when it's more prudent to let himself go and when not to.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He won't fall asleep until you do unless he's had a bad day and all he wants to do is sleep in your arms right after he's cum. If he's tired enough to sleep on the same sheets you two made out with earlier.

#kenji sato smut #kenji sato x you #kenji sato x reader #kenjisato #kenji x reader #kenji sato #ken sato #ken sato x reader #ken sato x you #ken sato x y/n #ken sato smut #ultraman rising #ultraman ken #ultraman x reader

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yayll · 3 months ago

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~ a little something about Dazai's impeccable detective skills... only when it comes to you ~

"Uh-huh... And you said you were meeting someone last night?" Dazai pretends to jot down this information, his brows slightly furrowed as he scribbles into the notepad he conjured up from his long tan coat just a few seconds ago.

"Yes, that's correct."

"Ah, I see.. Fascinating. And how was it?"

"How was what?"

"Your date." He says, smugly. His head tilts in mock innocence, and his smile stays plastered on his lips while he watches you practically choke on your own spit. Now he's really going to start writing details down...

"Oh, no, it wasn't like that. Nothing that official, heh." You fidget with your fingers, looking down, and suddenly your shoelaces are the most interesting thing you've ever seen. You didn't think questioning would last this long, you weren't even involved in the crime, but this eccentric detective before you says all witnesses are vital for the investigation and you're just doing your civil duty as a valued member of society!

And this drives Dazai insane... how ridiculous that you don't have a clear standing within the life of whomever you were seeing. It should be a crime, really! If you were his, no one would ever hear the end of it. He hums to himself, nodding as if in deep thought as he draws a heart around your name in his notepad, adding his own name right under yours. He clears his throat and looks back up at you, making sure his knees don't give out at the way you seem so bashful around him.

"I beg your pardon? Do I hear that a young and beautiful person has not been swept off their feet successfully?"

Just before you can answer, a young man with white hair and a peculiar asymmetrical haircut runs to Dazai's side. He peers at his notes, and nervously chimes in.

"Er, Dazai? Mister Kunikida wanted me to come find you, but I didn't think you'd actually be working- Why are there so many hearts drawn-"

Dazai immediately moves his hand over the young man's face and comically shoves it away from his notepad, still smiling at at you. He speaks through gritted teeth and a nervous chuckle.

"Not now, Atsushiiiii, I'm working~"

This causes Atsushi to grumble, his face deflating into an annoyed sigh as his gloved hand scratches the top of his head.

"But Dazai, this is kind of important, and I really don't want to have to be the one to tell Kunikida that you're slacking off again..."

Dazai instantly snaps his head to look at Atsushi, pointing at you with dramatic flair, his voice reaching a mocking pitch.

"Oh, but I'm not, young Atsushi! I've come out here on pure basic instinct... I'm conducting a very serious investigation, and so unfortunately Kunikida and the rest of the folks at the agency will just have to wait for my genius intellect to come up with a tantalizing resolve. Get Ranpo to help. 'Kay byeee!~"

Dazai grabs you by the arm and though the gesture is hasty, he's surprisingly very gentle as he drags you away from the white haired young man. You're now standing outside a cafe and Dazai takes out what looks like a business card, presenting it to you. He scans your slightly confused face, and thinks about what other precious faces you'd make for him if he stuck around you long enough like the hound dog he is. He wonders if you'd let him touch your arm again, maybe even your hand... maybe even your-

"Are you okay, Dazai?" You ask in slight concern. Oops! He's been nonverbal for too long. He shakes his head rapidly and lets out a soft chuckle.

"Never been better! Here, take this, it's my personal contact. I think I've got all the notes I need to finish my work, but I seem to be missing one last thing-"

He proceeds to lean in a little, his now softened hazelnut eyes looking into yours intently, and his voice becoming drastically more serious. There's a glint of sincerity, and an emotion you can't quite place, but it makes your blood pressure spike and your cheeks flush at the casual intimacy of it all.

"... A time and date so I can see you again, perhaps?"

You feel yourself feeling giddy, and slightly stammer as your response flows out of you coyly.

"Ooh well, maybe tomorrow in the evening? I'll be off of work then. We can um, get coffee here?" You nod your chin up at the cafe sign, and flash him a soft smile. A smile that will keep him happily satiated until tomorrow.

"Ah, then it's a date! An official one..." He winks at you, and pats the top of your head, the feeling is light and angelic. By the time you recover, he's gone. You get a last glimpse of the way the tail of his coat swishes as he sharply turns the corner of the street, and you stand there smiling like a giddy schoolgirl. What you don't know is he does the very same thing, thinking about how playing with the fire of his own destiny is worth ruining if he could cement himself into your heart. In his adoring eyes, you could do no wrong. That's his job.

#so basically why can't i ever keep a thought to myself #but... flirty dazai prolonging an investigation just to talk to u.... come ON #he's a dog! he's a goddamn freak! i NEED HIM!#patheticzai coming at u again...#ATSUSHI CAMEO WHOOO #and when he got back to the agency he got his ass beat by kunikida but u made it all worth it <3 #he's like wow u can do so much better like ME duh #what a loser i would die for him #you guys HAVE to be tired of me already #bungou stray dogs #dazai x reader #bsd dazai #dazai x you #osamu dazai #osamu dazai x reader #bsd x reader #dazai imagines #drabble #dazai fluff

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lokisgoodgirl · 6 months ago

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Distractions [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: You suck Loki's fingers during movie night with entirely predictable results. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Avenger!Loki x Female Reader. Finger-sucking. Smut. Chino-besmirchment. Language. 'SEVEN' movie references. (w/c 1.6k)

You flinch as Brad Pitt recoils from the body on the bed in disgust. Scott hollers in the corner, sending popcorn and assorted snacks nestled between he and Sam flying. “Wooooah-” Scott cries. Sam's face is aghast as he tries and fails to scramble the chocolates. “Dude, what...these are new chinos. Pale stone, man. Pale...stone.” Scott’s hands crest at his nose. “Did you see that guy on the bed? Ho-boy, that’s gross. So gross. Rewind it.”

