#what would you want for yourself at that age??? security???? fun????????????

[ofmermaidstories]

ON MY HANDS AND KNEES. GRUNKLE STAN FIC. OLD PEOPLE ROMANCE. SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE??

i am in ur face anon. i am breathing in ur stale air. listen to me. we are gripping hands tightly with our fingers intwined and i am whispering this to you. i am pleading this against ur lips. do not do this to me.

[endearng]

Out of reach

Pairing: earlyseasons!Spencer Reid x hotchner!fem!reader Summary: You pull away from Spencer because of your jealousy. You go back to him after a few drinks in. WC: 9k A/N: fluff! pining! idiots/friends to lovers! alcohol consumption; spencer is a bit mean; reader doesn't communicate; hotch is a little older to have a daughter around spencer's age (do not come at me this is fiction). If I missed anything, please let me know! I had so much fun writing this one and it's now one of my favorites <3 masterlist

The jet was quiet as you and the BAU team made your way back from Los Angeles after successfully finding Lila Archer's stalker. The case had been a bit draining, after all, you've only been working with the FBI for a couple of months, and seeing dead bodies and all those other displays of violence was something you were still trying to get used to. Despite your sensitive nature, being Aaron Hotchner's daughter meant that you had mastered the art of a poker face through the years, not that it meant that your inner feelings were any less important. This is how you found yourself sitting all alone in a corner of the jet as everyone minded their own business. On any other day, you'd be sitting next to Dr. Spencer Reid, talking about whatever it was that could get your mind off the case you had just wrapped up. Spencer and you were friends, some would even say the best of friends, but you didn't mind about naming things — what mattered the most is that you got to be yourself around him and you didn't bother hiding behind the Hotchner glare, as he once put it.

Despite being unknown territory for you, after all, feelings and all that were protected by a deeply analytic and practical mind, you knew what you were feeling. Well, you were analyzing your reactions to check what had actually happened — and the thing is, you couldn't admit, not even to yourself, what that sinking feeling in your chest when you watched Spencer saying goodbye to Lila was. Amid your analysis, Spencer quietly approached you, silently motioning to the seat next to you. You nodded, shutting every single thought of him. Or at least, trying.

"Hi."

Hotch glare. "Hi, Reid."

Spencer felt nervous. He had never been on the receiving end of your… wrath before, so it was unknown territory and he didn't know how to act. His racing heart and clammy palms weren't helping him, either. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Listen, um, you... can... can we talk?" The stammering. Way to go, Spencer.

Glancing at him, ignoring the skip in your heartbeat, you nodded. "Yeah. Is everything alright?" A firm, secure tone. You mentally patted yourself on the back.

"You're a little distant... and—and I got a bit worried. Did... Did something happen?" He wanted to kick himself. What kind of person can't hold a serious conversation without stuttering like an idiot? Get a grip, Reid.

"No, Reid. Everything is alright. I'm just... thinking." You said.

Bullshit. You both knew that. Spencer, on the other hand, didn't know why it was bullshit. But he knew it was.

"Are you sure?" He asked, leaning towards you, almost invading your personal space and he shut his eyes before delivering the next question, "Is... I haven't done anything to upset you? Right?"

You took a second to answer him, willing your voice to stay still and the knot in your throat to go away. "No. It's nothing you've done. It's just... it's on me." You gave him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes — that's when he knew something was definitely wrong.

He nodded, but he was still worried by your sudden change of behavior, especially towards him. It was like he was anyone else, again. And, God, he didn't want that. "What is it, then? You can talk to me, you know. We're best friends."

Best friends.

The words felt bitter on his tongue. The sound of them broke your heart all over again.

Best friends. "Right. Yeah. I know." You said, quietly, and it felt a little lifeless to him. He clenched his hand, fighting the urge to touch you, to ask you what was truly bothering you. "Thanks for offering."

Spencer felt conflicted. If he didn't say anything and didn't push you to speak, you would probably bury whatever it was that you were feeling and it would lead him into being even more worried about you. If he did, you would probably snap at him because of his undesired, bothersome insistence. "It's nothing." He said, defeatedly. "Can you just... Do you promise it's not me?"

Your heart ached and you smiled at him, a tiny, faint, barely there smile. He was so adorable, sometimes. "I'm just upset over something else. Don’t worry. You didn't do anything wrong." You finished, trying to convince yourself that he had not, indeed, done something wrong.

And he didn't. He didn't. You and Spencer, despite your proximity and sometimes incredibly ambiguous relationship, hadn't said anything about deeper feelings towards one another. You let yourself admire him, lovingly, from afar, and were happy with the snippets of attention you had from him when you two had some free time. You two were regulars in the coffee shop near his apartment and, by now, the local librarian, Mrs. Jones, could probably fake your signature from how often you two went there to borrow books. She would watch you two behind the bookshelves, whispering excitedly and curiously to each other about whatever suggestions you were getting from each other. As you missed Spencer's longing glances to read a summary, Mrs. Jones smiled to herself, both at how adorable you two were and how oblivious you were. In museums, you would sit down after some time walking around to his explanations of art and historical movements that impacted the expression of a certain age — you pretended to not know a few things, just so he could speak his heart away and not be interrupted by your own contributions.

You kept silent to make him happy.

Which was exactly what was happening now.

Spencer knew, for sure, that you were hiding something from him. But he also knew that he had no right to force it out. He fidgeted awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his hands, his heart still clenching. “But, but... you’d come to me if you needed help, right?”

You nodded, unable to speak. You knew you were wrong, omitting things from him. Just as the guilt was starting to weigh in your heart, Derek passed by you two with a magazine in his hands, throwing it at Spencer, exclaiming, "My man!"

You looked down, already knowing what it was. Spencer was a mess beside you: blushing, stuttering, avoiding your and Derek's gaze and throwing the magazine as far as he could, like it had burned him. Your reaction was a subtle twitch of your lips, not in amusement, but in need to disguise the pang in your heart. You both spent the rest of the flight sitting in silence, simply being in each other's orbit. You, guiltily. Spencer, worriedly.

Your reaction — or lack of — was staggering to Spencer. He thought you two were getting somewhere, despite your closed off nature and demeanor, he thought he was finally cracking you up. Everyday was torture, seeing you walk through the bullpen's glass doors with your professional clothes and your composed figure. It was torture to see you walk around so prettily and serious, holding his bare heart in your hands, and not even realizing it. By now, he lived and thrived on those rare opportunities you had to spend time together as he became more and more covered in you.

As the jet landed and Spencer walked out to talk to Derek, you pettily made sure to step on Lila Archer's face when leaving the jet in sheer frustration.

Back to the bullpen, you had gone to the restroom to splash some water on your face in order to calm your nerves and to tell yourself that it was only a matter of time until things got back to normal — until you got back to normal. Glancing at your reflection in the mirror, you wondered if Spencer could tell that there was something wrong with you, if you had let any of your feelings slip during your short conversation. The version of you that stared back was as impassible as you ever were. As you made your way to your desk in the dimly lit sea of desks, you caught Spencer and Derek talking, both having their backs to you.

Sighing, you just left the headquarters, not wanting to know what they were discussing, or rather, knowing what they were discussing, but unwilling to stay, even if it would quench your curiosity as to what Spencer had been thinking.

Maybe you didn't want to know the answer.

—

The days went by, cases coming left and right, flights making you almost dizzy — not that you would admit, but you were terrified of heights. Between those and your training, you barely had time to think about Spencer and the entire Lila occasion. You spent your days busy with work, studies and physical training in order to keep your mind away from that, but as you lay awake at night, the memories would come back to haunt you relentlessly to the point you had recurring dreams of them. Together, as you watched from the sidelines. You kept to yourself, slipping further and further away from Spencer.

Reid, on the other hand, felt your absence more than anyone. You took a rain check on all the invitations he made, even when he invited you to movie night, when he would definitely choose a Russian movie because you mentioned once how you liked how the language sounds. There wasn't any more donuts on his desk as he arrived in the morning (he would always joke that you and your father secretly lived in the headquarters and that someday he would see Haley bringing your groceries to the secret house), and there was no one for him to throw his paper airplanes, small flashcards with the Russian phonological alphabet, at. The change in your behavior was absurdly clear to everyone: you barely called or texted him anymore, you didn't look his way when someone told a joke to check if he thought it was funny... He was sulking, to say the least. Upon questioning you, you blamed your lack of free time and as he was going to question you further, you said in a teasing tone that not everyone was like him and that the FBI was actually making you go through all the training phases.

Finally, during the end of a particularly frustrating workday, he finally snapped, grabbing your arm before you could enter the elevator. It was only you and him in the otherwise empty hallway. "Ok. What's been going on? And don't," he said, closing his eyes, "don't dance around the subject. Don't say it's the Academy. Don't say you have to work. Don't. Please, be honest with me."

The exasperation in his eyes and in his tone almost broke the wall that hid your true feelings, but as you glanced at him, you figured you couldn't do it. Be honest? What for? To hear that you're nothing more than his best friend? Losing said friend was not an option, not to you, at least. But you also knew that you weren't treating him right, that keeping him out was not at all fair to him, that leaving him in the dark was as hurtful as it would be to lose him.

Breathing deeply, you answered with the same stoic expression you wore every single damn day. "I told you, Reid. People go through different, busier times in their lives." The lie tasted like acid.

Spencer clenched his teeth, frustration and confusion beginning to override some of his social anxieties. “That! That!” He asked through clenched teeth, his gaze intense.

"That what?" You asked, puzzled.

"You... you stopped calling me 'Spence'—not that you did it often, you did it more when we were all alone, and it... it sucks! It sucks because I don't know what happened or what I did that was so wrong to make you stop liking me!"

Come on, just say something! Get angry, get sad, get something!, his mind screamed.

"I never stopped liking you," you said, looking away from him. His words hit a particular spot that you were totally willing to discover later, but the mere thought that he knew that you liked him more than as a friend made you shiver.

"That's not the point! Or—or rather, it is! Because if you didn't stop liking me, why would you act like you did?" He asked, his tone rising a bit.

"Calm down."

"Calm down? I will not calm down!" He almost yelled. His eyes widened slightly, disbelief clear in his features and tone, not to mention the frustration. "Just. Please.” He said, closing his eyes, willing himself to tone it down, not that it worked... “Tell me what you're thinking, what happened to you! For once! Any normal person would react and stop acting like an emotionless robot!"

You gaped like a fish out of water, taking a small step back, his words digging a hole in your heart. Upon hearing his own words and noticing you distancing yourself from him, all the anger vanished from his body. The widened eyes were a sign of realization of what he had said to you. During the early months of friendship, you had confided in him that you struggled with portraying emotion like others normally did. Maybe it had something to do with growing up with a father who did it so perfectly when he was out of the house. When he wasn't actively playing the ‘dad’ part, Aaron Hotchner would wear an unreadable mask like it was his armor, his defense from the outer world, but as soon as he got home, he was back to his main role. You would watch him with his coworkers and mimic him perfectly to make him laugh. At some point, making fun of and imitating his demeanor had become some serious form of self-defense for you. Spencer, then, joked that you were making your way to the perfect job, but then he had gotten serious and told you that it wasn't a flaw. That it wasn't a problem that you kept deeply to yourself sometimes — that it was okay to be yourself around him. You had felt safe by his side since then.

But now, what did those words mean? Were they lies?

He breathed out your name, softly, "I... I... I'm sorry."

"Just drop it," you replied, pushing the elevator button. Your dismissive tone and your action of leaving made Spencer feel utterly desolate, like he had done the wrongest thing in the world and perhaps he had, but he just wanted you to let him in. For once, he wanted to have the answers from your lips, not spend any more time analyzing your every single action and words...

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"You know, Spencer…" he looked up at you when he heard his name, as you held out an arm to hold the elevator doors open. As if thinking better than to say anything, you sighed and turned to enter the elevator, shaking your head with the most disappointed look he had ever seen on your face.

Spencer tried looking at you one last time before the elevator doors closed, and despite your face being as unreadable as it often was, he saw a flicker of sadness that stung his heart more than he liked to admit. If he hadn't done anything wrong before, now he had utterly fucked everything up.

—

The drive home, for Spencer, was a torture. He knew that he had to pay attention to the road ahead of him, to the other vehicles and drivers, but his mind kept drifting to the last glimpse of you back in the headquarters. Your empty eyes appeared behind his eyelids every time he pressed his eyes closed. He willed himself not to cry, to not blur his vision, taking his frustration out on the steering wheel, where his grip was so tight that his knuckles turned white. As he parked his car and looked up to one of his windows, he remembered you. Because of course he would remember you.

The sight was almost comical, to be honest. You, clad in one of the suits that fitted you so well, sitting on his windowsill, a cup of green tea in hands as you stared out the window, trying to analyze every single drop of rain before it reached somewhere outside your vision range. The funny thing was that you had no shoes on, instead, Spencer lent you a mismatched pair, not being one used to having people over, he didn't have a pair of spare slippers. Then, you sat there with a dinosaur-pattern sock on one foot and a striped-pattern sock on the other.

Spencer, sitting on his sofa and holding his own cup (he had let you choose your mug and stayed quiet when you pointed quietly at his favorite), smiled to himself. It was weirdly calming seeing you out of your character, doing something so... human.

"I can feel you staring, you know," you said. And your tone was almost... teasing?

"Right. Sorry." He said, looking down at his steaming tea.

"I'm not scolding you," you said, turning to look at his direction with a grin.

"Right, no—heh..." he replied, bashfully, cheeks reddening at the sight of your smile.

If only you knew... how many hours he would lay awake at night, as thoughts swirled in his head, how everything seemed to shut down at the thought of you. How he would fall asleep to the wish of being on the receiving end of one of your rare smiles, how he appreciated that you were always the first one he talked to upon his arrival at the headquarters. How... how he would do anything for you to look at him under a different light.

Seemingly out of nowhere, you giggled. Everything stopped.

Spencer.exe has stopped working.

"Heheh—I guess... It's not everyday you get to see a Hotchner so out of its—heheh—habitat." You quipped, looking at him with a smile on your face.

Suddenly, Spencer lost his voice. The connection between his brain and his tongue, which felt heavy, disappeared. Completely speechless, eyes slightly wide at the sound of your laughter. It made you laugh a bit more, but when his stare and open mouth got too much to handle, you looked down at your feet, wiggling your toes to distract yourself from the intensity of his gaze full of awe. Then, Spencer got back to his senses, smiling at you as you missed it to look away in embarrassment.

Spencer blinked away the tears and left his car, entering his apartment. As he took off his shoes, he let the tears fall at the sight of your windowsill.

—

Meanwhile, you were getting wasted at some bar. Not just any bar, but the one you usually went with Spencer when you were feeling daring and wanted a change from the places where you both used to go to. You were a bit of a lightweight, so a couple of drinks were enough for you to start playing trivia with Spencer and let your gaze linger for longer, basking in the sight of him so carefree, having fun with you.

Upon your arrival, the bartender that usually took care of your orders, MJ, greeted you with a smile. When she saw no one was joining you, she frowned. "Good evening, Hotch. Where's loverboy?"

You sent her a look, but since you were letting your guard down, after all, there were no acquaintances or friends around, you didn't know if the look came out as a glare or if you looked like a kicked puppy. She snorted. "Gee... That bad, huh?" She asked, and you didn't answer again, though you muttered a soft thanks, MJ when she gave you your go-to drink.

And it turned into two drinks. Three. Four...

(MJ was now giving you alcohol-free drinks, too worried for your well-being. You and Spencer started to grow on her as you two kept coming back.)

You rested your chin on your left hand while you traced patterns with your right index finger on the counter. MJ was eyeing you suspiciously, drying a few glasses with a washcloth. "He kissed another girl." You admitted, quietly.

"No way." She gasped.

"Way."

"But... I thought you two were a thing." MJ was baffled, placing down the objects she was holding in sheer shock. "I always thought you two were like... together for years."

"We were a thing.... I think, at least... I don't know, MJ." You sighed, tucking a stray of hair behind your ear. Looking up at her, hazy eyes taking in her focused expression, you sniffled, "we were on this case and then he met a girl and then the next moment the two of them were making out in a pool. In a freaking pool."

She tsked, anger flashing in her eyes, "I swear, those nerdy guys are the worst."

"Yeah..." You muttered, fiddling with your straw. "Can I have another one?"

She pursed her lips, but she relented. Then, as she handed you the liquid, a guy sat next to you. Did he look like Spencer or were you already hallucinating?

"Hi. I'm Dave. Can I buy you a drink...?" He asked with a small smile, wanting to know your name.

No, not Spencer. It’s cool.

"Hi, I..."

MJ cut you off. "Hey, Dave, I think she had too much to drink already."

They exchanged looks and it took you a minute to feel offended by her interruption and knowing you were perfectly capable of speaking for yourself, but realizing you would probably have to entertain a stranger, you felt grateful for it.

Dave left with a sour smile. "Thanks." You muttered, again, looking at MJ.

"Do you need me to get you a cab, honey?"

"That would be great." You said, placing money bills to pay for your drinks and the tip.

MJ looked around to spot someone to keep an eye on the bar as she led you out of the place, hand never leaving your shoulder. As she called a cab, she made you stand on only one leg to make sure you weren't gonna need her to go with you. You scoffed, but obeyed her all the same, with a low snicker. As you two waited for the cab driver, a woman who MJ trusted with her life (and her favorite regulars), you tried to make conversation to make up for embarrassing yourself by talking about Spencer with someone. How pathetic.