“Fan-tastic,” Sam says dryly, yanking the depleted bowl to his side. He clutches it in one hand, searching for stray chocolate buttons concealed beneath his thighs with the other. Tony snaps the leg panel of his recliner down, bracing at the sides. “Zip it or you’re barred. I have managerial rights.” “C’mon man, you saw what he did to my snacks - to my chinos.” Tony raises a silencing finger to Sam, moving it slowly to Scott. They both shrink into the sofa. "You know you're out of line when the lovebirds are better behaved that you are - and one of them is Loki." Loki’s mouth moves to your ear in the midst of the bickering, his breath making your scalp tingle. “It still amuses me that these picture reels affect you so. So easily unnerved.” “I’m not affected,” you mumble against his t-shirt. Loki’s low chuckle jostles your head. You prop your chin on his chest, staring up at the taut underside of his jaw. His eyes are bright and reflecting the screen stretched across the wall of the common room. “Yes you are,” he whispers in a frequency it feels like only you can hear. “It would be unreasonable for you to be as stoic as a god, darling. Very difficult to affect us to the same extent, you see.” “Is that right?” “Mmm,” Loki hums as he focuses on Morgan Freeman doing something clever. “My concentration is impeccable. Always has been.” You snort against his t-shirt. Minutes pass and peace is restored to the Stark cinema. You reach for Loki’s hand, intertwining the fingers. He gives it a squeeze, kissing the top of your head with his eyes trained on the screen. “Quiet,” Tony snips. A puff of air escapes against your hair. Loki squeezes your hand again and you press a kiss into his stomach, sucking the cotton between your teeth. The hard heat of his muscle clenches as your teeth graze the curve of a pectoral, blowing a blast of heat through the fabric. A strained exhale escapes Loki’s nostrils. “Careful, darling,” he murmurs. Silently, you shift the back of his hand to your lips. It's huge. Your dainty fingers get lost in the flickering shadows from the screen beneath the perfect pale of his long digits. His abdomen tightens against your cheek; hips shifting beneath you. After pausing a few moments...just to make him sweat, you press your lips against his skin. The unlikely pair on-screen move and talk, but you’re not really listening. It’s Loki’s gentle breaths you’re listening to, the ones drawn with such utmost precision that they’re anything but natural. Your lips move along the back of his hand, kissing the way you used to practice when you were a kid. “Mmgh,” he groans quietly, widening his thighs. Without looking you can tell Tony is glaring. “Apologies,” Loki says. “Cramp.”

Your tongue covertly traces the line of Loki’s finger from his second knuckle to the tip, catching it between your lips. A violent shudder wrenches his thighs and his effort to remain casual is astonishingly evident in the tighten of every muscle touching your body. His finger balances on the flat of your tongue and Loki’s holds his breath. After a pause, you slide it to the back of your tongue, fastening your lips to the base of his finger. “Norns,” he breaths, clearing his throat. It times perfectly with a jump-scare on screen. His free hand is curled to the arm-rest, perfectly manicured nails turning white as he digs them into the upholstery. You began to suck.

A growl rumbles his chest and the desperation to seem un-phased makes heat pool in your belly. You shift your hips, wetness sliding in your underwear. Loki’s cock is hardening furiously against his thigh, the drape of your hand, swelling against the tight jeans he insists on wearing. Sucking firmly, you drag your mouth down his finger, lingering on the tip and swirling your tongue. When you do that to his cock, just right, he cums down your throat with a whimpering stutter of your name. “I can’t do this anymore,” Loki mutters. Suddenly the world is upended and you’re tossed against the cushions on the opposite side of the sofa. Loki’s on his feet, one hand on his hips and the other pointed at the screen. It glistens with your saliva. Tony slams the feet of his recliner down. “Laufeyson for Christssakes will you pee before the movie? How many times.” “This man is an insufferable buffoon,” Loki says as he gestures at Morgan Freeman. “It’s clear the villain they seek is among them: the man with the vaguely attractive face who’s eating constantly.” Scott covers his ears while Sam leans forward. “Yo, man...spoilers,” he warns, raising an eyebrow. Loki lowers his head, shaking it with a smirk. Dark curls fall around his face and the pulse in his neck races in the half-light. “Fools. Come, darling. We shan’t waste your depleting lifespan on this nonsense.” Loki grabs your hand and yanks you from the sofa, bustling towards the door. “Keep moving,” he orders while a frantic hand runs over your ass and squeezes hard. The door barely clicks shut before Loki descends like a storm; hands and lips and dark sighs smothering you against the wall. “You dare to tease me thus?” He pants between the words, wet lips parted and eyes heavy. “I didn��t think you’d be affected, you say as Loki’s eyes glint. “I thought your concentration was impeccable.” He steps between your legs and the flat of his thigh pressed up against your clit. You gasp. “Even a god can be undone by simulated oral pleasure on his extremities, darling." You bat your lashes, biting your lip. “I won’t tell Hydra, I promise.” Loki growls again as he trails his knuckles over your breasts; his black hair and t-shirt and jeans melting into the darkness of the unlit corridor. The hand snakes down your thigh, working under the loose hem of your skirt. “Loki,” you say, eyes darting to the cinema-room door at the other side of the corridor. “Shhh…” Loki buries himself in your neck, sucking against your pulse. There’s a girlish scream from inside the room as another body is discovered. Your fingers fumble with Loki’s jean buttons, a desperate sigh of relief clouding the air as his cock springs free. “You’re impossible,” he says as he pulls the gusset of your panties to the side. “You’re impossible.” “Well, yes,” he says with a conspiratorial smile before hoisting your legs around his waist and sinking you greedily onto his length. The tug of his cock squeezing inside you hits with new fire as his hand covers your mouth. The finger you sucked is still wet and you pant against his palm. His eyes are bottomless in the gloom; the slight tremble of his brows and the part of his lips as he fucks you against the wall making you melt against him. Every slow roll of his hips erupts a quiet moan between his fingers. His breathy pants time with your own as he gets off on your pleasure like he always does. Your fingers claw at the V of his t-shirt, bunching it in a fist with a mewl of his name. “Teasing a god rarely ends without mischief, love,” he murmurs in the dark. Loki’s skin is flawless in the weak light leaking beneath the door to the cinema room. “You’d do well to remember that as we continue this…” He thrusts with calculate precision. “Venture.” You moan against his hand, eyes screwing shut as the coil tightens deep inside you. He loosens the pressure of his palm, a finger nudging at your lips. “Go on,” he whispers through heavy exhales. “Suck it as I fuck you. Show me how filthy you are for me.”

You let it slide against your tongue, sucking the digit over the flat with every rise of his hips. Legs tightening around him, Loki bites his lip as he looks down at your head falling back against the wall with unbridled approval. “You like it,” he moans with a whiff of condescension. “Perhaps I can summon a duplicate of myself for you to pleasure while I take you another way; would you like that?” The thought has blood thumping in your ears and the twisting pressure tightening in your core reaches critical levels. You whine, sucking Loki’s finger frantically as his eyes glaze with lust and his teeth clench. “F-fuck,” he chokes, stiffening against you. His forehead presses to yours, a guttural sigh shaking from his chest. Breath mists against your lips and you can feel the swell of his hot cum leak from your slit as he shuffles, milking the last of his pleasure – and yours. Your nails dig into the meat of his shoulders as you cum with a strangled whimper, dragging against the cotton. Loki’s thrusts slow, his kisses working into the angle of your jaw and the thud of your pulse. “You were wrong,” you sigh as he lowers your feet to the floor. “Excuse me?” “About the killer. It’s not Brad Pitt.” Loki’s brow scrunches as trembling fingers pull at his zip. “How can that be?” You shrug mysteriously, buttoning his jeans with a pat of his softening bulge. “Shall we go back in?”

Loki’s eyes narrow and he curls a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “Alright. But no distractions.” “I promise,” you lie, and a wicked smile plays on Loki’s lips.