"So, what does MJ stand for?"

She chuckled, shaking her head at you and at your dazed eyes. "That's classified information."

"I'm familiar with that."

The cab driver, Paula, arrived. She greeted the both of you with a smile and a cheerful good evening! As you entered the vehicle, you rolled the windows down and pressed the subject further, "Seriously, is it Mary Jane or were your parents more creative?"

She rolled your eyes at you, shaking her head. "It's Mary Jane. MJ because who would take me seriously?"

You smiled. "I like the shoes!"

Paula started driving slowly, just to let other drivers drop their own passengers, as you were lost in your own little world, serious expression taking over your face again, not wavering, as you delved deeper into the whirlwind of thoughts plaguing your head. Paula, looking at you through the rear-view mirror, asked, "Is everything okay, honey?"

You buckled your seatbelt. "Yes, yes. Just... keep driving slowly, please."

"Where to?"

Only then you realized you never gave her an address. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you gave her Spencer's, telling her you were going home.

—

An unknown number had sent Spencer a couple of messages.

[8:32 p.m.] Lovergirl is here, drinking all by herself.

[8:32 p.m.] Water, but still. I'm not having her passed out without you here.

[8:40 p.m.] Sent her home, people were starting to approach.

Throughout the time he had spent with you at the bar, the two of you exchanged numbers with MJ in case she needed your help — you know, being FBI agents and whatnot. But Spencer didn't need to see her name to know it was her and she was talking about you; 'lovergirl' and 'passed out without you here' gave him clue enough. His stomach tied in knots when he read that people were starting to approach her, the nagging feeling that the image conjured in his mind was making him feel almost sick, then, it hit him like a truck: Lila Archer.

Their… case? was as fleeting as a careless glance. To be honest, Spencer accepted her advances to spite you for having such power over him, even if unknowingly so. The young agent felt like you were so out of his league, so out of reach — you were all that pile of confidence and stoicism and pure lusciousness and everything to him. And he was a young guy who truly had barely been kissed so far. How could he approach you, charm his way into your heart, especially when you barely bared it? With Lila, it was... nice. Easy, even. It was nice being wanted, to be able to read her intentions and desires like a children's book. With you, it was a tantalizing challenge, one he was, for the first time, struggling with. It was not like having a high-school crush, not like pining over the untouchable girls that would catch his interest as he grew older. No. This was something new. You had hit him deeper than ever or anyone before.

Plus, as much as he hated to admit it, he gave room to the anxious thoughts regarding your father as well. Would it affect his relationship with his superior? Would it affect your relationship with your father? Spencer felt dizzy just by the mere thought of ruining something uniquely yours. No, he couldn't impose himself on your life like that. It was mean, it was wrong, it was immoral.

To want, to desire, is to be selfish.

It was a bold assumption. To think you were jealous of him. Nevertheless, the signs were all there, had been all along. He was just dumb and scared enough of making assumptions.

A barely there, faint sound of a knock on his door made Spencer fly out of his bed, dropping his phone on the bedroom floor, but he didn't pick it up. He had a suspicion as to who could be knocking on his door, but he was too scared of assuming anything. Again. Opening the door, he saw you, breathing a bit heavily. The stairs, he supposed. You always complained about them. Once you exchanged looks, Spencer’s surprised one and your earnest one, you asked, "Do you really think I'm a robot?"

Shit. He could feel his heart breaking in a million little pieces. The insecure edge of your voice and words made him squeeze his eyes shut; in his mind, he was kicking himself simultaneously as he sank down to his knees, on your feet, begging you to forgive and forget his dumb, stupid, frustrated, unrealistic words.

"No," he breathed out, wincing, almost as if he was in physical pain. "I—I didn't mean to talk about you like that. I was..."

"Frustrated?"

He nodded, silently, eyes never leaving your face. Your speech, albeit way out of the ordinary that he was used to, was flawless. If not by the dilated pupils and the faint smell of alcohol, not to mention MJ's texts, he would dare to say you were perfectly sober. "I was, too." You admitted, looking down.

Spencer made way for you to enter his apartment. He watched as you kicked your shoes off. The sight, that had become as common as the act of breathing, made his way flutter. You intended on staying. Or so he hoped. You walked further into the place, noticing everything as it ever was, as if you hadn't been to his apartment for some time now. "You must be thinking why I'm here," you said, moving to sit on the couch and mentioning him to sit on the small coffee table in front of you, as if you owned the place, and not him.

Perhaps it was true.

He closed the door once you were inside, hesitating for a moment before joining you. He kept noticing things about you; the way you were walking, the way you could barely look him in the eye, the way you looked… “How much did you have to drink?” He asked, quietly.

"Not much. You know I don't usually drink because I can’t hold my drinks. And I'm sure MJ was giving me plain water at some point." You said, looking up at him. Well, at least, your speech flawlessly delivered, even though you were moving a bit more… disoriented than usual. She's totally a Hotchner.

"I... I am," he started, sitting in front of you carefully. "I... I'm sorry. It's just... You've never been so distant. I guess that I was mean to you to elicit some reaction."

Your analytical gaze softened upon his confession. You needed to give him some break, be a little easy on him. Well, easier than you were being as of lately. Nodding lightly, you added, "I'm here to apologize, too. I know... I know that I pushed you away and I made you think that... that that was your fault. It's not."

He froze. No, he wouldn't have you taking the blame for how his actions caused you to react. He looked up at you, reaching out a hand to touch your intertwined ones, "It is."

"Hear me out. Please." You said, lowly, not breaking eye contact. This was so hard, and you had never felt so afraid before. How ironic — to be afraid of being brave. "I... I guess that by now you know why I pulled away."

"I do," he admitted, nervously. "It took me some time, but I... I think I figured you out."

You looked down, embarrassed. It was overwhelming for him to see you portray such different and so many emotions all at once. To you, it was as agonizing as it was freeing. "Well, yes. So... It, um, it wasn't fair. We... we are not something. We are not a thing."

His heart, doing all the thinking and feeling, nearly stopped. As if it wasn't enough, you kept on going, "I'm sorry, I truly am, for how I behaved and how I made you feel by being absent. It's... it's not my place. You have your own life, Reid. I can't be upset with you for making decisions. You're a grown man..." you sighed, glancing at every direction but at him. "I know that I'm wrong, okay? And I know that I shouldn't have pushed you away, nor should I have kept my feelings from you."

Spencer drew in a long breath. He didn't know what to say, but you couldn't be more wrong. All at once, he wanted to scream, but he didn't know what ro say; he wanted to run, but he didn't want to leave you alone — not for a second. He didn't ever want you out of his sight; he didn't want to be the one you were apologizing to, hell, he wanted everything to be okay between them, but it was nice that she was talking to him, finally.

"I..."

Every time he thought he could say something, words failed him. Then, you took it as another opportunity to word-vomit everything you've been feeling. "I was... I was jealous. I didn't like to see that. I didn't like that it happened. But I also know that I have no right to be upset with you because you're single and she's attractive and you're both consenting and willing to do whatever you please, so..." You shrugged as if speaking those words aloud didn't stab new holes in your heart.

Spencer looked at you, totally speechless. It made you snicker. And speak further. Shut up, you idiot. Please, please, please! "And, ah—hahahah—I guess I am, indeed, a bit of a robot because it took me a bit of alcohol to pluck up the courage to come here and totally—hic—destroy our friendship by telling you I love you so much; that I'd hate to see you with anyone other than me. It happened and I hated it. It still stings."

Spencer's heart threatened to fail once again. Your giggles, your words, your confession... His mind completely short-circuited. She loved him. She loved him? She loved him?!?!???!!! That’s what she’d just said, apparently. Okay, calm down. And she’d been jealous. She didn’t like him kissing another woman, because she fucking loved him. Say something, you dumb idiot, his brain shrieked. Say something!

You parted your lips to say something else, but apparently decided against it. Another beat of silence of Spencer staring dumbly at you. "I'm going," you blurted out, standing up.

Spencer, at breakneck speed, stood up as well to stop you from walking away, placing his hands tentatively on your shoulders. Your bodies were now apart by mere inches. "No." His voice was so small and pained that you sat back down.

Despite your apparent willingness, your next words told him about your turmoil. "Why would I stay, Spencer? I've been pouring my heart out to you and you haven't said a thing."

Looking at you, so bare and so vulnerable, Spencer suddenly had flashbacks from when he had lashed out on you earlier and simultaneously fought the feelings that were bubbling inside of him upon your confession. Couldn't you see the sheer shock on his face? Couldn't you see that he was battling against every single bit of self restraint not to pull you into his embrace and make you believe him when he would tell you that you were the only woman for him?

Sure, he had dreamed of you saying those words to him countless times as time went by and you two got closer. Shit, he literally dreamed of it. Of you. Speaking sweet nothings to him... He broke out of his daze, realizing that he was deadly silent, "Don't go..."

"Then say something. I'm here. Not as Hotch's daughter, not as your coworker, not as a part of the team you work with. I'm here as the woman in whose heart you've grown over the last few months. I'm terrified of your answer and you keep depriving me of it." There was a hint of annoyance and hurry on your voice, and he could understand you, he truly could. He just didn't... he lost his voice when he looked at you.

Saying your name softly, he beginned, “I said stupid, untrue things, and I’m sorry. I’m a jerk, and I know that I’m a jerk and—" You quirked your eyebrow and he took a deep breath, trying to cut his rant. "Just... don't sit there and think that I have nothing to say."

"Have you said it?" You pressed it, quirking an eyebrow.

"No." He admitted, widening his eyes a bit as he realized his mistake.

At the same time, you shot, "Not saying something is also an answer for me—"

"—but not for the reasons you're thinking! Do you know how hard it is for me right now?" Spencer was starting to sound very desperate and pathetic, not to mention the fact that he wasn't answering your questions.

Deep breaths (from both ends).

"Look, Reid..." He glared at you upon hearing his last name. "I think I should go home. You and I clearly need some space—"

"What we need to do is talk."

You sighed. "Then why won't you give me an answer?"

Silence.

"You won't even remember this in the morning."

At that, you deemed yourself utterly defeated. This was useless. "I'm sorry I came over. I'm... I'll just go, okay? Please, don't be upset about tonight. I apologize in advance."

The sight of her, once more shying away from him and turning to escape from him, was making Spencer frustrated, with himself, to no end. His heart clenched at your apology, to which he shook his head vehemently. The thing is, he wanted to get ready to answer you, properly, just like he always had some trick up his sleeve or some funny or curious fact to blurt during the most random moments. Spencer was good at speaking, but only when the speech was already ingrained into his mind, something he had read or rehearsed before. Plus, he was sure your state of drunkenness would stop you from remembering that moment.

Spencer dashed to his door, barely stopping you. No, no, no, no, no... She can't leave. This might be my only chance. "You're not going anywhere."

"Excuse me?"

"Stay with me. I don't want you to go." He said, softly, slowly, looking straight into your eyes. It made you dizzy. Either that or the alcohol.

"No?"

"Y-you're drunk and I... I don't think it's safe for you to go by yourself and it's late and... and..." he trailed off, nervously, desperate to get you to stay.

"I'm not drunk."

"You're not fooling me. You might be as concise as ever but you're not sober. Stay."

"Promise... promise you won't be upset with me?"

His heart dropped, heavy with guilt. And with love for you. "I promise."

Spencer silently led you back to the couch, gingerly holding your hand. He felt dazzled, speechless, desperate, frustrated, all at once. But your touch was starting to ground him back to reality, where you were real, having confessed your feelings for him, and he was a mess, not even being able to say anything back. Without much thinking, he said, "You should stay over tonight."

"Okay... I'll take the couch."

"As if I'd let you sleep on the couch."

"It's okay."

"Stop... stop acting like I sent you away."

You kept silent. You felt like he did. Through his touch, he hoped to get you to understand that his feelings were a mess, but they existed, and they were real, and they were yours. "That'd be alright with me, you know. Taking your couch. I think I would sleep better on your floor than I would ever in my bed. To... to say that anything is better if you're somehow involved."

His stomach made a flip-flop. Brain short-circuited again. You yawned, as if you had just made an annoying comment on the weather.

"Are you tired?" He managed to mutter.

"I am."

"Come on. Let's get you to bed."

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'? I'm not letting you on the couch. Come on."

"I can't go to your bed with outside clothes." You booped his nose.

He chuckled lowly, confused a little by your words. "Are you seriously worried about clothes?"

"You don't like germs. That's why I removed my shoes."

Okay, he thought, if I manage to put her to sleep without having a heart attack, I definitely don't need a cardiologist's appointment because it would mean I'm that strong.

"Y-you... remembered?" Damn it, Reid. Stop stuttering.

You sighed, tiredly, and rested your head on his shoulder, looking down at his hand holding yours. "I remember everything about you."

"You do?"

"Yes. Fortunately or unfortunately."

Spencer was too stunned to speak. Too stunned, too dumb, too afraid. Damn it. Damn it. He couldn't stop cursing internally. He forced himself to pull you towards his bedroom and even though he still sensed some uncertainty, he kept going. Reaching for a pair of sweatpants and a big t-shirt, he gave those to you. "You can change into these," as he left the room to make you more comfortable.

"Wait!" You almost shrieked.

"What happened?" He prompted, worriedly, reaching a hand out to touch your arm.

"I don't want you to go."

He bit back a sigh. "I'll be just outside."

"Just... stay here?"

"I can't—" he interrupted himself, just turning around so his back was to you instead. At that, he looked up at his ceiling and prayed to any deity to let him survive that night.

He could hear the sounds of your movements. The zipper being undone, the soft ruffling of the fabric as you tugged your shirt up your head... He was imagining your exposed skin, every perfect inch, how would you look without all those clothes that suited you so nicely, how would it be to touch you, to run his fingertips all over your heated skin, how would it be to kiss every freckle on your body, to—"Done."

Turning around, the sight was adorable, which made him somewhat guilty of his early impure thoughts. "I feel like Alice when she shrunk into a tiny human."

He couldn't fight the smile at your words. He led you to his bed, where you laid on your back on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. Spencer left you briefly to get you a glass of water and some painkillers to leave by the bedside table. You thanked him with a silent glance. As he turned to leave, once again, you said in a small voice, almost phrasing it like a question, too afraid of the answer. "Stay."

"I'll take the couch."

"You asked me to stay, thrice, I guess… And I did. I asked you once and you did. I still have a few requests left. I'm keeping tabs."

He relented, laying next to you and placing a pillow between you two. You breathed out a chuckle and he shook his head, clearly knowing where your mind had gone to. He placed his hand on top of the pillow, offering his comfort, and then you tentatively placed yours on top of his. He grinned to himself.

It was hard for him to wrap his head around what had happened that night. He knew his words — or lack of — could be read the wrong way and you possibly did, but he also hoped that his actions were speaking louder. Just as he was getting lost in thought again, he heard your voice once more.

"Spence?"

That damned nickname.

"Thanks for, um, being so respectful. Not that I don't think you'd be. But, um, as you've said, I'm drunk. And I told you I love you. And you're simply holding my hand." He gulped. He was keeping count, too, of how many times you said you loved him. Twice, so far, but he wanted so much more, endlessly. He wanted to lose track. "I guess... that makes me love you even more," you finished, crushing his heart between your palms, voice thick with sleep.

When he finally turned his head to look at you, your eyes were closed and you looked peaceful, drifting off to sleep. Then, when he was sure you were actually asleep, he stood up from his bed, grabbing a pillow and a spare blanket to lay on the floor.

"I'll gladly sleep on my floor if it means I get to have you around, too..."

—

Spencer didn't get any sleep.

He tossed and turned on the floor all night long, both because his carpet was not the most comfortable spot to sleep on, but also and mostly because there was no way in hell his mind stopped working. All through the night, Spencer fought the urge to shake you awake to ask if this was real, if you really loved him, if the words that slipped through your lips were in fact your feelings towards him. Despite his curiosity and eagerness, he let you sleep, figuring that he had already put you through too much already. As you slept, a movie played on his mind: your moments together, your confession of love, and overthinking the words we are not something. We are not a thing. He feared that you would wake up and realize how badly he had screwed up and decide not to want him anymore. Yes, he was that anxious.

You, on the other hand, even though confused by his lack of answer to your heart’s words, felt lighter than ever by speaking out your truth (the booze did help you a lot, though). Being as analytical as you were had its perks. One of them is that you never let yourself suffer too much for too long, too attached to reality to care much about the rest. So what if he rejected you? Life goes on — and that’s what you thought with every other loser that you caught yourself thinking too much of. Spencer, though… Who were you kidding? Spencer was Spencer. And that meant the world… It wasn’t so bad, if he actually rejected you… you’d only have to face him every day, until the rest of your lives, doomed to work together, cursed to think and rethink all over again small, fleeting moments such as an exchange of longing glances.

(You felt strangely calm due to your touch with reality. Maybe, just maybe, you were hoping for the best based on his care with and for you. But boy, were you ready to give him a piece of your mind.)

As your eyes fluttered open, you stretched your limbs on an unfamiliar bed with too much space. Upon your confusion, the memories came back with full force. You jolted, sitting down, searching for him — and, to be honest, not wanting to find him. The house was deadly silent, so you tried to trick yourself that you were sure he wasn't there. You dashed to the bathroom, taking a quick shower to get rid of the shame and the faint reek of alcohol. As you moved around his stuff, you couldn't help but think that you were so familiar with his things that it was almost like you belonged there. Sigh. It turns out that hiding emotions is easier than feeling them, especially their extremes.

As soon as you finished putting on your own clothes, you stopped dead in your tracks as you heard footsteps outside the bedroom. You froze, not knowing what to say. Or do.

Spencer entered the room, holding a tray meticulously organized with some food on it. “Morning. I, um, made you breakfast.” Because of course he would make you fucking breakfast. 

“Morning,” you replied awkwardly and hoarsely. Maybe you cried a little bit, who knows… “Thanks, you didn't have to.”

“I did.”

You take your time to get a good look at him. He had bags under his eyes that appeared to be tired. The sight made your heart drop. “I'm sorry…”

“Don't be.”

“But I was wrong.”

“So was I.”

“But—”

“Last night you said some things. Do you, uh, do you remember what you told me?” You nodded, unable to speak. “Do you remember what you told me?” He repeated, trying to get a verbal answer from you.

“Yes, Spencer. I remember.”

“Can you listen to what I have to say now?”

You nodded, weakly.

“I didn't say anything because… because everything had gone in the most opposite direction they could've gone.” He said, approaching you calmly. “I was up the entire night, hoping to find the right words to tell you that would make you believe me after I… was stupid. I… First, I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I know you said that we're nothing, that we weren't something, that we didn't have anything… but… but you're everything to me.” At that, your eyes finally met his. The intensity of your gaze made him shudder, but he kept going. “All the time we've spent together was nothing compared to what I want to have with you… and… and… God! Do you have any idea of the torture I was put through with you? Constantly thinking of what we could be, what we should be, too scared of your reaction or that—that—that Hotch decided to chop off my neck because he found out that I was crushing on his only daughter!”

At the mention of your dad, you burst out laughing. Seriously? That was such a cliché! “Hey! I'm serious!”

“I'm sorry…” You bit your bottom lip, fighting the urge to laugh at him some more. He was adorable.

“As I was saying,” he continued, trying to sound annoyed, but a hint of a smile threatened to break on his lips, and he didn't pull away when you approached him nor he did when you wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest, looking up at him, adoringly. He looked down, meeting your gaze,  “I… I love you. I love you too. God, it just feels so good to say that!”

You giggled, again. God, he could never get used to that sound.

“And I’m sorry for being so mean to you when I was frustrated. I should have been more patient and my unthoughtful words hurt you.” You kept silent, remembering his words. “I—I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing if you’ll have me.” He added, intimidated by your gaze.

Silence. “Well, I accept your apologies. I was unfair to you as well. And you know where I stand when it comes to you. My feelings, I mean.”

“I do… But…”

“But?”

“I'd like to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you love me?”

“I don't know. Do I, really?” You joked.

He blushed furiously, ready to stutter himself out of that situation. “No, I mean… you—you said that—that you remembered what you said last night and… so… putting two and two…”

Another giggle interrupted him. You traced his jawline, leaning up to kiss his right cheek. “I really, really love you.” A kiss to his left cheek. He chuckled. “I love you.” A kiss on the tip of his nose, to which he snorted, totally lovestruck. “So much.” A lingering, tender kiss to his forehead. He closed his eyes, already anticipating the next spot you would press your soft lips to.

As you made your way to finally kiss his lips, you decided to tease him and let him wait for a bit longer. Spencer groaned in protest and you chuckled a bit, finally deciding that it was enough. Pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, making him sigh, you were thrilling on making him more and more eager. His grip on you tightened just slightly as he let out a shaky breath. You wanted to laugh, but instead, you poked fun at him. “Now you know what it's like to be teased.”

“I love you. Oh, Jesus… You're driving me insane. You're here… And you, you're you…”

You grinned, looking up at him, finally, finally pressing your lips to his. As you let out a small sigh, his breath hitched, both of you utterly drowning in relief and satisfaction. You pulled back a bit, grinning, going back to kissing him. Spencer's hands found your jawline, sliding back to tangle in your hair as he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth. Parting your lips slightly, you granted him full access to kiss you properly, and he moaned at the taste of you, gripping your hair rougher than before. You groaned softly, and he proudly heard and swallowed all your small sounds.

The ring of a phone broke the urgent atmosphere that was building between you two. Spencer ignored it, letting it ring until you pulled away, gasping for air. As you did, the noise stopped and you met his lost eyes, totally dumbstruck, and you laughed because you probably looked the same way. He gave you a charming, lopsided grin, too stupid, too hypnotized to say anything.

The phone began ringing again. “Son of a…!” he cursed, picking up the phone. “Hi, this is Dr. Spencer Reid and unless this is an absolute emergency, I'm kinda busy—”

“Reid.” Aaron Hotchner's firm voice hit Spencer like a bucket of cold water. Widening his eyes, he gulped.

“Yes… sir?” You smiled at that. Of course you knew who he was talking to.

“We have a new case.” Hotch announced.

“Oh… okay… I, um, I—I'll be there in 20.”

Silence.

“Is everything okay, Reid?” Hotchner could read anyone, Spencer was now sure of that. Even through the goddamned phone.

“Wh—yeah, yeah… Everything's… totally f—fine.” He cursed under his breath as you gripped his vest, trying not to laugh.

“Do you know where she is?” Hotch inquired after another moment of quietness. 

“Who?” He squeaked. You chuckled silently.

“My daughter.” Of course it was his daughter.

Playing dumb is not a good look on you, you mouthed.

“N—no… I haven't… heard from her.”

“Sure.” Hotch said, skeptically. Spencer could feel the sweat on his forehead. After a moment, your father finished the call with an unreadable “We need to talk.”

Once the phone call ended, you burst out laughing at Spencer's reaction. “Not funny.” He protested, a frown on his face and a soft smile betraying his faux frustration.

“Come on, it is funny.”

He glared at you. “What do you think he wants to talk about?”

“I don't know. Men talk. I wouldn't want to get involved.” You said, grinning, pulling him by his vest.

He squeezed his eyes shut, relishing in the feeling of having you so close. “Do you think he knows?”

“Of course he knows.”

“How are you so collected?”

“Because I'm not the one he's going to scare to death, apparently.”

“He said ‘we’ need to talk. Emphasizing ‘we’. If he knows you’re here, then it probably—” you cut him off with a kiss.

“Well, then… Are you ready to face your biggest fear? The frightening Aaron Hotchner?”

Glancing at you adoringly, he chuckled. “I’d face him and whoever, whatever, a thousand times, if it meant that I could get you in the end.”

—

A couple days after the case, you and Spencer meet again, in your apartment. Sitting down on the couch, you ask him, amusedly, “Do you think he noticed?” 

“Totally. I could barely look him in the eye for the first moments,” He said with a fond smile, hiding from you the fact that he had awkwardly and bravely spoken to your dad about your relationship. You laughed, placing your legs on the top of his legs. “I guess we should thank Lila, after all.” He joked, and you laughed out loud. 

Leaning him closer to him, grabbing his chin and looking deep into his eyes, you muttered, “Don’t ever say her name again, Spence.”

Your wish was always his command. It would always be.

divider by @cafekitsune <3

bonus

[berrryparfait]

hello~ can I request sumth about dom succubus/ vampire mc with sylus or zayne (or both)

give in to me... . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

— ༉‧₊ᐟ featuring: sylus, zayne x succubus! dom! fem-afab!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: [nsfw] smut, reader hypnotizes and restrains him with her evol but fails to k*ll him in the end, reader crashes zayne's clinic, piv, creampie, intense orgasms, multiple positions, overstimulation, non/dubcon, catching feelings(?)

— ༉‧₊ᐟ word count: sylus – 1.7k | zayne – 1.2k

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: southbound – artemas

✧ a/n: thank you sm for the req! this idea was too sexy to resist lol i was SWEATING while typing it all out...

The blood moon is out, and your insides are growling… You know very well that not a soul in Linkon can resist your…unique charms. Who will your lucky victim be this time?

Just how long will he last?

A mansion? Haven’t seen one of these out here in ages… Your heart lurches at the sight (not that you have one, of course—it’s all purely figurative), and you can almost taste the blood of luxury on your tongue.

You understand the person who owns this mammoth of a building won’t be easy. He might even desire to overpower you. But you won’t let him. You want to feel the life slipping out of him while you drink up his sex, watch as he begs for mercy and finally realizes that, no, you’re in control.

Your pussy throbs at the thought, and you have to remind yourself not to get too carried away. Getting lost in these fantasies will do nothing for you right now. Your first plan of action is to find a way in.

He’s left a window open. How careless. You crawl in with ease (thanks to your natural agility) and slide in and out of hallways, keeping a lookout for people or traps or security cameras or weapons. Not that you’ll be needing a defence against weapons, anyway. You don’t need a gun when you have supernatural sexual allure.

The house is strangely quiet, and you start to wonder if it’s even occupied at all. There’s an air of modernity to the place, so you doubt it’s been abandoned. On vacation, perhaps? No, you can sense the recent presence of a human being here. It’s past midnight, so whoever owns this house has to be in it. You just need to find them… A light flicks on somewhere on the ground floor. There you are, kitty cat. You hurry past the elaborately decorated walls and paintings, and find yourself hiding right behind a doorway to what seems to be a large, grand kitchen.

And in it stands a man so gorgeous that you think you may have finally met your match (in the looks department, of course). He’s tall, imposing, handsome, and looks like he bleeds money. His dark red eyes captivate you. You can’t wait to rob them of their pretty color.

Taming the excitement in your veins, you slowly step out from beneath the shadows, the red silk dress you have on revealing the curve of your bare breasts and emphasizing the pinch of your waist. Your walk is measured, calculatedly seductive.

He’s mid-drink when he spots you, the glass of dark wine tilted halfway to his mouth. His startling eyes lock on yours as he pauses, prolonging his sip.

“Why hello there. I didn’t mean to startle you,” you begin, voice dripping with innocence and honey. “It’s late, and I couldn’t find my way around…”

You take a few tentative steps closer to him as you speak, fully prepared for any sudden movements. Sure, there’s always the Evol option. But where would the fun be in that? You’re like a spider in this little game, waiting for the prey to fall right in your trap, of its own volition.

He puts the glass down on the counter, his movements as calculated as your own. His bathrobe hangs snugly over his delicious frame. “And…you happened to waltz right into my home.” His voice is as velvety as his robe, each syllabus sending tingles straight down to your core. This is going to be good…

Your face remains impassive. Slightly scared, even. “I apologise for the intrusion. I’m just so confused—and anxious—and—I don’t have anywhere to go…” Your expression is downcast as you go on about how sorry and pathetic you are, and when he drags his crimson eyes down the length of your body you think you’ve finally got him—

“I know what you are.” There’s an edge to his tone, one of warning. “You’re a succubus. Blood moon come early this year?” He says it with disgust, as if even the mere mention of the word spills toxins on his tongue.

Clever. Guess my suspicions were right, as usual. You don’t mind the challenge. After all, labor bears fruits. You maintain your ignorant disposition. “I-I’m just a girl. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the act, demon.” His gravelly voice really turns you on. He’s probably big as hell, too. “I don’t have time for your theatrics. I would���ve killed you myself if you’d visited last week, but fortunately for you my assistants are on vacation, and I really don’t want to clean up a mess right now. Get out of my house.”

Damn it, he’s good. I want to taste his cum before he dies. “Oh, there’ll be a mess, alright… Just not the kind you’re hoping for… Not yet.” You inch closer and closer to him until his chest is at eye level. He’s glaring down at you like you’re a pile of shit. “So hostile… So…difficult…” You run a delicate finger down the valley between his abs, and you feel his breath hitch ever so slightly at your touch.

“Get. Out,” he grits out, the hard, defiant edges of his jaw sharp enough to slice through skin.

You tiptoe and whisper into his ear, “Surrender to me, sweetheart. Just give in…” He exhales a little, and your arousal heightens. You roll your hips against his groin and his muscles grow taut. Someone’s getting hard. You can feel it through the fabric of your thin, skintight dress: the outline of a beast between his legs.

You get on your knees then, looking up at him with pure and unassuming doe eyes. You can smell his arousal. Can he smell yours? You reach between the plush material of his robe and pull it apart, his erect cock springing out to kiss your face. Furious, he backs away, but you activate your Evol then, restraining his hands to his back.

“You’re making this really hard for me, you know.” You use your powers to shove him down to his knees, and before he knows it, he’s leaning back against the oven with his hands bound behind him and his knees bent on the marble floor, with nothing to conceal his glaring erection.

He struggles beneath your supernatural hold, hissing in rage as he realizes his strength is no match for yours. “You’re a heinous witch—” he spits, though he’s cut off by the Evol you tape to his mouth.

There we go. Time for this fairy to work her magic. You get down on all fours and lean towards his cock, your mouth hovering inches from him. He squirms, clearly unused to being the one following orders for once. “You’re going to want me, kitty cat…”

Your lips wrap around his engorged head, and his eyes squeeze shut. The taste of his dick is instantly addictive, and you find yourself wanting to choke on it. Slick coats your pussy, which aches for its turn. You move your mouth along his length, going up and down as slowly and languidly as possible. A muffled moan escapes his throat, and his thighs clench. “Good boy…”

You begin to suck him off faster, pumping the base of his shaft with your right hand and fondling his balls with your left. Low growls sound from deep within him, and his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. “Mmmh… Mmh—” With a crude “pop”, you release his cockhead from your mouth.

I need him in me. Now. In one swift movement, you pull your black lace panties down and they fall to the floor, forgotten. You hastily pull the skirt of your dress over your head and toss it to the side, now fully naked and ready to take him.

Still panting, his eyes travel the length of your perfect body, lingering at your perky breasts and sopping cunt. You grab onto his shoulders for balance and angle your pussy directly above his leaking cock, positioning your tits right in front of his face. Lowering yourself onto him, you moan as his girth slides against your walls. The pleasure is blinding, and you feel as if life itself is returning to your body.

He groans pathetically as he enters your wet pussy, your tits brushing against his nose. He looks disgusted. Angry. Incredibly and unabashedly desperate. You begin to bounce on his lap, both hands braced on his shoulders as his dick plunges into your cunt and wet squelches fill the room.

You remove the Evol tape on his mouth, and he’s no longer mouthing off. His dirty, needy moans mingle with yours as he begins to thrust upwards, no longer fighting the carnal desire within him. “Ugh… Fuck— Fuck—!” he laments, his expression pained.

You release him from the restraints. Of course it would be easier for you to drain him while he’s bound. But you preferred to let them take control towards the end. To let them fuck themselves to death.

He up in an instant, twisting you around and pounding into you from behind. Like a puppet on a string, he fucks himself senseless as he grabs your hips and utterly destroys your pussy, balls slapping against your clit. “Fuck, I can’t— I shouldn’t be doing this—” he swears, revelling in the feeling of his cock gliding against your folds.

You scream out in ecstasy, the feeling of his tip rubbing against your cervix sending you into a mindless haze. He isn’t getting any weaker. In fact, he’s getting stronger, his thrusts more and more powerful. Why is this happening? This shouldn’t be happening—

He slams into you so strongly your vision blurs. His cock twitches so violently you know what’s coming, yet it still surprises you when he cums; thick, hot liquid filling you up as you orgasm so viciously your entire body shakes. Your pussy spasms in tandem with his release as he continues to pump spurts of cum into you, his cries echoing yours as you hear your mixed juices fall to the floor in puddles.

He slides out of you with another “pop” and you fall to the floor, still vibrating with desire. It takes you a while to realize he isn’t dead. How…?

“It should’ve killed you…” You watch in bewilderment as he pants on the ground, cum staining his discarded robe. Very much alive.

“It’s going to take more than that, Kitten.” His eyes gaze into yours, and for a shocking moment, you think he really sees you. It’s sickening.

Something flutters to life and begins to pound in your chest.

Hunting isn’t something to be taken lightly. You only get to do it once a year, after all—if you’re going to drink someone up tonight, it has to be someone positively delicious.

You roam the streets at midnight, keeping a lookout for your little snack. No, not him… Hmm, not her either…

There. He catches your eye immediately, a handsome doctor with light green eyes entering the clinic. Working the night shift, perhaps? Something about him intrigues you, though you can’t quite identify what it is… Maybe it’s the way he commands attention—not in an overtly loud or obnoxious way, no, but in a quiet, reserved fashion that makes you want to take your panties off.

Are you hiding anything, Doctor? Are you as quiet as you seem? You imagine proving that theory false, and your pussy slickens at the thought.

You enter the clinic in your black cocktail dress, a good amount of cleavage on display for the masked patients to gawk at. Ignoring them, you use your Evol to manipulate the queue system such that you’re up next.

The number on the screen changes, and you knock twice before waltzing into the doctor’s office, your shiny stilettos clacking on the polished floor. “H-Hello, Doctor…” you stammer, appearing as shy and docile as possible. It mildly grosses you out that this has been your most successful baiting tactic so far.

Your right hand instinctively grabs onto your left elbow, emphasizing the squeeze of your breasts and making you seem smaller.

The doctor, Zayne, takes off his reading glasses and assesses you—not sexually, but analytically. Damn it, he’s not a creep. This will be harder than I thought. “Hello. Take a seat,” he replies, gesturing to the chair across from him. His words are curt and direct, though not impolite or unfriendly. A no-nonsense, to-the-point kind of guy. Interesting.