Tags in comments because Tumblr continues to be annoying❤️

#loki x reader #loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x yn #loki fanfic #loki oneshot #loki gifs #lokismut

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burnthoneydrops · 6 months ago

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Lavender's Blue, Dilly Dilly (c.b. x fem!reader)

pairing: colin bridgerton x fem!reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: none? but let me know if i missed any!

a/n: Ah! the first of my "if i was a girl in a book" series is here with sound of music meets colin bridgerton! there will definitely be more parts to this (at least i think there will) but i wanted to introduce the idea of the series with this part first! hope you enjoy, let me know what you think! pt 2

The Bridgerton house is terrifying. Not necessarily the contents of the building, though you can not exactly speak for that as you had not entered the house yet, but the actual building is terrifying. It is beautiful and warm and spectacular and terrifying. You take a deep breath and close your eyes before marching up the front steps, placing your two bags down on either side of you, and knocking on the door. It takes approximately two seconds for the doors to open and expose the wide foyer and many footmen seemingly standing around waiting for your arrival. What ensues is the most awkward staring contest of your life; the man who opened the door stares seemingly into your soul, the blankest of stares on his face.

“Good morning, my name is Y/N and I am here to see Lady Violet Bridgerton,” you finally break the silence, hoping he will stop staring at you if you say something regarding your presence.

With his arms stuck to his sides and his neck turning only when his body does, the footman marches down the hall and announces your presence in the doorway. The shuffling of many feet against wood and carpet sound soon after, and you are greeted by two little heads staring from the doorframe. You wave delicately, readjusting the bag you had yet to put down in your clenched fist before deciding to put everything down in hopes of looking more welcoming and open.

“Ah, Miss Y/N, what a pleasure it is to have you!” An older woman in a beautiful periwinkle dress makes her way over to you. Looking down quickly at your brown frock, you push any insecurity out of your mind before sticking your hand out to shake. “Oh no, we’re a hugging household if you don’t mind,” Violet interjects your inner monologue. “Oh, not at all,” you put your arm down and let her initiate the hug, feeling both increasingly awkward and welcome at the same time.

“Your timing is impeccable, as all my children actually happen to be in the same place at the same time,” the woman laughs. So this is Lady Bridgerton.

“Well, when one has a home this exquisite, I would be partial to staying here as much as possible,” you compliment.

“I have a feeling we shall get along quite well Miss Y/N,” Lady Bridgerton smiles at you, and you feel like you have gained a victory, if not a very small one. “Children! Come greet our guest!” Oh. You are going to meet all the children right now. Splendid.

A cluster of frenzied bodies makes their way out into the foyer, the two younger ones that poked their heads at you earlier leading the charge. They soon formed a line, appearing oldest to youngest– though you could not confirm– and you hold back a laugh as the two littlest ones battle it out for a spot in the lineup.

“Gregory! Hyacinth! Stop that at once, we do not want to be confusing your new governess on her first day,” the oldest–or at least the first in line– yells while leaning over the back of the line.

“Apologies, they are not always like this,” Lady Bridgerton comments to you, standing by your side and looking disappointedly at her children.

“Mother, do not lie,” the second in line crosses his arms over his chest as the third suppresses a chuckle with a cough. You try not to laugh along with him, and he catches your shared moment, smiling at you while rolling his shoulders back and tucking his arms behind him.

“Well, I believe it is time that you should all introduce yourselves,” Lady Bridgerton waves her arm down the line in demonstration.

“I am Anthony, the oldest and the head of the household,” Anthony starts, stepping forward slightly then stepping back like a soldier.

“Very pleased to meet you,” you nod, smiling lightly.

“I am Benedict, second oldest,” he goes to readjust his vest and you notice the charcoal marks under his nails and the paint on his thumbs.

“An artist too I see,” you comment, and his eyebrows raise in amusement and confusion. “Your hands give you away,” you explain, nodding to the signs you gathered. His mouth forms a silent ‘ah’ before tucking his hands behind his back.

“Colin,” the third one nods at you with a sly smile on his face, “third, one and twenty, and without need of a governess”.

“Though some may beg to differ,” one of the girls further down the line pipes up, causing the two youngest to giggle under their breath.

“Well, I am sure we will get to know each other well on adult terms then,” you nod, trying to keep the situation light.

The girls keep the line going, Lady Bridgerton informing you that Daphne, the oldest daughter, was to debut this year and that while you would mainly be watching over the smallest two children, it would be much appreciated if you were to aid the girls in their more accomplished skills as well.

“It would be a delight ma’am,” you smile, and when Lady Bridgerton announces that you will need to be shown to your room, Gregory and Hyacinth (whose names you now have committed to memory) are quick to grab a hand on either side of you and drag you up the stairs. Eagerly waiting to get to know their new companion better, you are left to wave a hasty goodbye to the rest of the family as you nearly trip over the initial stair for the children are oh so speedy.

The first night finds you unable to sleep. The space is unfamiliar and the job so incredibly daunting. Though you have faith that you can achieve what you set out to do, it does not make the prospect of having to live with eight children, one mother, and who knows how many staff any less immeasurable. When the Bridgerton family had written to the greater community that they were in search of a new governess, you had never imagined that they would select you, but you were of course more than grateful. Coming from humble beginnings yourself, the cavernous environment and the sheer amount of people in it were enough to spike your anxiety. After tossing on your side for the 100th time, you finally strike a match, lighting the candle on your bedside table and grabbing your diary from beside it. Writing letters to family and friends had become a habit of yours when you could not sleep, which you are not eager to admit happens frequently. You begin writing a letter to your mother, the words spilling out of you as the ink bleeds through the page and onto your hands. Paying no mind to anything other than writing, you are shaken out of your mental tunnel with a quick knock on your door.

“Yes?” You call through, quickly shoving your diary under your pillow.

The door opens hesitantly, and Colin peeks his head through the frame. “My apologies, I saw the light under the door on my way down the hall and feared someone had left it burning in their sleep”.

“Oh,” you laugh awkwardly, “do not fret Mr. Bridgerton, it was merely me”.

“Were you unable to sleep?”

“Yes, but not to worry, it was merely,” you pause and realise there is rain tapping at your window, “the storm”.

“Ah. I know a few of my younger siblings are unable to sleep during storms as well,” he nods in understanding.

As if responding to a cue, Hyacinth runs up to the door and Colin opens it wider. Her creased forehead and pouted lips are enough for you to open your arms, sending her flying onto your bed. She ducks her head into your pillows, covering her ears further as thunder claps outside your window. You rub your hand along her back, looking between her and Colin who still stands at your door.

“My dear, did the storm frighten you?” It feels like an obvious question, but one must cover all bases when dealing with new children. Lest you forget when, two families ago, one of the middle children was not scared of the storm, but of the fact that his older brother was chasing him down the hallway with a fish head. How they had even come across such a thing you will never know. Hyacinth nods her head and you pat the space next to you, whispering quiet shushing sounds in her ear as you hear another set of feet approaching your door. Colin looks down the hall as Gregory comes to join the party.

“Were you scared as well darling?” You ask, scooting your legs to the farthest edge of your bed to make more room.

“No! I wasn’t scared…I was merely coming to check on Hyacinth,” he sounds unconvinced. You nod in agreement, muttering ‘of course’ to save him his image of masculinity when another round of thunder rolls through. That masculine facade is quick to fall as Gregory runs up onto your bed, taking up the space behind Hyacinth. Colin chuckles and you send him a death glare to avoid him making fun of his siblings.

“Now now, the storm cannot hurt us inside. We have light, and windows from which to watch the storm pass if we so choose,” you try reassuring them, but it seems to do little good as the children keep in their tucked positions.

There is suddenly a fourth Bridgerton entering your room when Francesca makes her way in, her head down in fear and shame. You open your arms wider, allowing her a safe space in which to take refuge, and she joins the cluster of Bridgertons on your bed. “Couldn’t sleep,” she mutters before wrapping her arms around Gregory.

“You know what always makes me feel better in times like these?” You look between the three closest to you. None of them give a verbal answer, but Hyacinth raises her head from the pillows, looking at you with the saddest eyes known to man. “My mother used to sing to me when I was scared of the storms. Would you like a song?” Francesca is the first to nod, then Hyacinth. Gregory is last, first trying to keep a tough illusion but quickly dropping it when lighting flashes into view from your window.

“Lavender’s blue dilly dilly, lavender’s green. When I am queen dilly dilly, you shall be king,” you begin. When you aren’t watching, Colin closes your bedroom door, leaning against the closest wall. “Who told you so, dilly dilly, who told you so? Twas my own heart dilly dilly, that told me so”. He hadn’t been expecting much when his mother informed the family of the new governess that was to join them, in fact he had rather been irritated by the idea. The youngest children always found a way to scare them off and it seemed like a waste of time and money in his opinion, but his mind is slowly being changed. Watching you interact with his siblings in such a kind a heartfelt manner, especially with it being less than 24 hours since your arrival stirs something within him. He does not quite have a name for it yet, but there is something compelling him to stay in place rather than walking the few extra steps to his room.

Perhaps he could get used to having a new member of the household.

#bridgerton #colin bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton #colin bridgerton x you #colin bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #if i was a girl in a book

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stevie-petey · 5 months ago

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chapter six: e pluribus unum

“There’s my pretty girl!” Steve giggles, head lolling to the side as he admires you. “Isn’t she the prettiest, Robin?” Robin giggles as well, her face just as bruised and bloodied as his. “So pretty!” “Oh God,” despite their injured state, the two teens are in an unusually good mood. They giggle like school girls, Robin even bats her eyelashes at you. Something is off with them. “How hard did they hit your heads?”

Summary: things get hot and heavy in the face of death, mean russians kidnap your hot almost-boyfriend, you have a philosophical discussion about nerdiness with the kids, acid becomes your new favorite weapon, and steve and robin try drugs together. yippee !

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, violence, cursing, blood and mentions of death, use of weapons

Words: 6.7k

Before you swing in: oh BOY do i have a lot to say about this chapter ,,, but for now i will hold off. pls, enjoy her. youve all waited so very patiently for this moment, and im SO excited to see what yall have to say <333

“The gate,” you, Steve, and Dustin breathe out at the same time. You stare at the machine before you; the gravity of the situation settles upon all of you as the machine continues to send pulses of light into the entrance of the Upside Down.

The lights flash, the blue flickers across your face as countless men in lab coats marvel at their creation, and your hands tighten into fists. What they have created will only undo the endless hours you have spent trying to protect everyone, it diminishes every sacrifice that has been made, it taunts the blood that has been spilled.

You hate them, you hate what they have brought back into your life.

“We have to get out of here.” No one argues with you, and quickly you guide everyone downstairs.

“What’s going on?” Robin asks as you gently push her down the stairs, quickening her pace. The urgence of your actions, however, only alert her that something is wrong. “Why do you guys look so scared?”

Days of hiding the truth from her have finally caught up to you, you can feel it, and yet there isn’t anything you can really tell her. Not yet, at least; there isn’t enough time. Hurrying down the stairs, you shake your head at Robin. “It’s a lot to explain.”

“I don’t understand, you’ve seen this before?”

She’s always been too perceptive.

You hate her genius mind.

“Not exactly.” Steve takes over now, trying to help.

Robin’s voice raises, she’s becoming inpatient. “Then what, exactly?”

Two of them argue and Dustin joins in, though you ignore them and reach the last step to start looking for any possible weapons in the room. If you guys have even the slightest chance of making it out of here alive, then you’ll need more than your switchblade and Steve’s surprising new combat skills.

As your eyes scan the room, you realize, too late, that the Russian guard Steve had knocked out only minutes ago is now gone. Horrified, you frantically whip your head to find him, but the man is gone.

Wonderful.

Erica notices this too. “Um, Steve? Where’s your Russian friend?”

With impeccable comedic timing, lights begin to flicker above you as an alarm sounds. Seems the Russian guard snitched, then.

“Oh, shit!” Your switchblade finds its way into your hand. This just keeps getting worse and worse.

Steve curses as well and sprints to the door to open it, trying to find another way out, but instead he finds a swarm of guards all staring back at him. Cursing again, he slams the door shut. He doesn’t have to say anything, you know by the look on his face that you’re in deep shit. “Go, go, go!”

Blindly you shove Dustin and Erica into the nearest door, tugging at Robin, and Steve takes the rear as the group starts to run. Your senses are in overdrive, your head swims with anxiety and your eyes flicker to any possible way out. Your legs ache with exertion, but you have no fucking idea where you are.

You make a sharp right and open a random door, but almost immediately you stumble to a halt when you see that it’s the room to the goddamn machine opening the Upside Down. Of course this is the room you chose. The scientists all stare at you, and you really wish you had stayed in bed yesterday. “Fuck!”

“Go, Y/N!” Dustin yanks on your arm and goes left, finding stairs to run down.

You risk a quick look over your shoulder and your heart drops when you see that the Russian guards are close behind. “We got company!” You’re on the landing platform now, too close to the machine and the gate for your own comfort. Dustin screeches as he shoves a Russian against the railing. You wince, feeling bad despite the horrible circumstances. “Sorry!”

“Why are you apologizing to the Russians–holy shit–” Gripping the back of your brother’s shirt, you save him from face planting into the giant laser beam. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!”

Steve and the others have joined now, and you realize how helplessly cornered the five of you are. You’re standing on the edge of the platform and the laser’s heat can be felt even six feet away while twenty armed Russian soldiers approach from behind.

Defeated, helpless, terrified, you turn to the person whose hand rests gently on the small of your back; the only person who gives you solace. “Steve.”

It’s all you can say, your knees feel weak and your body turns to his, helpless. You don’t know what else to do. Steve’s eyes find yours, he can feel Dustin looking to him for help as well. Robin, Erica. Everyone is looking to him, and yet he’s just as terrified.