You sit down, pretending to fumble a little as you lower yourself onto the chair. Your tits bounce. He doesn’t seem to notice. Taking out a plastic clipboard, he swivels to face you and asks, “Well, what seems to be the problem?”

You blush and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You see, I-I’ve had these…urges…” Your eyes evade his, darting around the room in mock nervousness.

He tilts his head slightly, pensive and observant. “What kind of urges?”

You bite your lower lip. “It’s like a funny feeling…in my…” you wave at the spot between your legs, and he squints at the movement.

The faintest hint of a blush appears on his cheeks. “Ah. And…you have these urges frequently?”

You nod. “I have them all the time. In fact, I’m feeling it right now.” He frowns at you, seemingly at a loss. “It only goes away after I touch myself, like this.” You reach under your skirt, and he rushes to stop you.

“Ma’am, please refrain from masturbating in the clinic. This is a sterilised environment that needs to remain free of bacteria—”

“Please, Doctor… I just need to…do it…” A wicked grin twists your lips as you use your Evol to tie him to the chair, sealing his mouth with invisible tape. You lift the skirt of your dress up and pull your lace panties to the side, your cunt already dripping wet.

His eyes avoid your fingers as they begin to stroke your folds, the instant wave of pleasure eliciting a small moan from your lips. His muffled protests are barely audible (though you did lock the door with your powers beforehand), ensuring zero interruptions.

You whine as the pads of your fingers circle your engorged clit, and use your Evol to force his chin down so he has a clear view of your movements. The redness on his face intensifies, and you see the vague outline of his cock hardening beneath his pants. There we go…

Your fingers jerk faster, and your back arches involuntarily as he watches you abuse your sopping pussy. The chair beneath you is drenched by now, your arousal leaking out in waves as you begin to finger yourself brainless.

All the while, he’s being forced to watch your every thrust, every spasm. He’s fully erect now, and you both know it. You remove the silencer and make your way towards him. “Please— Don’t do this…”

His pants unzip themselves and his boxers are yanked down. “Be a good boy for me and be quiet, okay?” You lower your leaking pussy down onto his dick, and the tip pops in between your folds almost effortlessly. You both groan at the sensation, the feeling of raw, primal sex too good to resist.

“Fuck— Stop—” he whimpers as you begin to bounce on his lap, your ass slapping against his thighs and tits bouncing in his face. You force your swollen tit into his mouth and use your Evol to latch his lips around it, but you don’t have to use it for long. He’s sucking on your boob with so much force that you cry out loud.

He writhes underneath your weight, still trying to set himself free. Adorable little thing… So weak. You grind against him faster, each roll of your hips in such quick succession that his eyes squeeze shut and fly to the back of his head. “Ugh— Ugh— Ugh—” he grunts between each upwards thrust. Bounce. Ugh— Jerk. Ugh— Squeeze. Ughhhhh…

Someone knocks on the door. “Is everything okay in there?” You lose focus for just a second, and your powers slip free. He’s no longer restrained to the chair.

Strong hands lift you up and plop you onto the desk, your ass landing on a stack of papers and a few paperclips. What—? There’s no time to think before he’s slamming into you, each thick vein of his cock rubbing against your inner walls and driving you insane. Your elbows are propped up against the table, which shakes so loudly with every jerk of his lean hips. “What are you doing to me—? Fuck…” The table has grown slick with your mixed juices, along with everything on it.

The knocking continues. “Hello?! Is everything alright?!”

He slams into you so hard the table nearly falls over. White ropes of cum burst into you as you tighten around his girth, shaking so hard you see stars. Your cries mirror his as he cums all over your thighs, your stomach, the papers on his desk.

Most notably, he isn’t dead. What the hell..?

He’s breathing hard as he composes himself, sinking back down onto the chair in exhaustion. “I…apologise for that… I lost control of myself… You came in here looking for medical help, and I abused that…”

“Y-You don’t feel faint? Or ill?”

He shakes his head regretfully. “It’s my job to be asking you that.”

“You’re not surprised by my powers?” You’re at a loss for words.

“You’re not the only Evolver around here. Now if you’ll let me, I’d like to do my job as your doctor and help you with your sexual urges. Medically, of course.”

A faint pounding seizes your ribcage.

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[iibgdrgn]

not a rookie anymore | kwon ji-yong

pairing: kwon ji-yong x male reader

word count: 4.4k

warnings: age gap, reader is 26

a/n: hellooo first time posting here! i'm really excited to share my works, hope you enjoy them. likes and comments are rlly appreciated. btw english isn't my first language so i'm sorry if there's any mistake!

He saw you for the first time when you were just a rookie at the agency. A skinny, quiet boy who barely spoke unless spoken to. You didn't stand out much back then, not in the way that you made people turn heads in the hallway now. You were polite, focused, and tried your best not to be a bother. He never really talked to you while you were there. That wasn't surprising. G-Dragon wasn't known for idle chatter, especially not with rookies. Everyone understood that his time was sacred, absorbed by his music. And you? You were just one of many hopefuls trying to build a name in the same building that already echoed with his. When he walked past, you and your group would line up like soldiers, bowing in sync with the well-practiced chorus. "Good morning, Mr. Kwon."you'd all say in unison. In response, he would just give a slight bow. That small gesture was enough to send your group into chaos once he was out of sight.

G-Dragon was already a star at YG at the time. He was around 29 years old, and you guys were about 18 or 19, so yeah, it was pretty normal to feel overwhelmed just by his presence.

Time moved forward, as it always does. Years passed, and your group actually found success in the industry. By 2023, G-Dragon had left the agency, leaving your group as YG's main male artist. It was strange, at first, being the ones younger trainees bowed to, watching your posters replace the ones you used to stare at. Your fifth and sixth albums did well. The fanbase grew louder, the stages got bigger. You signed a five-year contract a few months ago, keeping the group active at least until 2030. You were happy with how things were turning out. This was everything you used to dream about back when you were just a trainee. Sometimes, it felt like a dream, like one day you'd just wake up as a teenager again, dreaming of becoming the man you were now. But fortunately, that never happened. The only thing you ever woke up to was your alarm telling you it was time to head to the studio.

You weren't much of a fan of naps, sleep was never something you craved in the middle of the day. But today had been long, the gym had drained more energy than usual, and your body gave in. Just an hour, you told yourself. Just enough to recharge.

The alarm buzzed again at 8:00 p.m, dragging you reluctantly out of sleep. You lay there for a minute, still tangled in the warmth of your blanket, wishing you could ignore it. But the album was almost done, and the timeline was tight. With some luck, and a few more long nights, it'd be ready before 2024 ended.

You pulled on a hoodie and a beanie that hid your still-messy hair. The drive to YG didn't take long. It never did. That was the point. You'd picked your apartment for this exact reason, because inspiration didn't care what time it was. When a melody hit at 3 a.m., you wanted to be five minutes from a mic, not twenty. You didn't like waiting.

A few minutes later, you arrived and headed straight to the studio. Security knew you by now, so you passed through without much pause, nodding politely before heading to the elevator. The button for the sixth floor lit up under your finger, and a soft hum filled the space as the elevator began its climb.

You leaned back against the wall, eyes half-lidded, letting your mind drift over the tasks ahead. Nothing too intense tonight. Just stitching the members' vocals together, adjusting the mix so everything sat just right. It sounded actually pretty fun.

The studio was at the very end of the corridor. As you walked through the hallway, you passed BLACKPINK's dance practice room, TREASURE's, and what used to be BIGBANG's. It didn't carry a name anymore. The plaque had been removed. Now, it was just another practice room, available to whoever booked it first. You glanced at it, only briefly, and kept walking. Your own group's room came into view, but you weren't heading there tonight. That room was for choreography, and for that, you needed to finish the song first.

Three hours slipped in a blink, music always had that effect on you. When you were deep into a track, time stopped making sense. Still, your body knew what your mind refused to admit, you needed a break before the frustration took over completely.

You left the studio and headed down to the cafeteria. At this hour, it was nearly deserted, just a couple of late staff. You grabbed a coffee and a small box of milk from the fridge for your usual combo; latte. Back at the studio, you leaned against the desk, your coffee in hand. The screen still glowed with the open track, the same section playing on loop. You ignored it for now and reached for your phone as you noticed you hadn't checked Instagram in hours.

A few messages waited in your inbox, mostly from friends, or stylists sending you stuff to approve. You answered the ones that needed it, then tapped into stories. A few updates from the guys private accounts, someone out to eat, another complaining about dance practice. Then came the reels, your favorite thing. You liked one about cute bunnies eating carrots, another one with a cover of one of your group's songs. Then came the scroll. Thirty minutes disappeared like vapor, your thumb moving almost on autopilot. You didn't even realize how long you'd been lost in your phone until the room started to feel too quiet again.

Break over.

But before getting back to work, you opened the camera. Your coffee still sat on the desk, and behind it, the track was still open on the monitor. You snapped the photo, added a black-and-white filter and posted it to your story. Then, you locked your phone and pushed it face down. Time to finish the song.

Your plan to avoid stressing, to just let things flow, fell apart. Another three hours passed, but this time they were heavier, slower. The song wasn't coming together, no matter how many layers you adjusted or how many takes you revisited. Something was missing, not in the feeling, but in the structure. You isolated the rap section, played it again and again, counted every beat, scanned the waveform until your eyes blurred.

That was it. One beat missing or misplaced, either way, it threw the whole thing off. You stared at the screen, shoulders slumped. Re-recording wasn't in your plan, but now you didn't have a choice. The track wouldn't sit right until it was fixed. But your patience had long burned out. You hit save, closed the project, and leaned back in your chair.

The clock read 1:53 a.m. Your mind was fried, and you didn't want to think about the song anymore. Not tonight. So you stood, grabbed your phone, and left the studio.

The elevator dinged softly as it started descending. One floor, two floors. You leaned against the wall, shoulders slouched, thumb grazing your phone screen almost absentmindedly. You had completely forgotten about the story you'd posted earlier. The photo, that black-and-white shot of your coffee and the unfinished track, had gathered its usual storm of likes, enough answers to scroll for minutes.

But one notification made you freeze.

@ xxxibgdrgn had replied to your story.

Your stomach twisted. At first you didn't believe that was real. It had to be a fan account, you thought. But the blue check was there, the account was verified.

He didn't even follow you, you were sure of that. He had never interacted with you. Not once. Not being able to wait anymore, you tapped the notification, not really breathing.

"good taste."

That was all it said. Two words. But they came from him, G-Dragon. The idol of idols.

You stared at the message like it might disappear if you blinked too fast. The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, but you didn't move. You typed slowly. Paused. Deleted. Typed again.

"didn't think u'd even watch it. thanks tho."

And you sent it.

Then, your fingers hovered again. That reply had been polite, safe. But your thoughts were spinning too fast to stop. Your hands were already moving before your mind could fully catch up.

"kinda stuck on the track tonight. guess that coffee wasn't magic after all haha."

You hit send before you could overthink it more. The elevator doors had opened onto the lobby, and someone was waiting outside. A woman in a blazer stood there, eyebrows raised slightly, clearly wondering why you hadn't stepped out. You blinked like waking up from a trance, cheeks warming when you realized the small smile still on your face. You gave her a quick bow, muttering an apology, and stepped aside. As you slipped your phone into your pocket, you tried to school your expression, like it was no big deal. Like he was just another senior artist. Like you weren't currently texting one of the most legendary names in the industry. You wouldn't open your phone again until you were home, safe in the privacy of your living room, where you could stare at the screen in disbelief, smile and react like a complete idiot without anyone around to see it.

The parking lot was nearly empty. Only a few cars left under the flickering lights. Yours was parked right where you left it. The drive was short, just as you expected.

Inside your apartment, you dropped your keys onto the table with a soft clatter, slipped out of your sneakers, and let your bag slump beside the door. Your body headed straight for the couch before your mind even caught up. You sank into the cushions, the room dark except for the ambient glow from a streetlight filtering through the curtains.

You unlocked your phone. One message, the answer you were expecting.

"It's okay to be stuck sometimes. Keep digging."

You smiled. The words were simple, but they hit differently coming from him. You didn't even care about the text content, not really. It was the fact that it was real, a conversation between just the two of you. You stared at the screen, thumbs hovering. Then finally typed.

"noted. any recs?"

Three minutes passed. Then four. You got up, wandered into the kitchen, opened the fridge just to grab a bottle of water you didn't really need. Every few seconds, you glanced back at your phone like it might light up from across the room.

Ten minutes. You gave up and turned the TV on. Some late-night drama flickered across the screen, but you weren't really watching. Your mind was elsewhere. You were halfway through considering turning everything off and going to bed when your phone buzzed on the table. Your hands moved faster than you meant them to.

"Listening to old music always work for me. Maybe start with jazz. Then go somewhere weirder."

You smiled, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. You felt weirdly proud, the words felt like advice passed through some secret doorway, these were his methods, his go-to comforts, and for me reason, the idea made your chest feel a little lighter.

"thank you. i will :)"

You picked up your headphones and scrolled through your spotify library. You found a playlist, Coltrane, Davis, Baker. The soft brass tones filled your ears as you leaned back into the couch again, one hand resting on your stomach, the other still loosely holding the phone. That's when the questions came.

Why was Ji-yong texting you?

No. Mr. Kwon. G-Dragon. You corrected yourself, out of instinct.

Years ago, it would've made sense. Same agency, same building. But now? He wasn't part of YG anymore. He didn't owe you a reply, or even attention. You weren't even sure he'd ever looked directly at you when he still roamed the company halls. Back then, he hardly spoke to anyone, an untouchable figure orbiting on a higher level, unreachable even to other idols.

Did he remember you from those years? Was this some moment of nostalgia? Or was he just bored, scrolling through stories and replying on impulse?

You didn't have the answer.

But at some point, it stopped mattering.

Your thoughts blurred, softened by the music and the weight of the day. Somewhere between the second and third track, your breathing slowed. Your phone slipped from your hand, your headphones loosened and slid down to your shoulder.

The saxophone played on, a gentle lullaby for a mind still trying to understand what had just happened.

[...]

You didn't even know the reason for the party. One moment you were sprawled out on your bed, mind half-asleep, and the next, you were in the backseat of a car. Plus, you weren't alone, two of your group members tagged along, one of them being the one who actually got the invitation in the first place.

You arrived fashionably late, 1:30 a.m., to be exact, and the second you stepped inside, you understood what kind of party it was. A post-release celebration for a JYP group. You didn't recognize them at first, not by name, but the glossy poster set up by the entrance helped. You made sure to memorize a few of the members' faces, just in case you ran into them and had to offer the classic "congrats on the release" with a polite smile. Probably wouldn't happen anyway. The place was packed. Loud music, flashing colored lights, bodies moving to the beat in the center of the room while the songs of the group were being played.

You and your best friend, Yoon, gravitated toward the bar, not necessarily to drink, at least not yet, but because it was quieter there, away from the whirlwind of neon and sweaty excitement. You sat side by side, half-dancing to the rhythm as you sipped on sparkling water. Your best friend leaned his head on your shoulder with a dramatic sigh.

"Hey!" he shouted over the music, too close to your ear. "What if you text him? He's taking too loooong."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "He's probably just late" you said, reaching for your phone anyway. He watched you like a hawk as you unlocked the screen. You opened Instagram to message the friend who was supposed to join you but hadn't shown up yet.

But the moment you opened your DMs, your friend bolted upright like he'd just been electrocuted.

"WHAT?" He said after jumping from your shoulder.

You blinked, confused and a little startled.

"What—what's wrong?"

He didn't even let you finish. He pointed a finger straight at your phone like it was a crime scene.

"YOU TALK TO G-DRAGON?!"

You froze, thumb hovering above the screen where the last messag with @ xxxibgdrgn sat quietly, far down in your inbox. Two weeks old now.

"I mean..." You shrugged, already feeling your face warm. "Yeah?"

"Yeah? Yeah?" His jaw dropped dramatically, exactly as you expected. He looked like you just told him you could time-travel. "So you're just casually dropping that you're friends with, like... a literal legend?"

"'Friends' is a stretch" you said, raising your brows. "He talked to me once."

Your friend gasped like he'd been stabbed.

"And he talked to you first?"

You looked back at your friend, trying not to smile.

"Don't make a big deal out of it."

He groaned loudly, sinking back onto his stool and running both hands through his hair. "This is—this is criminal," he muttered. "You've just been sitting on this information like it's nothing?"

You gave him a look. "What did you want me to do? Post a screenshot?"

"Yes!" he said instantly. "Wait — no. But also yes! Maybe on your private account or something! I just— how are you so calm about this?! I physically cannot not make a big deal out of it."

You laughed under your breath and slipped your phone back into your pocket. "Well, he hasn't messaged again, so maybe it wasn't a big deal."

He narrowed his eyes. "That's because you haven't messaged again."

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. He had a point.

A smug grin spread across his face. "Mhm. That's what I thought. You better send a 'hey' before someone else becomes his next muse or creative soulmate or whatever."

You rolled your eyes. "You're actually delusional."

"And you're in denial. Which makes this so much more entertaining."

You were about to answer when your phone buzzed in your hand, not a text this time, but a call. You raised your brows and showed the screen to your friend, Haeon. It was the one person missing from your golden trio.

"About time" you muttered, answering. "Where are you?"

"I think I'm lost" his voice came through, slightly muffled by the music and the unmistakable sounds of a party happening not where he was. "I ended up in some garden? There's, like... a statue of a dolphin? Or maybe it's a seal. I don't know, it's dark."