“This way!” He doesn’t know where he’s going, he just knows that he has to protect you. Running back down the stairs, he shoves a guard that blocks the path and you’re right behind him, pushing barrels at more guards that round the corner so that no one else can follow.

“Go!” You wave the others ahead, now taking the rear with Steve. The two of you do whatever you can to slow the Russians down as Robin leads the kids towards another door. You’re all blindly running through the endless walls of the facility.

The door flies open and everyone rushes into the room.

Everything happens quickly after that.

Steve slams the door while you hold the kids behind you, away from the door and fearful of the bullets that may rain through it. Steve braces his back against the door. The Russians pound the frame from the other side.

Madly looking around for any sign of an exit, your body fills with unbearable dread when you realize that you’ve locked yourselves in a room without any way out.

Dustin’s scared hand grips at your arm. He seems to realize what you already have. “Shit!”

“Robin!” Steve calls out to her, desperate. He’s rapidly losing his footing to hold his position as the guards’ fists rage a relentless war. “Help me, come on!”

She runs to him and throws her back against the door as well, and the distress in Steve’s voice only hastens you as you run around the room. There has to be a way out. You refuse to die like this, far below Hawkins and the sunlight you’ve come to love within the small town.

Breath quickening, you rush up the steps within the room and drag Dustin along with you. Robin’s face is red now, Steve’s feet keep slipping, and from the force of which the door they hold thuds, you know the guards have started to throw their own bodies against it.

Something creeks below your foot. You look down and inexplicably hope jumps into your chest. There’s a vent grate, this entire underground facility is full of air ducts, it’s how you got into this entire fucking mess in the first place. “Here! I found something!”

Erica joins you and Dustin and quickly the three of you pry the vent open. You help Erica lower herself inside, instructing her to start crawling, now, when Dustin shouts down to Robin and Steve. “Come on!”

“Go! Just get out of here!” Steve screams back, groaning as the pounding on the door becomes more and more violent.

Your hand, which had been on your brother’s back, ready to help him inside the air duct next, stills. Your entire body freezes as you look over at Steve, ice cold fear crawls up your neck; doubt creeps in as you realize, far too late, that there isn’t enough time for them to escape into the vent.

There never seems to be enough time.

But you have to try anyway. All you ever do is try, you will die trying, you just can’t let it be in vain. “Steve, Robin, let’s go!”

Steve clenches his teeth as another body throws itself against the door. Through his exertion he can see how pale you are now, the realization that dawns on you that you will have to leave him behind, and Steve wishes he could kiss the despair off of your pretty face. “No! Just go and get some help, okay?”

“I–I can’t–” Dustin tugs at your shirt to come with him, but your body is unmoving. You can’t, you won’t leave them behind, Steve’s biceps strain against the doorframe and Robin groans in pain, and yet your brother’s fearful grip on you reminds you of your responsibility to him as well. To protect him, to get Erica home, be with them.

But Steve is in danger. He needs you.

You don’t know what to do.

“Y/N!” Dustin calls after you as you tear yourself away from him.

Blindly, as your vision darkens and the terror in your body threatens to consume you, you stumble down the steps towards Steve. You need to be close to him, it’s all your mind and body can register as the roaring in your head nearly deafens you.

As soon as you’re in front of him, grasping at his shoulders to try and take him with you, Steve pushes you away. “Y/N, you need to leave–”

“I’m not leaving you!” The shrillness scares even yourself, the sheer desperation to stay with Steve comes deep from within your chest as you scream at him. You’re panicking now, angry at him for even considering the idea that you’d ever leave him. As if you haven’t just gotten him back.

You’re never letting go of him now that you have him.

Not again.

Robin tries to reason with you herself, distantly you think she pleads with you, but your vision tunnels and all you can see is Steve. Your body hums with the need for his.

“Y/N, listen to me,” Another thud against the door, Robin’s foot slips, and Steve has to throw his head back and brace for yet another impact. He’s angry at you, too. For not listening to him. For how you’ve always blindly sacrificed yourself, harmed yourself to protect others.

Steve won’t let you hurt yourself anymore, not when he can save you.

Not again.

“The kids need you–”

“I need you!” Tears wet your face now, you’re clutching at Steve’s shirt as Dustin continues to scream at you to run, to not abandon him, and it feels as if you can’t breathe as words begin to tumble from your mouth with hysteria. “We–we can run, right now! You’re fast, and–and Robin can jump and–”

Steve’s lips crash against yours.

He’s weak and scared and helpless; this is the only way he knows how to get you to listen.

You breathe in sharply as his lips move against yours, you melt into him. He pours everything into the kiss, your teeth knock against his and your hands find his hair, tugging at it as Steve tries to convey everything that time won’t allow him to.

The kiss is rushed, it’s messy and it’s aching, and through it Steve begs you. To love him despite the fact that he has to leave you, that he’s doing this for you, he begs you to remember him, and selfishly he kisses you because he doesn’t want to die knowing he’s wasted half the damn summer without ever knowing how your lips felt against his.

It isn’t death that terrifies Steve, it’s the idea that he almost died without knowing how you tasted.

When Steve finally pulls away, you’re too shocked to move. His lips are tinged pink and his brown eyes are dark in the lighting and you’re both breathless. Your hands remain in his hair, all you can register is how the strands feel between your fingers and that Dustin is now at your side, yanking at your arm to follow him back towards the vent.

Numbly you allow Steve’s hands to help Dustin move your limp body, your feet rise to reach the steps. The warmth of Steve’s body is gone now. Faintly you feel your brother’s firm, but gentle, hands as he shoves you inside the vent.

There’s a tugging within your chest suddenly, an overwhelming sensation to turn around, and abruptly you come back to yourself. The roaring in your head quiets for only a moment, the lights are bright and Dustin’s fingers dig into your skin, yet still your eyes find Steve.

He’s far below you now, the Russians have almost broken through the door, and his kiss still sears your lips. Urgently, viciously, you scream the only thing you can think of that encompasses all the love and terror within you, “Come home to me!”

Steve opens his mouth to promise you that he will, he always will. You can hear the promise even before he’s said it, but the doors burst open and Dustin slams the vent’s grate down.

You ran out of time.

The echo of the grate’s slam rings in your ears.

–

Erica is the one that guides you through the air ducts.

You haven’t said anything since leaving Steve and Robin behind; it’s been hours now, and yet still you do not speak.

Dustin crawls behind you, worried. He watches your body shake slightly as you crawl through the narrow space. His stomach lurches when he notices how white your knuckles have become from how tightly you clench your fists.

You’re clinging onto what little resolve you have left, it’s evident to Dustin, and he worries about when, not if, you’ll finally snap. He knows that now isn’t the right time to initiate a code blue, but he’s concerned seeing you so broken. He hates that he can’t do anything, that he dragged you away from the others.

The air inside the ducts is warm, almost nauseatingly so, and the ringing in your ears has yet to fade. Steve’s kiss still burns your lips. His promise to you, that he would return and come back home to you, the promise that he couldn’t make, drowns out all of your other thoughts.

Come home to me.

He hadn’t had time to answer you.

The thought nauseates you more than the sickening heat that surrounds you. You left him. Robin, too.

You left them both behind, just like you left Will behind the night the Demogorgon got him. And the kids, that night when you abandoned them at the middle school and left them vulnerable to that fucking monster. And Jonathan, when he thought his brother had died and you were too lost in your self pity when he needed you the most.

Now, after promising Steve you’d stay, sworn in the passenger seat of his car as the snow fell around you both, you’ve left him once more.

Take all the time you need, I’ll be here.

The promises you’ve made burn so deeply that a wince escapes your lips, and Dustin quietly asks if you’re okay.

“‘M fine,” you manage to rasp out, crawling forward despite the tormented tugging that begs you to turn around.

You hear Dustin’s lips part, he doesn’t believe you and wants to argue, but you keep your head turned away from him and he instead settles on sighing. You’re not ready to talk about it, not yet. Not now, not when you feel as if you’ve lost a piece of yourself.

Erica turns a corner and starts to slow down. “Fans up ahead.”

“Great,” Dustin groans when he sees the giant blades spinning, blocking the way forward. “Think we could time it right and jump through them?”

“If you wanna lose a head, sure.” Erica snorts, unpleased with the risky idea. “Don’t you have tools in those lame ass cargo shorts you’re wearing?”

“My cargo shorts aren’t lame…”

You sit quietly as Dustin and Erica try and figure out what to do. You’re still in shock, you can’t gather the energy to try and help them. It’s like a switch has been flipped inside of you, deactivating your ability to do anything other than be plagued with the crippling sensation of loss.

Eventually Erica convinces Dustin to try and break into the control panel next to the fans and shut them down manually. He pulls a screwdriver from one of his pockets (to Erica’s utter amusement), and starts unscrewing the bolts. Through it all, you remain quiet, and when Dustin looks over at you, he finds you staring blankly at the walls with an almost lifeless gaze.

He sighs. Needing to distract himself, Dustin figures now is as good a time as any to explain everything to Erica. The Russians, why they’re here, why you’ve almost lost your mind trying to protect everyone. “It all started the night Will disappeared, two years ago.”

Dustin explains the Upside Down, the Demogorgon and how it was able to travel to their world through a gate El had accidentally opened with her powers, and now how the Russians have somehow found this gate and are attempting to reopen it.

Erica, to her credit, listens. She doesn’t question a thing, and Dustin is surprised by her lack of sarcastic input, but when he finishes explaining everything, the girl only has doubts about one thing: Lucas being involved.

“Wait, so you believe everything about El and the gate, and the Demodogs and the Mind Flayer, but you question your brother’s involvement?” Dustin asks the girl, in disbelief of how her mind works.

“That’s correct.”

Then, surprising them both, you finally speak. “Lucas is brave, Erica. He’s done a lot for the party.”

Erica’s stony expression softens slightly, her usual argumentative demeanor backs down. “Yeah, well. Whatever. You’re damn lucky it’s your birthday and I feel bad for you.”

It’s not much, but you know that she’s spared you her malice. For once you accept the sympathy, even if your luck has run out hours ago when Steve kissed you and then tore you apart. “Lucky,” you snort. “Yeah.”

Dustin and Erica look at one another wearily, though you pretend you don’t see it. After a few heartbeats, your brother clears his throat and goes back to unscrewing the control panel.

“Um, you need help with that?” Erica asks the boy, doubtful of his capabilities. When Dustin tells her no, she doubles down. “I mean, it’s taking a while, so–”

Dustin huffs at her. “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.”

“Don’t cuss at her.” You butt in, but Erica has already started back with her arguing.

She claims that at the slow pace you’re going, Steve and Robin stand no chance, and her words make the nausea claw up your throat. Dustin notices the way you clutch at your stomach and he quickly tries to reason with Erica, maybe say that she’s wrong, but the girl only continues to talk.

“I mean, we’ve made it about point-three miles in nine hours.” Erica looks down at her watch as she speaks, but her eyes almost swim with the numbers you assume she invisions in her mind. “Then we had to walk three hours down that tunnel, so I’d estimate ten miles back to the elevator, which should take us approximately twelve and a half days.”

You and Dustin look at each other, baffled. No way Erica managed to come up with those numbers all on her own. Sure, you’ve always secretly suspected that she was more intelligent than she let on, but Jesus. You can hardly remember the multiples of seven on a good day.

“Did you just do all of that in your head?” Dustin asks her, eyes wide with astonishment.

Erica shrugs. “I’m good with numbers.”

“That’s an understatement,” you mumble under your breath, though you’re starting to feel more like yourself again. Dustin calls Erica a nerd, which she adamantly denies, and the light hearted conversation almost seems to draw you out of your state of shock, albeit slowly.

Your brother lists off all the proof he has of Erica’s “nerdiness” and you listen, chuckling. The genuine offense on the girl’s face is hard not to laugh at, and when Dustin sees that it seems to be cheering you up, he doubles down on his efforts.

“Fact number three: you love My Little Pony.” He holds up Erica’s backpack that has two ponies printed across it, which you snort at.

Erica crosses her arms defensively. “And what does My Little Pony have to do with this?”

“Let’s recall the ponies’ latest adventure, shall we?” Dustin clears his throat and begins retelling the tales of the ponies, and you cannot believe that your fourteen year old brother still watches the show and pays enough attention to understand its themes and narrative. “Ergo, My Little Pony is nerdy. Ergo, you, Erica, are a nerd.”

“Not to take sides,” you poke your head between the two kids. “But why do you know so much about the show, Dustin?”

“Because I’m a nerd.” He manages to get the control panel open and rips the wires out of it. Electric sparks fly as they disconnect and the fans behind you slowly come to a stop. “Now, let’s go, nerds.”

Erica glares at him before turning to you. “Do you watch My Little Pony, Y/N?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m not that pathetic. I read comics instead, like the mature seventeen year old I am.”

The girl rolls her eyes at you, entirely over you and your brother, and starts crawling through the air ducts once more. As she leaves, Dustin stays behind. “Hey,”

His hand wraps around your arm and stops you from following Erica. You pause, confused as to what he may want. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” In the lighting, for just a moment, Dustin looks up at you and he’s the nine year old little boy who once feared you would get lost in your mother’s grief and father’s anger.

The last icy tendrils of shock melt, you come back to yourself when you hear your little brother’s fear for his sister. Taking Dustin’s hand into yours, you squeeze it. “Of course I’m okay. I have you.”

Dustin laughs softly, relief evident within his exhale, and you yank his hat off of his head to break the remaining tension away. He lunges for it, betrayed, though he laughs again anyways, and for a few seconds it’s just the two of you giggling to yourselves as you fight over the hat.

“Are you two shitbirds coming, or do I gotta kill those Commies on my own?” Erica shouts, now on the other side of the air duct.

With one last tug, Dustin tears the hat from your grasp and sticks his tongue out at you. “Last one to Erica owes the other $5!” He starts speed crawling towards the girl, giving you absolutely no chance of winning, and you hang your head in defeat and sigh.