You pressed your fingers to your temple, trying not to laugh. "We're coming."

[ ... ]

You lost track of time. It had to be close to 3 a.m., maybe even later. But no one at the party seemed interested in checking the clock. The energy in the air was still alive, like it had just started an hour ago, not like people had been drinking and dancing for hours already. After finally locating your lost friend, the three of you made your way back to the bar. You didn't drink much, but enough to feel a little lighter, funnier. Your smile came easy, and your body moved without overthinking.

The three of you eventually made it to the dance floor. The music had shifted, it wasn't the JYP group's album anymore, but a mix of random tracks. You closed your eyes, letting your head move in slow circles, a grin tugging at your lips. Your friends were next to you, pulling out ridiculous, chaotic moves. You joined them, throwing your body into it, laughing so hard your stomach hurt.

"Show me what you got, show me what you got!" one of your friends shouted, pointing at the other like he was challenging him to a duel. Immediately, Haeon broke into a sloppy remix of your group's choreography. You clutched your stomach, wheezing with laughter, until he grabbed your hands and tried to get you to join in. You stumbled forward, giggling, trying to keep up. You attempted a few of the moves, but your limbs didn't fully cooperate, your balance thrown off by the drink and the sudden spotlight. You must've looked ridiculous.

That's when you heard a soft, amused laugh from nearby. Your head turned. It was a girl, unfamiliar face, but something in her energy made you instantly like her. She clapped playfully for your dancing, then gave you a slight, graceful bow.

"Can I borrow your friend?" she asked, gesturing toward the boy who still held your hand. You smiled and nodded before even thinking. She had the kind of presence people didn't say no to. You turned to your friend for confirmation, but he was already halfway through a spin, pulling her along with him. You laughed and stepped back, watching them disappear into the crowd.

You chuckled, then turned to Yoon, who was still grooving beside you.

"I wanna go to the bathroom," he said, breathless. "Wait for me, yeah?" You nodded.

Alone now, with no one to dance with, you decided it was time to rehydrate. You slipped away from the flashing lights, crossing the room until you reached the bar.

You sat at the bar, elbows resting against the cold counter. The bartender approached and you ordered a gin and tonic, something simple that wouldn't hit too hard, at least not immediately.

You took a small sip, relishing the way the cold spread across your tongue, the bitterness cutting through the heat rising in your face from all the dancing and laughing earlier. The air was cooler near the bar, a reprieve from the heat of the dance floor, and you let yourself enjoy the stillness.

And then you heard a voice.

"Good taste."

You blinked. For a second, you didn't move.

Kwon Ji-yong. You hadn’t noticed him sit down. Of course you hadn’t. He was leaning casually against the counter, a half-smile on his lips, one arm draped along the bar like he owned the space around him. Maybe he did.

He wore a loose-sleeved shirt, silky and half-unbuttoned, the light catching the fabric just right to show there was a tank top layered underneath, white, fitted. Around his neck hung a tie, barely tied, more decorative than anything. It was sky blue, with little daisy flowers printed all over it.

You found yourself staring. Too long. Way too long.

He was talking, probably, but your brain had gone momentarily blank. All you could think was that he looked like something out of a music video, and not one set in reality. Like a dream had decided to become physical. You blinked. Once. Twice. And then, finally, words stumbled out of your mouth.

"Do you only know two words or is that your thing now?" You said without thinking.

His smile didn't fade. "Depends who I'm talking to."

You laughed "I mean," you shrugged, turning toward him fully, "it was a decent opener."

He nodded once, like he already knew. "Mm. I liked it the first time," he said, his gaze steady, relaxed. "Thought I'd try it again. See if it still worked."

Then he chuckled, low and warm, shifting slightly on the barstool. One leg angled toward you now, knee brushing lightly against yours, not enough to call it a move, but enough to feel. There was no arrogance in the way he did it, no show. Just a quiet kind of presence, like he knew who he was and didn’t need to prove it. You let your eyes drift to his tie, to the small embroidered flowers dancing across the fabric. You bit the inside of your cheek, then gave in. He looked like a damn super model.

"You always dress like this at 3 a.m?"

He smirked. "Only when I think I'll meet someone worth impressing."

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling again.

"Smooth."

"I try."

And then there was silence, but not the kind that pushed people apart. The kind that asked you to stay in it. You let yourself keep looking, too long maybe, but he didn’t look away either. His gaze dropped briefly, tracing the curve of your jaw, then back up, slowly.

He leaned in just a little, not enough to close the space, just enough to make the air between you feel different.

"You know," he said, glancing down at your glass, "you've got a way of making it feel like we've done this before."

You blinked once, slowly. "Like we've met?"

He nodded, eyes still on you, soft and steady.

For a second, you didn't know what to do with that. So you brought your glass back up, hiding behind it as you took another sip, long, unhurried. The cold edge of the drink pressed against your lip, grounding you just enough to organize the words that were trying to form.

He didn't say anything else. Just waited, patient in a way most people weren't anymore. He wasn't filling the silence to make himself feel more interesting, wasn't trying to prove anything. That made you feel... strangely safe.

You lowered your glass slightly. "Actually... yeah. We did meet. Kind of."

His brows lifted, curious.

You smiled a little, more to yourself than to him. “Back when I debuted. I didn’t introduce myself or anything. I just… said hi. Maybe twice. You were always surrounded. And I looked—I looked really different.”

“How different?” he asked, low voice edged with intrigue.

“My hair was silver back then,” you said with a faint laugh. “Like, full-on mirrorball silver. I was also… skinnier. More bones than confidence. I avoided eye contact like it was radioactive.”

That smile of his grew, not wide, not flashy, just crooked and soft and real. “I remember.”

You looked up at him, a little startled. “Wait, seriously?”

He nodded again, eyes never leaving yours. “You were with your group. You all sang something for me.” A pause, then a light chuckle. “Crayon, right?”

Your jaw dropped a little. "Oh my God."

The scene crashed back into your brain like a splash of cold water, the harsh lights of the practice room, your group lined up awkwardly in front of him, voices cracking with nerves as you shouted Get your crayon! like your lives depended on it. YG had told you to do it. Said something about "earning respect the old-fashioned way."

“You’re kidding,” you whispered, half-mortified.

Ji-Yong chuckled softly. "It was cute."

You groaned, dropping your head into your hand. "YG encouraged us to serenade you. Like, seriously. Told us it might 'set the tone for our reputation.' So we just... went for it."

"I remember thinking you looked scared out of your mind," he said, amused.

"I was. I didn't even look at you."

Before he could answer, your phone buzzed sharply in your pocket, jolting you back to earth. You pulled it out with a sigh.

You snorted.

Ji-Yong raised an eyebrow. "Trouble?"

You held up the screen for him to see. "Emergency. Apparently Haeon is defending our honor with a handstand battle."

He laughed, quiet and sudden, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes crinkling. It was stupidly cute, and it made you smile too, involuntarily. “Sounds like a crisis.”

You pushed your chair back and stood, smoothing out your shirt. “I should go before someone films it and it turns into our next viral concept.”

“Could be iconic,” he teased, still grinning.

“Oh, we’d never recover,” you said with mock seriousness. Then, a little softer, “Thanks. For the drink company. And, you know, the unexpected blast of rookie-year trauma."

Ji-Yong leaned on the bar, fingers tapping lightly. “Anytime.” He gave a small, crooked smile.

You dipped your head slightly, a small, playful bow, and turned to go. You didn’t glance back right away, you made it to the edge of the crowd first. But curiosity won. You peeked.

He was still watching. Of course he was.

And when your eyes met again, his smile curved a touch more.

You didn’t wave. Didn’t say a word. But something warm nestled behind your ribs as you turned away again. Maybe that message he’d sent weeks ago wasn’t the whole story.

And then, in the corner of your eye, you spotted Haeon attempting a handstand, arms flailing, legs everywhere, before collapsing to the floor with a dramatic thud.

You sighed.

Yeah. Definitely a crisis.

[embersofhope-if]

What interactive fiction would you recommend (besides this one)?

oh anon i follow over 150 if blogs let me get you some of my favorites😊 This is very long so all of them are under the cut🫶

some of these you'll probably already have heard of bc of how popular they are, but trust me, they're popular for a reason, lmao

these ones all have demos (if i messed up and some dont uh ignore that)

@infamous-if - "You're going to be a superstar, no matter what it takes." genuinely one of my favorites ifs (seven lawless my beloved please come back home the kids are asking whats taking so long)

@coeluvr - "You play as the only remaining member of the royal family of Vesphire; living in the home of the man who took away everything from you." another ive been obsessed with recently. i will forever love revenge stories (and my pookie helios)

@merrycrisis-if - "As a late 20-something year-old fresh from a recent break-up and struggling to pay rent in New York, life throws up more questions than answers."

@ramonag-if - "When your village is razed to the ground, you're left fleeing with an exiled prince. You can trust no one but each other. Your father's dying wish was to protect the prince, but can you really trust a man who was exiled from his kingdom?"

@nyehilismwriting / Project Hadea - "Set in a distant future, you play the role of an elite operative of Scytha Industries, a private contracting firm. ‘Contracting’, in this case, refers to anything from political assassinations, to private security, to bodyguard services."

@vapolis - "You’re a mercenary, gun for hire, assassin, information extractor, delivery person – call it what you want, because the people that hire you for your services don’t give much of a shit what you call yourself as long as you actually get them what they want."

@godsandvillains-if - "As the only metahuman with the ability to wield the powerful Chaos Magic, your very blood holds the answers to unlocking the secrets behind the control of time and space, but it has the drawback of being almost completely volatile."

@hvllowheart - "LAMB TO THE SLAUGHTER is a spy game where you take on the role of an agent under the codename Wraith, who up until two years ago was one of the best agents TERRA has ever made. now the agency returns into your life and pulls you back into the field as agents go missing by the dozens."

@eyesofshan-if - "Years ago, you were uprooted from the only home you had ever known and captured to be sold as a slave. Now, war is at your doorstep once more while you are left in a delicate position — as a commander of the country that invaded your homeland. While investigating a case of illegal human trafficking, you come across a plot that threatens to rip this tentative peace apart."

@apt502-if - "Moving from your small home to New York City was supposed to be a dream. You were supposed to start your new life with your long-distance partner and dive headfirst into full-on adulthood. Everything was supposed to be perfect. How can you not love being in your mid-twenties in the Big Apple?That is until your put-together, white collar partner dumps you the same day you arrive. Fun."

@acourtofserpents - "As the only human in the Kingdom of Faerie, you're no stranger to shining eyes that hold looks filled with hatred, lips painted in the color of forest fruits whispering your name, heads with pointed ears turning at your every step. Though you long for their approval, for a place amongst the wicked immortals, they remind you with every breath you take that as you came from dirt, to dirt you will return."

@softlyopulent-if - "All of King Adder’s children are a mystery to the common folk, but you—you are nothing but a ghost. A ghost, that spends eighteen years locked away in the deepest part of the palace, so that no eyes may lay upon you.And those that do—they do not treat you kindly.And when you are finally of age, at last, you are betrothed to the child of the King of a far away kingdom, to secure an alliance that your father has been seeking for years.And you are swept away to a place even more foreign than your own land, to be wed to a stranger that looks at you with contempt. To live in a kingdom of citizens that despise you. And perhaps, just perhaps, fight a war."

@heromaker-if - "Stories of heroes, legends and chosen ones are commonplace. But you'd never thought it was your child who would have to save the world from the Demon Lord's clutches."

@theabyssal - "In The Abyssal, you assume the control of a powerful deity that was betrayed by their fellow gods. Imprisoned against your will for all eternity, you had a long time to plan your revenge."

@milaswriting - "By birth, and association, you are one of the most famous people in the big city of Lehsa. Your father's the mayor, and you're from a bright, vibrant, bustling city... and yet, until recently, you didn't realise all the secrets yourself and the city held."

@zico-if - "You were supposed to be a sacrifice in order to bring an eldritch god to your realm, a sacrifice that was never supposed to live. Instead of dying and summoning the god intended, you find yourself face to face with an ancient being that was chained and locked away for the horrors they once committed."

@collegetennisoriginstory - "Experience the ups-and-downs of life as a freshman on the Cargill University varsity tennis team amongst a colorful cast of characters."

@disenchantedif - "You used to be a beacon of hope. Now they only know you as the failure, the Unchosen. Will you rise above them? Will you become better or far worse than they could ever imagine?"

@bouncyballcitadel - "Play as a first-year surgery intern at Citadel Health. Will you become the star intern and curry the favor of the chief? Or will you uncover Citadel Health’s secrets and break a story or two? This will be the best and worst year of your life. Don’t forget to save lives and break some hearts along the way."

@leoneliterary - "You play as a thief pressed into the employ of a mysterious nobleman. With the your life, the fate of your guild, and your honor on the line, you'll have to navigate the perils of the royal court and combat a more mystical threat. The story is set in Cusmo, the naturally fortified, desert capital of Hashind, and will showcase the much praised Upper Cusmo, the crime ridden Lower Cusmo, and much more."

@doriana-gray-games - "Play as your version of Sherlock Holmes in this romance detective game!"

@fallenlightsif - "You are the half-sibling of High General Ezrah Rhys and have lived the past twelve years of your life in Kesdon, the capital of Ebia. You've spent most of your time training and honing your skills for the future that awaits you. A future that is entirely your own."

@shai-manahan - "They call you Ripper. It’s a horrendous name to give to a detective like you, and definitely not one you chose for yourself, but you suppose it’s to be expected given your reputation for putting powerful people behind bars. Businesses feared you. The other cops hated you. Local gangs despised your entire existence. Yet, despite all of that, you remained untouched. Until that day, when all the lies and the deception and the foolish mistakes turned your life upside down."

@larkingame - "someone is after you. for over a decade and a half now, you’ve traveled up, down and across the country--running schemes and hunting fiends with your mentor, con-man-by-day, vampire-hunter-by-night, Wyatt Abrams--the prolific vampire slayer and the living descendant of Gregory Abrams, founder and prophet of the Abrams Family, the nomadic vampire-hunting cult that raised you--and was wiped out years ago. carrying the abrams name means also means carrying on it's enemies--but that isn't to say you haven't forged a couple of your own along the way. now, it seems someone is trying to make good on old threats and promises. they've placed a bounty on your head. so you and wyatt do what you do best: you run away. to some little town, out nevada ways, where the title of town preacher is unexpectedly thrust upon you--bringing back years of trauma you thought long tucked away."

@evertidings - "you are a bounty hunter. responsible for taking in rogue supernaturals, you work for IAOS—the international agency of supernaturals—where, alongside your best friend and partner, you two have quickly become the best hunting duo of the branch. after a particularly tricky hunt, you brief your boss, Caine Atheron, and come back to work the next day to find that he has mysteriously disappeared overnight, the company is now in the hands of his best friend, Sebastian Mai. and though no one else seems to question it, something tells you that there's more to the story."

@rotten-games - Regrets Of The Traitor: "You are the Ruler of Hadaria after killing the previous Queens and betraying all who once trusted you. Sat upon the throne with all the power available to you, one would be forgiven for believing you finished with your quest. With a strange figure in your dreams speaking vague prophecies of magical artifacts, a mysterious cult moving into the city, and a group intent on unseating you from your place, perhaps you’re way in over your head for a farmer’s kid. City of Immortals: "You follow a pair of siblings worlds apart as they get accustomed to their new realities in two very different worlds. One trapped in an unnatural desert wasteland where every resource has a scarcity, not knowing if they’ll be the only one left when everything turns to dust, the other working as a private investigator in a sprawling underground metropolis of the undying. Each not knowing the other is alive, will they unravel the mysteries that somehow connect their two new homes?"

@shepherds-of-haven - "Shepherds of Haven is a dark fantasy interactive fiction game. In it, you play as a Mage living in a world where magic is outlawed and your people—those possessing supernatural powers—are oppressed and reviled. The world is ruled by humans who believe in science, technology, and industry: at best, you and your kind are nothing more than a fairytale, and at worst you are the state’s greatest threat."

@someoneverypretty-world - "As a child, growing up in the slums of Hvinir without any guardians, you believed you would not live to see 30. Until Haven, a thief guild, took you in and taught you how to survive. Facing hardships, the guild leader tasks you to sneak into the castle with the mission to take."

@northern-passage - "The Northern Passage is an 18+ horror fantasy CYOA, where you play as a hunter sent up north to investigate a series of missing people along the border of your home country and in the port cities of the Blackwater. Working with your handler, Lea, you will travel north and discover that things are far worse than you ever could have imagined, and that there is something powerful lurking out in the deep, dark sea…"

@thedecoy-if - "♔ The Decoy is a dark fantasy that follows you, a 21st century normal human, kidnapped to an alternate magical universe to play the part of the missing heir to a powerful throne...who also happens to be your doppelgänger. ♔"

@ripperplague - "You are a doctor, a prodigy in hiding. Deep in the underbelly of Valeris, you hide among the shadows. You work hard to wring the blood stains off your palms, your face...your soul. Redemption and revenge are parallel goals, the flames of rage and disgust mingling. How could anyone ever love you?"