The fucker owes you so much money already.

–

It takes hours.

Back aching and knees bruised, you crawl behind the kids in the seemingly endless maze that resides in the facility’s air ducts. It’s similar to the tunnels you walked through what feels like years ago originally, with Steve holding your hand through it all, though you know it couldn’t have been less than a day ago now.

The entire time, your mind doesn’t once quiet its concern for Steve and Robin. Just when the pounding in your head becomes splitting, Dustin stops you and Erica.

“Y/N, help me remove the vent.”

“Why, what’s up there?” You’re next to him, squinting through the grate’s small holes. All you see are what appear to be a line of vaults, though it’s hard to tell. “I don’t see anyone.”

Dustin starts prying at the vent. “Exactly, there’s no one up there and look, can’t you see it?”

You squint again, getting even closer to the holes to peer inside. Something glows bright green on one of the vault’s shelfs. “Is that…?”

“Uh huh. Now help me, will you?”

It takes a minute or so before you’re able to pry the vent open. Together, the two of you slowly lift your heads through the opening and look around. The room you’ve ended up in is empty. Along its walls are rows of vaults with multiple vials of the green chemicals you found in the elevator.

You’re not entirely sure what your brother has in mind, but you know it can’t be anything good.

“Jackpot!” Dustin breathes out with newfound exhilaration. He climbs out of the air duct first and eagerly starts looking around while you help Erica out.

The two kids look around in amazement, but you survey the area out of habit. It’s too quiet within the room. Being so close to the chemicals again leaves you on edge. “Stay close to me, we don’t know who could be nearby–”

“Oh!” Dustin abandons your caution in a heartbeat. He starts running down the steps, and when you see what’s gotten him so excited, you follow after him. There’s a cart right at the bottom of the stairs, parked to the side without anyone in it.

It could be your ticket out of here, if you’re lucky.

“Do you even know how to drive?” Erica teases Dustin, but you step past her and join him to inspect the vehicle.

He waves an indifferent hand at her. “How hard can it be? Max did it.”

“That was the worst car ride of my life” You shiver at the memory. The taste of blood fills your mouth and you can almost feel the bruises again. Shaking your head, you force yourself to focus. “Think you could hotwire this?”

Dustin furrows his brows and ducks his head under the wheel. He shuffles around, mumbling to himself, before he curses. “No, it’s one of those fancy, expensive carts. Which is goddamn ironic for people who hate wealth. We need a key.”

“Okay, that’s not how Communism necessarily works–”

“Did you two seriously think they’d leave keys in there?” Erica interrupts you, cutting straight to the point as she always does.

Dustin starts digging around the cart now. He checks the mirror compartment, under the seat, wherever his hands can reach. “There’s gotta be a spare…” When he comes up with nothing, he shoves you out of the cart. “Go and look inside the vault room.”

“A ‘please’ wouldn’t hurt.” Though you do as you’re told, trusting that the room is secure enough to leave him and Erica alone for a few minutes as you look.

There are vials everywhere, but no signs of a spare key. You wander the rows, the green liquid glows ominously. Drawing your face closer to one of the vials, the liquid bubbles in its glass container. This small, inconspicuous vial is what melted cement back at the elevator.

An idea comes to you.

“Dustin,” you call over your shoulder, eyes still on the chemical. “What if we grabbed some of these vials and used them as some kind of weapon? I mean, it’s some pretty powerful stuff.” No one responds, which you frown at. It’s then that you realize it’s become suspiciously quiet, and with your heartbeat in your throat, you run back towards the kids.

You find Dustin with spare keys in his hand, a proud smile on his face. “Found ‘em.”

“I’m going to start making you pay me every time you give me a goddamn heart attack.” A hand rests against your chest as you try to lower your heart rate. “I mean, this just can’t be good for me–”

A loud, spine tingling crack of electricity zaps behind you.

Screaming, you jump at the noise and into Dustin’s side. You both turn around, coming face to face with a giant electric prod held by a smiling Erica.

“What the hell is that?” Dustin shouts at her, fear still in his voice.

“A deadly weapon.” She zaps it again and the sound is deafening. “Could be useful.”

Both hands on your chest now, you hunch over and try to not to have a heart attack right then and there. “You kids are going to kill me one day.” You swallow, take a deep breath. “God, why can’t we stick with knives? They’re quiet, quaint. Not at all terrifying.”

“Knives against Commies? I thought you wanted to save your boyfriend, Y/N.” Erica swings the prod as she speaks and you hold your hands up.

“Let’s not swing that around, okay? The last thing I need today is to be electrocuted by that thing.” When she lowers the prod, you continue. “But… you should keep it. It’ll be useful for saving Steve and Robin.”

Dustin steps in front of you. “Wait a minute, aren’t you always lecturing me about being realistic? We don’t even know where they are.”

“And aren’t you always lecturing me about putting the party first?” You can’t believe that Dustin isn’t tearing the place apart to find Steve. “We can’t just leave them here. No way you think I’d let you do that.”

“But there are a million guards up there with weapons way deadlier than that!” He points at Erica’s electric prod. He starts walking towards the cart, keys in hand, and beckons you to get inside it as well. “Admit it, the best thing we can do for them is get out of here and find help. Our chance of surviving, and theirs, rises substantially.”

“No.” You don’t step foot in the cart.

“Just trust me on this.” Dustin tries to get you into the cart, but you plant your feet on the ground and refuse to move. “Y/N, please don’t be difficult right now.”

“I said no.” Your voice hardens. Dustin has never been one to back away from a challenge, and yet here he is. Accepting defeat and leaving Steve and Robin to suffer the consequences of it. You’ve always been the first to stand behind realism, to denounce insane ideas and stunts that the party always manages to get itself into, but this time it’s different.

Somewhere within these walls, your friends are facing unimaginable terrors. They sacrificed themselves to save you and the kids. Once again, Steve Harrington has saved your life.

And you’ve always evened out your debts to him.

“We’re going to look for them.” You walk back into the vault room and start grabbing vial after vial of chemicals. There’s an air of authority in your demeanor, daring the kids to argue with you. You’re taking control now after being numb for so long. Dustin follows you, tries to argue, but you continue grabbing vials from the shelves as a plan forms in your head. “We are going to grab as many of these as we can, load them up into the cart, and then drive around this shithole until we find our friends.”

You shove the vials into Dustin’s arms. He blinks at you, this is the most clear headed he’s seen you since descending down in the elevator. Marching back towards the cart, you place your own vials down. “Then, we are going to use whatever chemical this is to cause a distraction. We’ll melt something, maybe cause a fire. I don’t give a shit what we do. All I know is that we are going to then save our friends and get the fuck out of this hellscape. Do I make myself clear?”

Dustin and Erica stare at you, jaws slacked, both now sitting in the cart. Taking their silence as a yes, you nod, pleased. “Fantastic. Now, my dear brother, start driving or I will. Either way: we’re leaving.”

He gulps and tightens his hands on the steering wheel. When you’ve settled into the back of the vehicle, he starts the cart. “Let’s go, then.”

As Dustin drives, Erica twists in her seat to look at you. She’s impressed, albeit still slightly terrified. “Have you always been so scary?”

“Yes. I just hide it well. Makes it more useful when I need it.”

–

You’ve just finished counting the vials when Erica seems to decide now is an appropriate time to ask invasive questions.

“So what do you see in that hair guy?”

“You mean Steve?” Although, you suppose that hair guy is a pretty good indicator for him.

Erica nods. “Yeah, I just don’t understand how someone like him could impress you. He wears a sailor’s uniform and flings ice cream all day long.”

You’re oddly touched by this, though her description of Steve makes you sad. He’s so much more than just some guy who scoops ice cream. He’s brave, selfless, sensitive, and kind. “Don’t give me too much credit. There’s a lot you don’t know about Steve.”

She makes a disgusted face. “Yuck. It sounds like you love the guy.”

Dustin cringes and looks disgusted as well. He doesn’t want to hear his sister waxing and waning about his friend. “Can we not talk about that right now?”

Erica pinches his side, causing him to nearly crash the cart into the wall. “I’m an inquisitive person and clearly they’re in love. Y/N almost bit your head off when you suggested abandoning him.”

“Okay, I didn’t suggest abandoning him.”

“It’s just the facts!”

They argue, forgetting that you’re there. However, you need the distraction, and talking about Steve has always made you feel braver than you really are. A smile spreads across your face when you think about him. The words spill from your mouth without any effort. “I do love Steve.”

Dustin’s arguing fades away. His eyes meet yours in the cart’s rearview mirror. He already knew that you loved Steve, but to hear you say it, to see the blush that invades your face whenever you talk about him, it makes everything more real. Guilt washes over him. He wanted you to leave the boy you love behind.

“Look,” Dustin sighs. He needs to get this off of his chest. “I’m sorry about telling you to leave Steve and–”

A scream echoes within the hall. It’s feminine, familiar.

“Robin,” your stomach twists. She’s alive. And close. She has to be close if you can hear her screams. You grab Dustin’s shoulder. “Go!”

He slams on the gas and the cart picks up speed. Rounding the corner, he brakes harshly and you’re in yet another hallways. It’s silent, there isn’t anyone there. You close your eyes, you’re close. You can feel it, but you can’t locate them if you don’t know where they are.

“C’mon, Robin, “ you plead. “Help us find you.”

Another scream, this time it sounds even closer.

“That way!” Erica points left, and there’s no time to doubt if she’s right. The three of you jump out the cart and grab the chemicals. Dustin also grabs the electric prod, and then you all start running.

Robin screams again, and this time you can place which door it comes from. Adrenaline rushes through you. You have to work fast. At the end of the hall you see what looks to be an alarm switch on the wall. It wasn’t a part of your plan earlier, but it’ll have to do.

“Erica, go to the switch down there. When I say go, you press it. Alright?” She nods at you, quickening her pace. You turn to Dustin next, grabbing the vials from him. “Get the prod ready. I’ll throw the vials.”

When you get to the door that separates you from Robin, you press your ear against it. Voices are muffled, but still Steve's voice comes through as well. Your heart jumps. He’s with her. He’s alive as well.

Erica stands at the end of the hall and you hold your palm up, signaling her to wait. Looking at Dustin, he nods at you and holds the prod to his chest. Taking a deep breath, you start throwing the vials harshly against the floor.

You use all the anger within you to guide what little strength you have left. The anger drives you, it propels the vials, it shatters them. The chemicals spill everywhere. The cement floor begins to erode away, sizzling. After you’ve thrown your last one, you shout to Erica, “Now!”

Alarms sound overhead. Erica runs back towards you and you shove the kids behind a barrel. Within seconds the hallway fills with Russian guards and they swarm around the melted floor, but you keep your eyes on the door. Silently you beg for your plan to work. The door has to open, whoever is inside has to come and investigate the damage you’ve caused.

An agonizing three seconds pass. Sweat drips down your face. Then, a man comes crashing out of the door. He marches down the hallway and disappears when he turns the corner. As soon as he’s gone, Dustin slams through the door. There’s a man dressed in doctor’s scrubs within the room, but your brother attacks him with the prod and knocks him out quickly.

Erica and Dustin stand over the unconscious man. They’re surprised the plan has worked. Yet all you see is Steve.

Everything else fades away. He’s tied to a chair, his face is bleeding. You run towards him, uncaring about whatever else may be in the room. A whole fucking army of Russians could be standing next to you right now and you still wouldn’t spare them a single glance.

“Oh, honey.” The sentiment drips from your lips as your knife cuts through the rope that binds him. You’re so fucking relieved that he’s okay, that Robin is as well. But there’s so much blood. In your periphery you see a tray with a bone saw on it.

“There’s my pretty girl!” Steve giggles, head lolling to the side as he admires you. “Isn’t she the prettiest, Robin?”

Robin giggles as well, her face just as bruised and bloodied as his. “So pretty!”

“Oh God,” despite their injured state, the two teens are in an unusually good mood. They giggle like school girls, Robin even bats her eyelashes at you. Something is off with them. “How hard did they hit your heads?”

Dustin starts to help you untie Steve. “Get ready to run.” He instructs them with a firm voice. However, Robin and Steve continue to laugh. As if this is all one big joke to them.

They almost seem… drunk.

But there isn’t time to ask any questions. Any minute now the guards will return. You cut the last rope that’s tied around Robin and ask Erica if she can carry her. They’re too loopy to walk straight, you’ll need to help Dustin carry Steve back to the cart.

It takes a lot of yelling, slapping Steve’s hand away from your face as you struggle to drag his limp body to the cart, more bribes for Robin than you ever would’ve imagined, but miraculously you get the two idiots into the cart parked outside.

As soon as they’re secured in the back with you, Dustin steps on the gas and you leave the Russians behind.

“Tried promising you I’d come home, angel.” Steve is sprawled on your lap. His eyes are cloudy, he isn’t quite here with you.

“You didn’t have to say anything. I knew you’d promise me.” You reassure him. Carefully, you brush hair out of his face and you inspect his wounds. The cuts don’t look too deep, but you’re worried he might have yet another concussion. Thankfully, however, the blood has already started to scab over. The worst of it is over, and yet your heart still constricts when you remember that he’s injured because of you. “My poor, sweet honey.”

Steve closes his eyes and hums with content. “I love it when you call me honey.” He rolls onto his side now and nuzzles his bloodied face into your stomach. “Makes me feel special.”

Your fingers find his hair, careful to avoid any bumps and heart swelling at what he’s said. Clearing your throat, you look to Robin who is on your other side. You start checking her over as well. She isn’t as battered as Steve is, though a bruise is forming on her cheek.

When she sees you looking at her, she winks. “I lived!”

“You did,” you squeeze her hand and her head falls against your shoulder. She lets out her own content sigh, and you play with her hair as well. They’re still with you. Still whole and alive.

With Steve and Robin safely wrapped around you, you can finally rest.

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