These ones dont have a demo yet, but im still absolutely obsessed

@pavedinashes-if - "You're only 20 when suddenly your life goes bam! Throwing you into a whole new city, a different country even. Wasn't part of the plan, but you know how life loves to mess with plans. People happened, stuff happened, and suddenly you're on the move. The new chapter ahead? Buckle up, 'cause it's not gonna be all sunshine and rainbows. And guess what? Your step-mom? Yeah, she's right there in the same city. She's always had this knack for trying to steer your ship, like every decision's a GPS checkpoint. But hey, there's this one thing that's never let you down—your skateboard. It's like the buddy that's been with you through thick and thin, the one that never bails. Among all this craziness it's like your anchor. So, the big question is—can you break out of the loop you got in? Find your place in the world and restart or lose yourself in temptation? Time to find out."

@riptide-if - "Your dad has always said you swim as if your were born to be in the water; the rest of your family has always said that he is the whole reason you turned out like that. So, it's not really a surprise when you had used all the money you got for your 7th birthday to buy a surfboard. And even less of a surprise when you started joining small surf competitions by the time you were 10, later followed by bigger competitions. It seems you are the only one surprised when it turns out you're able to compete in the World Surfer's League's Ultimate Tournament Tour*. Thrown into a mix of fellow surfing prodigies, rookies, and pros, do you really have what it takes to win?"

@weepinwriter - "You are inmate No. 1441, incarcerated in Tartarus, the most notorious prison on the continent. You find yourself imprisoned for a crime that you do not remember committing, leaving you in a state of uncertainty about your own identity and purpose. The first memory you have is awakening to the sensation of a gun being shoved into your mouth."

@whatawaitsus - "Despite being one of the most expensive schools in the nation, nothing particularly interesting has happened at the school in the nine years you've been here— aside from the occasional accidental possession caused by a ghost or the common room getting flooded after a nixie gets too frustrated over their homework. That is until students start to go missing."

@evermount - "Blue-suited guards stand in every corner, but they're no threat—you're under threat. And this is how you keep safe. It's necessary; the council said so themselves. Under no circumstances shall Evermount be left, ever. So, no one has, and no one intends to. Why would you? It's peaceful—you're at peace. You have your spouse, and you have your house; everyone's happy. This is all you've ever known."

@forsakensword-if - "When the Deathless, an Ancient Evil that hasn’t been seen in over two million years, returns to Earth, it threatens the extremely precarious peace that has settled between the warring factions of Heaven and Hell. God, in an effort to protect Humanity from the consequences of a war between the Angels and Demons, sends Heaven’s best warriors to banish the Deathless once more. When that ultimately fails, it is declared that God’s Sworn Sword and Heaven’s Chief Angel will be charged with finding a way to destroy the Deathless once and for all. That Angel is you. The Archangel Michael."

@velena-if - "You wake up in a dark, cold place with no memories of yourself, save for one: the memory of your death. It becomes clear soon enough that you are in the Nav, the domain of the goddess of death, Morana, and the sanctuary of all the evil spirits and monsters. For you, Nav will be the place where your life changes forever."

@countdown-if - "Three months ago, life took a sharp turn. Your mother found herself entangled in a situation so bad, she couldn't dig her way out of it, like usual. This time, the hole was way too deep. She needed help, and the only people capable of aiding her were the same ones she had vowed never to allow back into her life, let alone introduce to you and your younger sibling. Who were they? Your grandparents—a powerful and well-established duo. In short, they did manage to help your mother back on her feet, but not without strings attached—never without strings. Now, you're facing a senior year in a private school, fully funded by none other than grandma and grandpa, dearest. The only task at hand: do what your mother couldn't—graduate."

@dropout-if - "This is your first summer home since you began studying in Stanford. That is what everyone thinks. This is your first summer home since you dropped out of college, thus becoming the biggest disappointment in your neighborhood. That is what only you know. "

@stonewall-if - "Stonewall Military Academy: the most brutal, merciless, and unforgiving boarding school in the country. Most recruits either desert or die by the end of their first year. It is where the fiercest and deadliest killers are trained and molded to be the military's steel fist. And it is not for the faint of heart."

@viperdove-if - "You are the Dove, the heir to one of the most powerful crime families in your country. The grip your family--your father--has on their side of the land is tight, and now that you've reached adulthood it's time for you to be fully absorbed into the machinations of gang warfare. That means opium, mercenaries, assassinations. In this ancient world, blood moves people just as much as money does."

@fallen-if - "You are an individual that has been known by many aliases over the years. Child of the dawn, the original sinner, star of the morning. But no matter the name, your identity remains the same. You are the one that defied the heavens, the one that cast aside the shackles of tradition and broke free from the constraints of the divine. You are Lucifer Morningstar - The Fallen Angel. "

@maboroshi-if - "Maboroshi is an Interactive Fiction Game based in the world of Naruto, however, all events within the story span during the end of the First Shinobi War and the beginning of the Second Shinobi War."

@greatprotector-if - "Forced out of your family's farm against your will, you are now an ocean away from home, and you have somehow been chosen to be the main protector of the heir to some kingdom you’ve hardly even heard of. The spot's only open because the former protector died of old age, so that's probably a good indicator that it won't be as strenuous as it sounds. But despite that, you pour yourself into your work. You can't help it. You feel safer decked out in armour, and you like having something you're trusted to look after. Protect some royalty, cover all your blind spots, and try not to worry about all you've left behind."

@retribution-if - "Retribution, He Cries is a revenge story set in the Dark Ages of the fictional world of [REDACTED] and other realms."

@thescarsilivewith-if - "You were a kind monarch once. After your mother’s brutal reign, you thought your people needed respite. Evidently, they didn’t think the same since their bloodthirst only increased. Three years after your coronation, your mother’s favourite consort dethroned you with the army and the clergy’s support. As you fled from the palace together with your spouse, from an arranged marriage celebrated only three months earlier, you were found by slavers. You managed to save your spouse but not yourself. Four years later, your spouse finds you, though you’re not the same person they knew. You are not changed in spirit alone, however, for your magic grew in your captivity and now you’re unbound. When the crown chose you as its owner, you wanted peace for your kingdom. Now the only thing you crave is revenge."

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

(cw: age gap 25/41, nsfw, mdni, sloppy oral, biting/marking, rough sex. bad german pickup lines)

continuing the part before: visiting his humble abode

Hanging off König’s shoulder.

There honestly isn’t a better place to be, except for maybe right under him. My fingers dig into his back, holding onto him, even though I am secure on his shoulder. He carries me up the stairs easily, I don’t even hear him panting a little harder. And the view on his ass is delicious. I want to pinch it. Or smack it.

My intrusive thoughts win, I stretch down and the palm of my hand collides with his behind, even making a little sound, while I giggle.

“Stop it.” Another spank onto my butt, his hand staying there this time. “It was my plan to show you the whole house first, and then take you to my bedroom…”, he grumbles, but amusement comes through in his voice. “But I should’ve known that you and your bratty ass are not gonna adhere to such an arrangement.” He squeezes my asscheek, his fingers lingering a bit longer, and even that sends a shiver down my spine.

“I just wanted to know if the king had a king-sized bed, I swear.”, I joke, stifling back a laugh.

“Aha.”, he drawls skeptically. “And that’s all?”

“Yep.”, I answer, knowing full well that I know and he knows, that that is in fact not all.

It’s just a few steps from the top of the stairs to the bedroom, when I hear the click of a door and then the light switch. He enters the room and I crane my neck, all nosily, trying to look around. The bedframe, sturdy dark wood, and some bedsheets is all I see before he lifts me from his shoulder again.

“Well, your wish is my command, Prinzesserl.”, he says, the last word sounding a lot like ‘princess’. “I do indeed have a king-sized bed.”

He sets me down on the mattress, lying me down more carefully than I would have liked, to be honest. I look up – and I’m staring back at myself, strewn on the soft sheets. My mouth falls open.

“You have a mirror on your ceiling?”, I ask incredulously. It’s an unnecessary question because – well, I can see that he does have a fucking mirror on the ceiling.

“I do.” He smiles, looking up as well. “You can cover it up, if you don’t wanna watch yourself sleep, but I thought it would be fun for other horizontal activities that don’t involve any actual sleep.”

My breath halts in my throat as I think about his insinuation and unholy images flood my mind. Me riding him, only held up by his arms, while he makes me look up, his hand around my throat. His body strewn over mine, the long strands of his hair cascading down his tattooed back, his huge stature moving with his thrusts. Him sitting back on his knees, spreading my legs wide, so I can see how he’s pounding into me in the mirror above.

“What, nothing to say now, Kleine?” His deep soft voice pulls me out of my little daydream, smirking down at me. And I just shake my head. “Didn’t think I would ever see you speechless.”, he continues teasing me.

I sit back up, looking up at him, which has me craning my head back with the way he is towering over me. “I’m not, look, full sentences are coming out my mouth.”

He smirks at me. “I can see that.” He comes a bit closer still, his hand gripping my chin softly, his thumb strokes over my lower lip, pulling it down a little bit. “So, it’s not just good for mouthing off at me, huh?”

Instead of an answer, my tongue darts out, licking the pad of his thumb. My mouth closing around it, softly sucking once, releasing the digit with a pop. “No.” All the messages I sent him this morning about wanting to suck his dick flood the forefront of my mind.

His gaze darkens, while the smirk widens. For a moment, it seems like we’re suspended in time, then we move even faster. He pulls off his shirt and I do the same, also getting rid of my bra. He helps me with my pants, and when they’re finally on the floor, his hand moves to his belt, opening it, but I softly coax them away, taking over, while I scramble to sit on my legs until I am kneeling in front of him.

Opening the button, lowering the zipper. And instead of the boxershorts I expected, like the ones I saw on the photos he sent this morning – I’m greeted by his hard dick.

Damn. He isn’t wearing any underwear.

I look up at him, being met with a cocky grin.

“Allzeit bereit.”, he comments.

“What?” I can’t hide my confusion.

“’Be prepared’, the scout motto, you know.”, he explains, like that is some common knowledge.

“Uh-huh? So, you’re always prepared for a blowjob?”, I ask him, tauntingly, pulling up one eyebrow. My hands still rest at his zipper, my fingers twitching to finally touch him.

“Well, no, but after all the talking about how you would take me in your mouth this morning...”, he answers, the cockiness not faltering.

“Then why are we still talking about the scout motto, big guy?”, I ask him, a little challenge in my voice.

His reaction is a little sway forward, until the tip rests against my mouth. “Are we?”, he asks, the insinuation sending a shiver down my spine.

His piercing drags across my lower lip and my tongue darts out to lick it. The groan dropping from his throat, the low gravelly sound, makes me do it again. Teasing his tip, until his hips are rutting forward on their own and I drop my jaw, slowly trying to fit more of him into my mouth. I close my lips around his thickness, softly sucking on him.

Pulling back again. Gripping the base of his cock with my hand as I press kisses on it, softer than he probably would have liked. He’s squirming a little bit under my touches, his fingers coasting through my hair, moving it out of my face.

I look up at him meeting his eyes, continuing the teasing touches, until he pushes himself inside my hot wet mouth again.

“Look up.”, he says, pointing at the ceiling. And my eyes turn up further, my neck straining back.

The picture mirrored back to me is pornographic, to say the least.

We’re both looking up at the ceiling, my face turned up, my back and ass fully on display, my legs tucked under it, with the way I’m sitting in front of him. His hand at the back of my neck.

König’s broad chest is taking up so much space, even as he’s leaning back to get a good look at me. The happy trail leading down. My hand lying there, feeling the soft tufts of hair underneath my fingertips.

Our bodies connected with my mouth around his dick.

I suck on him, licking the underside of his shaft, while still looking up, and I can see how his eyes roll back, his pupils disappear, only the whites of his eyes shining.

I move my hand down to his base, cupping his balls, softly tugging. The choked moan from his lips only spurs me on. He grabs me by the back of my head, softly moving me to the rhythm of his hips.

“You teased me all day about using your mouth on me, so I’m really enjoying this right now.”, he whispers, pushing his dick deeper, and I drop my jaw and stick out my tongue to fit more of him.

He hits the back of my throat which has me gag around him while he’s still not nearly fitting into my mouth, not even close. The next push of his dick is even deeper, and my eyes turn up, and I feel like I’m going cross-eyed. I move up and down, as far as I can, blowing him like this. It gets sloppy, messy, spit dripping from my lips. Dropping down onto my tits and tummy.

Tears form in the corners of my eyes, a drop running over my cheek. His hand moves from the back of my head to my face, his thumb stroking over it. “So fucking pretty.”, he coos. He pulls back and I take a deep breath, the sound filling the room instead of my gagging.

But I don’t stop. I use my saliva that’s now coating part of his length to jerk him off, moving my hand down, while I let my tongue play with the piercing on his tip again. Tasting hints of salty precum, as I look up at him. Holding eyecontact while I drag my tongue over it, slowly.

“Oh fuck.”, he almost growls, and the sound sends a zap of pleasure right to my core, making me squirm against the sheets. I feel the urge to touch myself, my hand snaking down between my thighs.

He sees that and tuts, the clicks of his tongue filling the room. “So needy.”, he mutters softly, his hips rutting forward, pushing past my lips again. Fucking into my mouth, as my fingertips reach my clothed pussy, pressing onto my sensitive clit.

I moan around his dick, letting him take the lead, his fingers tangled in my hair, while I touch myself, my hips moving with my desperate strokes. Getting sloppier again.

All of a sudden, he pulls himself out of me. “Fuck, not yet.”, he says, seeming a bit worked up. Crouching down and capturing my lips into a searing kiss, as he positions me against his sheets, continuing the kisses down my body.

I can see his dick, hanging between his legs, hard and heavy, glistening wet with my spit, before he kneels in front of me. His fingers hook under the fabric of my panties, pulling them off. They cling onto me, with how damp they are.

“So wet, hm? Did it turn you on to suck me off?”, he whispers, seeing the wetness glistening between my thighs, as he leans down, coasting with his lips over my pussy.

“Yes, fuck.”, I breathe, trying to squirm against his face, but he is just out of reach. He chuckles when I whine, desperate for him to finally put his mouth onto me. And he does, pressing kisses to my inner thighs, his stubble scratching over the sensitive skin.

Close, so close, but not quite where I want him.

He sucks on the soft skin, leaving little red marks, his left hand toying with my pussy. My hips move of their own volition and I can’t believe how the almost-touches make me even more turned on. “Please, I need-“, I start.

I can’t finish the sentence because his teeth sink into my soft flesh, while his fingers slip into me, the sensations almost making me lose my mind. He pushes deeper inside me, and I feel his canines press into the sensitive skin. Fuck, this is driving me crazy.

I lift my head to look at what he’s doing, and our eyes meet. He pulls back, pressing a kiss to the spot he just bit into, licking over it. His fingers still fucking me softly.

“Don’t stop.”, I plead.

The corners of his mouth turn up into a knowing smirk while he places more kisses, slowly inching in on my pussy, leaving another little hickey on my inner thigh. He pulls the digits out and puts his mouth right over it.

The slow, deliberate touches are gone. In a frenzy, he’s losing himself in my pussy, licking, sucking, nudging his nose against my clit. I move with him, dragging myself over his lips, searching for more friction, and the sounds that drop from my mouth are almost obscene.

My head drops back and I have the whole scene mirrored back to me from above. The strands of his long dark hair cascading down. His back tattoo, the black ink on his taut muscles, moving with him, as he eats me out.

How he grips my thighs, his hands digging into the supple swells. Spreading me wide for him.

He looks up at me, seeing the awe on my face, hearing the sounds I’m making, which makes him hum against me. Diving in again. His tongue licks into me, fucking me, and my back arches off the sheets, my hands clutching them. Close, so close to-

Ding-dong!

We’re interrupted by the bell.

He lifts his head, seeming a little drunk on pussy, judging by the drowsy look on his face. “Fuck, that’s the delivery.”, he stammers and the back of his hand wipes over his mouth.

“What delivery?”, I ask, confused and hazy with pleasure, propping my head up from the sheets.

“Food.”, he explains, and like on cue, my stomach grumbles.

He pulls away from me, looking around, picking up random pieces of clothing. He scrambles to put a shirt and shorts on while I can’t help but laugh because of the ridiculousness of the situation. “Thats on you, Mädl, for messing with my meticulously planned evening, with your siren call.”, he grumbles, which only makes me laugh harder.

He fits his dick into his pants, the erection tenting up the front, and he grumpily pulls his shirt down further, even though that doesn’t really help either with hiding it. “Fuck it.”, he cusses and heads out the room, cursing some more in German.

I shake my head, grinning like a crazy person.

I also look for some clothes, but I’m not quite bold enough to reach for any of his shirts, putting on my own and then my panties, following him down the stairs.

“Ooh, you remembered my favourite spot!”, I say when I see the huge bag with the familiar logo on it in his hands.

He grins at me, and my god, a man has never looked that good in a Cannibal Corpse shirt and some old Adidas shorts that are almost too tight for his burly thighs. He pushes his hair to the side, pulling it out of the t-shirt, because some of it got caught in there when he hurriedly put it on. “Of course. Should I put it in the kitchen oooor…?”, he asks.

“Can we eat now? I’m actually a little hungry, I didn’t have a big lunch.”, I tell him hesitatingly. Swaying from one bare foot to the other, looking down at them. Unsure, because I mean, we were in the middle of-

But he pushes my doubts away in just a moment, putting his arm around me and pressing a tiny kiss onto the top of my head. “Sure, can’t have you go hungry, hm?” and the relief lets my shoulders drop down, even if my worries were a bit stupid to begin with.

“You want to eat at the bar?”, he suggests then, his eyebrows raised as he grins at me.

“Wha- You have a bar in this house?”, I clarify.

He nods. “Yeah, like a whole room with- Come on. I’ll just show you.” He takes my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine, as he pulls me with him, the bag full of take-away food in the other one. Way too much for two people.

When I follow him downstairs, it first dawns on me that we never really held hands before. It seems so simple, so normal – so natural, that I don’t even register it at first. I smile to myself, gripping his hand tighter, trying to keep up with his steps.

I have to say, the house is meticulously upkept, there’s yet a spot I have to see untidy or dusty. Which is… kind of amazing, especially considering that he only stays here on his leave. The same goes for his cellar that is more like another floor, where we halt in front of two doors. He gestures in the direction of the right one, while actually stepping towards the one on the left. “That’s my home gym and that’s the bar.”, he says.

“You… also… have a gym?”, I ask, a bit incredulous. Man, this house is bigger than I thought, when I first saw it from the outside.

“Yeah, I mean I train almost every day. Uh, holding up my shape doesn’t get easier with age.”, he explains, with a lopsided smile. Of course he works out. I’ve seen his body and my god. Sure, he has his little tummy – that I adore –, but his strength clearly comes from a lot of hard training. It makes sense that he also keeps this up when on leave.

“Can I take a look?”, I ask, being my nosy self.

He shrugs, but smiles. “Sure.”

For a moment, I regret asking that, because I have to let his hand go. I sigh and pop my head in the door. Nice standard equipment, not a lot of machines. A treadmill, and a lot of weights, barbells and dumbbells. It looks any other gym would, right down to the mirrors spanning the whole wall (he seems to like those); you would have never guessed it was a private one in a cellar.

The star of the show is definitely the little bar next door. I enter the room right after him, chuckling a bit to myself when I see him ducking his head to fit through doorframe – even in his own home.

A worn-out leather couch to the left. The dark grey painted wall behind it is littered with plaques like you would find in a pub.

A pool table at the right side of the room, and then the mahogany bar on the back wall right in the middle. Bottles of liquor in rows, glasses in all shapes and sizes. When he flicks the light switch behind the bar, all of it lights up, in a warm orange hue.

Another fridge, with a glass door, though it’s half empty.

Three bar stools lined up neatly in front of the bar and I take a seat on one of them, feeling the leather top against my bare ass and thighs, with how my t-shirt rides up.

He sets the take-away bag down on the counter, getting two plates from one of the lower cabinets and two forks. Then he starts unpacking, producing container after container until I think there might be more people joining us, with how much he ordered.

“Take whatever you want, I’ll eat the rest.”, he tells me, waiting for me to actually do that.

“Is uh-“, I start, but he interrupts me with a smile. “Everything’s vegetarian, Liebes.”, he nods. “I checked. Twice.”

My face lights up and I look at the containers, inspect the different dishes and put a little bit of everything on my plate. With a double portion of the little spring rolls I like so much. He waits until I’m done getting my plate together and then just dumps one of the meals onto his.

I watch him eat, as he’s leaning against the counter, shoveling huge amounts of food in his mouth, while being very meticulous and methodical about it. Eating efficiently. This man eats to sustain, not to enjoy. There are parts of him, that I think are shaped by his profession, and this seems to be one of them.

I hide the half-smile that stalks onto my face as I see him standing there behind the bar, casually wolfing down the first plate of food, then a second one. I rope him into a conversation of how he put the room together while we have dinner like this. My feet dangle above the ground as I eat spoonsful of delicious Asian take-away, very content with sitting here like this. With him.

He looks back at the wall behind him, like an idea just came to his mind, and then back at me. I pull up one of my eyebrows, still munching on a spring roll.

“You want a cocktail?”, he asks me, grinning.

“Uh, sure, you know how to make one?”, I return the question.

“Äh, ja-ah! If I wasn’t a soldier, I would’ve become a bartender, for sure.”, he jokingly states, winking at me, and I almost melt into the floor. “I can make a decent enough drink.”, he then clarifies, the spark in his eyes still a little mischievous. “So, what do you want then? A moscow mule? Or a dirty martini?" He pauses for dramatic effect. "Or an orgasm?" He wiggles his eyebrows at me, and I can't help but laugh, even though I roll my eyes at him.

"Brute.”, I take a jab at him. “My favourite is actually a gin fizz.", I say, then.

"Really? I did not see that coming.", he comments.

"Why?"

"I don't know, maybe I expected something sweet tasting. Like you." His gaze darkens, while he is still grinning at me. A sudden hunger glints in his eyes while he looks at me, like he's thinking about it. How he ate me out when we got so rudely interrupted, by the delivery – even though it was delicious.

A tingle runs up my spine, just from the way he's looking at me. I suppress a shiver, because the feeling doesn't dissipate when his eyes drop away, looking around the bar.

"Hmm, I think I have a fresh lemon here somewhere.", he mutters to himself.

I prop my cheek on my arm, that’s leaning on the bar, and watch him fix me the drink.

He takes a crystal tumbler from the shelves and inspects some of the bottles, until he decides on one. I don't know the brand, but it certainly looks fancy. Ice cubes into the shaker, simple sirup and gin following shortly.

He’s almost dancing behind the bar counter, with the way he’s getting the ingredients, preparing this rather simple drink.

He cuts the lemon in half and just squeezes it, the juice dripping down into the shaker. Another person might have used a citrus-press. Not him though.

His hair whipping back and forth as he turns around, putting the top on the shaker and hitting the top once. A little spank that I feel…somewhere else… for reasons.

He starts to shake the cocktail, and it’s ridiculous how small the shaker is in his huge hands, he doesn’t even need both to hold it shut. Watching my reaction as he flips and spins it between his fingers, the ridiculous movements pulling laughs from me. Repeating the ones that do. The huge burly man, being the scary looking dude he is, while at the same time not being scary at all. At least not to me. When he’s here with me, like this.

He pours the drink over the ice cubes and fills the rest of the glass with soda, just like the recipe calls for. Taking the little zest of lemon he saved, squeezing it once and then putting it in.

König takes a sip, trying it. ‘Not bad’ is what the grimace on his face tells me before he hands me the tumbler and I take a drink. The bitter notes of gin and the sour sting of lemon juice hit my tongue.

“Nice drink, barkeep.”, I say, taking another sip and put the drink down in front of him. He drinks as well, downing at least half with one single gulp.

“Sind Sie eigentlich öfter hier?”, he asks me, with a sultry smile, not seeming serious at all.

“What does that mean? Funny man, I don’t speak your language.”, I tell him.

He laughs. “It’s flirtingly asking somebody if they come here often. It became a running gag in German as a bad pickup line.”

"Really? And that works?", I ask, skeptically pulling an eyebrow up.

He shrugs, leans forward, against the bar, coming closer and closer, until his face is just inches from mine. "No, it doesn't, but if I see a beautiful woman, I have to try it nonetheless.", he almost purrs. His fucking voice deeper than I ever heard it before. With the way he's looking at me, pure unadulterated lust in his eyes, he pulls me in.

His fingers softly stroke over the inside of my arm, until the thumb reaches my pulsepoint, the pad pressing into it lightly – just once – before he pulls it closer and presses a soft kiss to the sensitive skin. His eyes don’t break away from mine for even a moment.

My mouth falls open. My breath is getting caught in my throat and I can feel a pang of need between my thighs, the tingling feeling trickling up my spine.

He straightens back up again, just a little bit, beaming at me with a cocky grin. "See, and that works every time.", he taunts me.

"Well, I'll say.", I answer, still a little out of breath, which makes him laugh, but also come closer again.

"Yeah?", he asks softly. "You think, I can get a kiss from the beautiful woman at the bar like this?"

I nod, lifting myself off the barstool, to meet his lips in a kiss. “Maybe also a second kiss.”, I say, deepening it. My tongue strokes against his, teasing, and tasting the gin on his breath.

"Will the barkeeper also take the beautiful woman to his king size bed?", I ask him, which might be considered bold, if it was indeed a beautiful woman propositioning the barkeeper at the bar who had been flirting with her all evening. But it's just König and me, sitting here together in comfy clothes after we shared a meal. And I'm eager to finish what we started before.

"Hmmm, they are the only two left in the bar, so the barkeeper might just close it up to bend the beautiful woman over the bar and take her right here and now.", he spins my little story further.

"Well, that would be entirely possible, if they had some protection.", I retort, but the imagination alone is making me hot.

A little square foil packet suddenly appears in his hand, almost like out of thin air – more likely from his pocket. "Didn't tell you, I'm not only a barkeeper, but also a magician?", he says, a grin breaking through his expression, even if he tries to stay serious.

I have to laugh so hard I almost fall off the barstool, with the way my body is shaking from laughter ripping through me.

This man. It's quite unfair, to pair his dry wit with those good looks. I mean, it might not be to everybody's taste, but in my book tall, dark and brooding always works – though in his case, the notion of that much rather stems from the way he looks, not the way he is – and him being hilarious like this, especially when I don’t see it coming, definitely has me on my tiptoes.

“A man of many talents, I see.”, I tease him.

“Don’t you know it.”, he says, capturing my smile in a kiss again, barely breaking it to join me on my side of the bar.

I'm practically bent over the bar already, with the way my ass barely touches the seat and I was leaning over to kiss him, trying to get as close to him as possible. He just has to lift my hips a little bit, until I'm truly strewn over the smooth wooden surface.

He doesn't hesitate to pull my panties down, the wet fabric clinging onto me. It doesn’t take much, I’m so wound tight already, because we got interrupted. His fingers coast over the sensitive skin, and I squirm against his touch, holding onto the bar.

"Please, just- do me.", I beg, not minding how desperate that makes me sound.

"Your wish is my command.", he repeats his little quip from earlier this evening. He pulls the shorts down just low enough to take his dick out, the length resting against my ass, and I can't resist moving my hips a little bit, grinding back into him.

"Stop it.", he grumbles, spanking my buttcheek once, with the other hand. "Impatient brat.", he calls me which pulls a little chuckle from my lips.

The ripping of the foil, the snap of rubber, and then his dick nudges against me, dipping into me – just the tip. Fuck, I just want him inside me. He pulls back and repeats the motion a few times, until he finally sinks into me. Giving me a few moments to adjust myself to his length, his hands squeezing my tight ass, before he starts to pound into me.

Harder than last time he fucked me from behind because he isn’t limited by the tight space of his car’s backseat.

“Yes, yes, fuck.”, I whine, the little pleas intermingling with the resounding claps of skin against skin. The whole bar is shaking, the sturdy wood holding out against his hard thrusts.

His hands let go of my ass, his arms framing my body, holding onto the bartop. Using it as leverage to fuck me a tiny bit rougher. And I take everything he’s giving me, relishing the feeling of losing myself in the hard fucking.

Over 300 pounds pushing me up against the furniture, his dick pushing deep inside me. The tip slamming against my cervix, which is making me lose my mind fast.

Groans and mewls drop from my lips with every push into me, the sounds getting louder when he hits that sensitive spot inside me. I almost wanna bite my lip, but I know better than that by now. I know he wants to hear me.

Suddenly, he pulls himself out of me, and for a split second, I'm confused. But instead, his fingers slip into me, the sensations getting rid of my thoughts.

"Fucking hell, you're soaked.", he groans, his digits working in and out of me, the wet sounds almost obscene. The whines dropping from my lips as they stroke over the sensitive spot inside, the same one that his dick was flitting over just moments ago.

"Oh, fuck.", I moan, the intense stimulation making me shake, desperately holding onto the hard surface beneath me, as I cum on his fingers. He pulls them out again, and I whimper because of the sudden loss of fullness. He bends forward, his hands spreading my cheeks, while he laps up the wetness. The hurried licks of his tongue against the sensitive skin prolonging my orgasm, making me shiver.

He straightens back up and lifts me from the bar and just flips me around, setting me down on the wood again, so that I face him. The expression on his face, the hooded lids, the drowsiness in his eyes, the satisfied smirk, his lips glistening of my juices, … Yeah, no man ever has looked this good in a Cannibal Corpse shirt.

My arms reach back, propping myself up on the bar, and my legs spread in an instant, inviting him in. His eyes drop down to my pussy, dripping and still needy. He positions himself, gripping his rubbered-up dick at the base, dragging it over my clit, teasing my entrance with his tip. Driving us both crazy, I can see it on his face.

"Fuck, please...", I whine, my hips bucking up against him.

With a chuckle, he's slipping into my wetness again, easily. Stretching me around his dick and I groan when he bottoms me out, being a little overstimulated already.

He's fucking me in this position, hard just like before, my hips almost at the perfect height, because a normal table would have never been tall enough. I scramble to even hold on, my hands gripping his shoulders now instead of the surface beneath me, trying to not get shaken off it, but he holds me firm in his grasp, holding me steadfast, so his hard fucking doesn’t push me off.

"I'm not gonna make it for much longer.", he grunts quietly, almost like an apology. “’m close, fuck. Gonna come." A deep breath shakes his chest.

My hand extends to cup his face, and even though he seems almost lost in his search for release, he nearly stills.

"Do it. Come for me.", I whisper, my lips coasting against his.

The sound that escapes his throat is a desperate one, and he pulls me tighter against him. One arm around my waist, his hand on my hip, the fingertips digging into the supple swell. My fingers stroke through his hair, the soft strands, and I press my lips to his.

And he kisses me with a frenzy, until I feel his spine stiffen up and a short deep moan against my lips.

He shudders, his whole body shaking, as he spills inside me, his hips still rutting forward, and for a moment I wish, the condom between us wasn't there. Some creampie for dessert.

"Fuck...", he breathes, nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck, his orgasm finally subsiding. “You okay?”

I nod, a faint ‘yes’ in my lips, and I slump against him, holding onto his waist, breathing heavily. Relishing the embrace, as he pulls me even closer with his strong arms. I breathe in his warm comforting scent, the fabric of the shirt rough against my cheek, as I nuzzle into him.

“I believe there is integral part of my home which you haven’t seen yet.”, he whispers, pressing soft kisses against the side of my face.

“Really?”, I ask, resting against his huge sweaty chest, my hands still tangled in his t-shirt.

Instead of answering, he lifts me off the surface, my legs closing around his waist. My panties are somewhere, but not covering my pussy that is sitting against his hips. But he doesn’t seem to care that I'm staining his shirt with my wetness. I mean, getting pussy juice on a Cannibal Corpse shirt has to be an achievement on its own, right? I giggle to myself, as he carries me up to his bathroom.

The shower indeed seems spacious enough for him to kneel down – contrary to the one in my apartment.

His hands lather up some soap and start to move over my body, the warmth of his fingers coasting over me. Softly cleaning me and washing away the suds. Refusing to let me do the same for him.

He gets down on his knees, lowering himself even further to the floor, to be right where he wants to be. At eye-level with my pussy. He lifts my left leg, placing it over his shoulder, and presses his face between my thighs. Licking and sucking eagerly.

The spray of water from above hits his hair as well, wetting and darkening the long strands, while my fingers tangle in them, my other hand looking for somewhere to hold onto. The cool tiles press into my back, while the water raining down on us and his huge warm body heat me up. My screams echo off the walls as he makes me come on his tongue, my legs almost giving out while his arms hold me up, not stopping until I’m spent.

We get out of the shower after having been in there for way too long, wasting water standing under the spray. He hands me a bathtowel and I wrap myself in it, just standing there. Watching him dry himself off. He’s quick and methodical about it, the soft fabric stroking over his wet skin, soaking up everything.

He hangs up his towel, and I try not to stare at his naked tattooed body. I mean, I’ve seen him like this before. Also, his dick has just been inside me, but I still can’t help it. I can’t tear my eyes off of him.

“What?”, he asks, as he sees me staring.

“Nothing, just looking at you.”, I say, pulling the towel tighter around me, cocooning myself up.

He comes closer. “Looking comfy.”, he comments, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“I am.”, I answer, and his arms close around me, pressing me against his broad naked chest.

“Stay the night?”, he asks, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. Me all huddled up in the huge bathtowel can only nod and grin up at him.

next part: waking up in his bed or more stuff in the Masterlist ~

a/n: a special long chapter for the start of the weekend... i hope you guys had as much fun reading it, as i had writing it, gonna go take a cold shower now 🫠

[jujutsukgojo]

Finger Gun

izuku midoriya x reader, villain deku

Chapter two

Summary:

You press yourself against the dry-erase board. “What do you want to do?”

He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I’d like to know you more, if you don't mind." You lick your lips. Izuku watches the motion and asks, "How much fun would it be if you leave?"

You shake your head. “I have nothing to give you.” It's true.

Izuku cocks his head. His voice lowers, "There's plenty you can give me. Won't you be a lamb for me?" He bites the tip of his gloves and slides it off of his hand.

tw: dub con(ish?), smut, quick and not checked, inspired by fanart, characters are 18+

The school alarms are blaring. The hairs on your arms stand straight. Everyone bumps into each other to exit the school gates. Heroes are shouting on the school grounds. Police sirens wail as they approach the school. People are panicking, clamoring about how this has not happened in U.A. in forever, and wondering how villains could get past the security system.

Your heart is thumping in your ears as you look around in the empty classroom you were pushed into due to the hysteria. The plan is to wait for the horde of people to pass and then exit the room safely. That is out the window now that you see a cute guy with green curly hair with round eyes to match standing behind you.

The guy stills, a little surprised by your appearance. His face soon fades to a grin. At first glance, he looks like he’d be your age if not just a tad older. He’s dressed formally in a white button-up with a black vest and a tie. He looks normal until you actually look at his smile. That saccharine smile is sharp and his vibrant green eyes tell something sinister. There’s something wrong with him. 

You're proven right when he presses one of his hands to the wall beside your head and the other fiddles with a knife he flipped out. He quickly puts the blade back.  

“Don’t mind that it’s just a habit.” The green-haired boy gives his name. “I'm Izuku, and you are?”

Your eyes are wide, and your voice is shaky. “I have to go."

"Come on pretty, that can't be your name."

"Please sir, let me leave." You shrink under his gaze. He hums. His cheeks soon match the pink shade of his lips.  “Don't be so stiff, pretty. I'm just talking to you." 

His gloved fingers give your cheek a gentle stroke. “Say my name, I want to hear it. See if it sounds right.” You want to say no, to turn around and run for your life. “Izuku.”

He shivers in delight. There is something lit in his eyes that you can't place. His thumb traces along your bottom lip. The sun peeks through the curtains and shines along his cheekbone, settling on his freckles. Whatever lurks beneath the surface doesn't lessen how handsome he is. 

You swallow and lick your lips. “I, um, have to go. It was nice meeting you Izuku.” He pouts but doesn’t move his arm. “Why? We haven’t finished talking.”

“School is being evacuated; I really should go.” You go forward to encourage him to release you. Izuku doesn’t move his arm. His leather-gloved fingers strum on the wall by your head creating a gentle sound. Although the action is normal, the implication is obvious. Izuku, whoever he is, is not going to let you leave. 

“I’d love to talk more. Stay with me.” His eyes are closed, and his head is tilted. The gesture seems so innocent and cute. A handsome guy showing interest in you would make you warm and tingly inside if this had been normal circumstances. No, despite being intimidated, this is a little flattering. Morally, it's considered wrong. You should be screaming for help and not thinking of him.  

“Izuku,” You clear your throat. “The teachers are going to look for me.”

“Coincidentally, they’re looking for me too. Let’s make the most of it.” 

You press yourself against the dry-erase board. “What do you want to do?”

He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I’d like to know you more, if you don't mind." You lick your lips. Izuku watches the motion and asks, "How much fun would it be if you leave?"

You shake your head. “I have nothing to give you.” It's true.

Izuku cocks his head. His voice lowers, "There's plenty you can give me. Won't you be a lamb for me?" He bites the tip of his gloves and slides it off of his hand. Izuku's green eyes never leave yours. 

He leans in and pecks your lips. You blink your eyes like an owl, completely and totally shocked. He softly kisses you with his eyes open. Tingles and flutters litter your skin as his lips devour you. This is wrong yet here you are clenching your thighs and letting him kiss you. Could this magnetism be a quirk? You stutter. “I don’t know what you want-”

He sucks on a spot you didn’t even know was sensitive. 

There’s nothing inherently wrong, right? He hasn’t done anything really menacing (yet). 

Your legs spread enough for him to fit his thick thigh between them. He kisses the column of your throat as you rub along him. You can't do this. Despite how warm you are and the throbbing you feel below, you should push him away. Izuku is a villain, you’re sure of that. You need to run away, not grind on his thigh as he leaves sloppy kisses from your collarbone to your ear, edging his soft lips to yours. Right?

Screw it.

His hand slips under your shirt and bra. Thankfully, his hand is warm as it works your breast. You softly gasp when you swirl your hips. The one hand stationed in your hair decided to trail along your warm body and stop your movements on his thigh. You close your eyes as he slides into your underwear and swirls the bud that begs for attention. He kisses you the entire time, only separating from you when he takes your underwear and pockets it.

With ease, he slides a finger in you. Izuku waits for a second, relishing your gasps. Smoothly, he pumps his finger. The palm of his hand presses against your clit as he goes. Suddenly, he enters another finger, this time not waiting. Izuku curls his thick fingers, grazing along that spot that makes you whimper. 

You rock your hips and claw his back to anchor you. With every move is an electric shock that makes you wetter as seconds pass. The school alarm is still blaring and drowns out your moans and his laugh. You throw your head back against the board. Izuku’s thumb rushes on your clit. His eyes go to the door. With a smirk he says, “We’re gonna have to be a little faster, lamb.”

 Mindlessly, you nod. Breathily heavily, you continue to kiss him as you rotate your hips. He sucks behind your ear and down your neck. He takes a hold of your hips in a tight grip. You grab onto anything you can for balance. 

Are the alarms still going off? Is the school aware that he’s still here? 

You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t be pulling his hair from the back of his head with one hand and grabbing the edge of the dry-erase board with the other. This is treacherous, terrible of you to be throbbing for him. Relishing the feeling he’s giving and loving how he’s promising you more. 

Without another thought, you unbutton his slacks and slide your hand into them. He moans against your ear. Your hand glides with ease from the pre cum that leaked from his thick tip. Your hand goes faster and faster, much to his delight. Other than the warmth that’s happening again, you can’t focus on anything other than what it is in your hand. 

“Cum for me.” He whispers against your lips. He adds another finger to the pleasure and more pressure to your clit. 

Finally, it happens. He gasps and shoots a warmth that dribbles onto your hand and the floor. The heroes would be so disappointed that your toes are curled, and your back is arched with Izuku’s name on your lips. Like a wreck, those thoughts crash as cries of pleasure fill the room. 

“Time’s up, pretty.” You're breathless when he releases his hold on you. He's stronger than you thought and prettier when his cheeks are an even deeper shade of pink. Izuku separates himself and looks down at you with just as much intensity he had before this. He pulls up his trousers and smirks at you. 

Izuku leans to you and gives you a kiss. He pulls out a handkerchief and wipes your hand the best it can. 

“Until next time.” He promises with a kiss on your hand. Your face is warm. 

“Stop!” You’re knocked out of your trance when your teachers barge in with their weapons and quirks ready to fight. You’re quick to lower your skirt and adjust your shirt before they look at you. Izuku chuckles and sucks on his fingers once again and then finger guns them as he falls out of the window. You shriek and run to the window. He isn’t there.

-----

“There was the mastermind we never caught.”

“I thought All For One or Shigaraki was the mastermind.” Dread settles in your stomach. Aizawa shakes his head no. “A few years ago, there was a student that made his way to the hero course and used that as a guise to do what he really wanted to do.”

A few years ago, All For One and the heroes fought and surprisingly, the heroes won. No one could figure out how they won and how Shigaraki died. Everything about that didn’t make sense. The heroes were completely outclassed and outnumbered. Over time, the world started to heal, forgetting the past and questions. 

How was he able to get away with it? This is the first time anyone’s said anything. Because everything is so secret, it’s best not to admit what happened in the classroom. That you let a villain finger you and were willing to let him do more had it not been for them busting in. 

It’s a secret you’ll take to the grave. No way would anyone forgive you. Hell, you can’t even forgive yourself for still wanting him.

“What did he want to do?”

Aizawa’s dark eye stare blankly into yours. With a solemn voice, he answers, “Paint the world red. He said it’s his favorite color. At least that's what he laughed about. His true intentions were never stated."

You’ve heard of a “Deku” in passing but never "Izuku Midoriya”. When the school was being evacuated, the break in a few years ago was brought up. No one mentioned Izuku or the mastermind of it all. What Aizawa’s telling you is new. 

Why did everyone keep it a secret? How did he manage to go through the hero course undetected? There are so many questions and no answers. By the look on Aizawa’s face, you aren’t getting any. Not anytime soon, at least. 

Yeah, you should keep to yourself what really happened in the classroom. 

----

You open your bedroom door and lock it behind you. The dark room lights up with a flick of your finger. You set your things down and take off your shoes. It's been days since you've saw him. After finding out who he is (somewhat), you should be doing cartwheels that he's gone. So, why aren't you? Instead, your head is down. Rather than rejoicing, you still think of him and his touch. The time you two had was short and not enough to cement an opinion of him as a person. 

Right as you sigh, a song comes on. The acoustic melody plays just as softly as the dim lights in your room. 

“You never did tell me your name.” 

Izuku Midoriya stands in the middle of your room with what appears to be a dangerous smile. He tosses your missing underwear to the side. 

[jelzorz]

210.

The thing about being king is that it's hard.

Ez doesn't know why this surprises him so much, but every day is something else. It's always some new treaty to negotiate, some new budget proposal to review, some lord causing trouble for the peasants working his land, and that doesn't even touch on any the Aaravos stuff. Now there's this.

There were six of them this morning. Six! Ez has been seventeen for all of two weeks and the letters are already coming in droves, each more insistent and presumptuous than the last.

"I don't know how you've been dealing with it," he whines to Aanya. He is in Duren today. If he's honest, he's in Duren every other day these days, and when he's not, she's in Katolis because, Duren-Katolis alliance aside, they're friends. Ez likes her company, not just because she's fun to be around, but also because she's the only other person who really gets it, y'know? The complexities of being a monarch. The weight of being a child.

"I've been burning them," says Aanya frankly. She is peeling an orange over her desk and the smell of citrus wafts pleasantly over Ez's nose. "I've been getting them for months and I gave up sending responses after the first couple of weeks. Every suitor bold enough to try is an automatic no from me."

Ez snorts a little at that. "No one's been on your case about it?"

She shrugs without looking up. "A couple of my advisors disapprove but what are they gonna do, really? Why? Is Opeli giving you grief about it?"

Ez barks out a laugh. "Yes... No. I don't know. She just keeps saying it's something I should consider, which feels kind of like a double standard because Callum and Rayla only got married when they were both twenty-one and Soren's almost thirty and I don't see her bothering him."

"Mm." Aanya clucks her tongue and dusts the peels into the bin under her desk. "To be fair, Callum and Rayla were basically betrothed by the time they were our age and I think we both know why Soren doesn't get any trouble from her." She snorts a little and proffers half the orange at him. "Just say no."

"What, you think I've been saying yes?"

Aanya laughs. "I'm just saying, you're the king. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"That's a lie and you know it."

"About getting married, I mean," she chuckles. "It's low priority and there's other stuff we have to deal with right now. Other problems on the horizon."

Ez grimaces, and she doesn't have to say it but he knows she's talking about Aaravos and his impending return. Their seven years of peace and prosperity are almost up. It makes Ez's stomach roil with dread.

"Do you think we've done enough?" he asks quietly after a moment.

"We've done what we can," says Aanya. "I don't know that anyone can promise more than that. Our alliance feels pretty secure and we've got all the Fire Rubies on standby, you've got the Nova Blade, Callum's been researching the whole time... We're as united a front as we can be. There's no point worrying more about it until it's a problem."

Ez lets out a sigh. "You're probably right," he mumbles. "The only way we could be more united is if you and I—"

He stops. He flushes. Aanya looks up and Ez finds himself infinitely grateful that the darkness of his skin doesn't let him visibly blush.

"Is if you and I...?"

Ez flushes more and looks away. "You can forget I said that."

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting, Your Majesty?"

"Stop, oh my gods."

"Are you adding yourself to my list suitors, Ezran?"

Ez tosses an orange segment at her, and Aanya laughs in an uncharacteristic display of her age. "What would be the point?" he says, his cheeks warm. "Any suitor bold enough to try is an automatic no, isn't it?"

"I mean." Aanya looks away this time, and Ez thinks he can almost see pink in her cheeks. "I'd think about it. If it was you."

A pause. A breath. Ez presses his lips together and wills his breathing and his heartbeat stay even. "You wouldn't burn my proposal if I sent it?"

"I wouldn't burn any letter from you, Ez."

"Oh."

The silence that settles over them borders on awkward, but Ez lets himself chuckle and reaches across the desk for her hand. "That's something worth considering, I guess," he says.

Aanya chuckles shyly and takes it. "Indeed."

[doverstar]

I just realized: One good demonstration of CS Lewis's "Humility isn't thinking less of yourself, it's thinking of yourself less" is P&F's episode Thaddeus and Thor.

In that one, Thaddeus and Thor use their insane builds as a way of showing off and making themselves look better. Phineas and Ferb do theirs strictly for the love of building and/or to give themselves and their friends a fun time.

Phineas and Ferb do not falsely put themselves down (which would absolutely insult everyone else), they're just not thinking about themselves at all. They just want to make something cool and then share how cool it is with others (plus Phineas is a natural showman).

Heck, despite blowing those two out of the water, they go out of their way to compliment Thaddeus and Thor on the licorice dispenser because they think it's a cool idea.

100% correct. It's one of my favorite episodes. It shows how Phineas and Ferb could be, and how they are not that way, not just in action but in dialogue. It never occurs to them to compete with Thaddeus and Thor, or argue with Thaddeus when he starts baiting them. Security is silent.

Thaddeus and Thor's talents are only remarkable in a realistic setting. Because in real life, boys their age could probably, with prodigy-level brains, build the fort that they built. They could. But the thing about Phineas and Ferb's success is, not only can they build that, they can build things that defy logic, budget, and nature - at age 9. (Because they're cartoons.) In real life, if you were to pit them against Thaddeus and Thor, you would be watching two sets of kids - one set builds an actual fort with a licorice dispenser, and it's structurally sound and everything, and that's amazing. But then the other set builds not only that, but extra - something you wouldn't have believed of adults, funding or no funding. In the universe of the show, that's what you're looking at, essentially. Phineas and Ferb create for the joy of creating, most often to benefit others; they never do it just for themselves. Everything they make is made to be shared. They're just that good at it. And do they boast? Do they challenge other creatives? Never once. They love to think and build and create and help, and it literally does not come into their heads to talk about their talents, choose themselves over others, or decide not to help someone who needs it. If you have a need and they hear about it, boom - they're already halfway done fixing your problem before you've finished speaking. Even if it does nothing for them. Candace wants her mother to see the boys at work. She doesn't think very far ahead about what that looks like, because she's not doing it to hurt them, she's doing it to keep them safe, to prove it can be done, and that she's not crazy. She doesn't consider that this would mean they would be punished. Phineas and Ferb, more than once, attempt to help Candace bust them because it will make her happy. When they hear her summer's been a series of failures and she feels alone and defeated, they go out of their way to get her to see it differently and make her feel better. Phineas saying things like "Can we cook or can't we?" is not bragging. It's him being excited and satisfied with his work, and he's almost always saying that kind of thing to Ferb, who also worked hard. And like you said, when Thaddeus and Thor are standing open-mouthed at the foot of the boys' architectural anomaly, Phineas and Ferb's disclaimer at the end of the tour is that Thaddeus and Thor's licorice dispenser was cool to them and they liked it. They showed what they'd done, and then they ended it by complimenting the other boys' creativity. Because it doesn't even occur to them to think about themselves or put themselves on any kind of pedestal or into any kind of spotlight. 90% of the time, Phineas and Ferb are thinking about other people, not themselves.

[moonchild9350]

Sign The Dotted Line (Chapter One)

Series Summary: You are an ordinary person, working an ordinary job, nothing too special until you come across an ad for an application to become the new company assignment girlfriend of Lee Minho. You take the chance to apply and what happens next changes your life forever.

Pairing: idol Minho x fab reader

Genre (series as a whole): fluff, angst, smut-18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings (this chapter): none

Notes: Welcome to the Sign the Dotted Line series! I'm super excited to release the first chapter! Don't worry, Minho makes an appearance but it'll be much later in the chapters.

New Chapters will be released on Saturdays at 1pm CST.

If you'd like to join the tag list (for this series or general) let me know! (age must be in bio or pinned to be added).

If you like this fic, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

Next | Series Masterlist

You remember exactly where you were the day you got the email, what you were doing, how it felt outside. You remember exactly how you were feeling the day your life changed forever.

“Hmmm what should I wear to tonight?” You asked your friend Lexi. You were having a tough time picking out an outfit, both you and your friend planning to go out tonight. You both had a tough week at work, deadlines were approaching to secure a major deal and tensions were high. Now it was Friday, Lexi suggesting you both go out to take your minds off work. Of course you agreed, needing any type of distraction you could get.

“Wear that crop top with your leather skirt,” Lexi said, pulling out the clothes from your closet.

You took the outfit, agreeing with her choice. Slipping it on, you stopped in front of the mirror, making sure everything was in place. Lexi made her way to you, phone in hand.

“Selfie time!” Lexi shouted, you covering your ears at her outburst. You giggled and posed, Lexi taking multiple pictures of the two of you. Lexi’s phone dinged, notifying her that the ride share was here. You grabbed your phone and bag and followed your friend out the door, walking to and sliding into the car.

The night was filled with fun. You both danced the night away, work completely forgotten. You did have a drink or two…or four, your head fuzzy but not enough to not know where you were or make a fool of yourself. Your feet were started to hurt, the combination of hours of non-stop dancing and heels taking its toll on your poor feet. You both decided to finish dancing to the song playing and then leave.

Lexi ordered another ride share, both of you waiting outside. The fresh air was refreshing, a slight breeze blowing to cool you off. You browsed your phone, clearing out your notifications. As you were waiting, you visited your favorite band Stray Kids website, looking for any new updates. There was one new notice, asking for applications to be considered to become Lee Minho’s girlfriend. You blinked your eyes once, twice, and then read the notice again, in disbelief at the ad. This was a prank. Yes, most definitely a prank played by the company.

Tapping Lexi’s shoulder, you showed her the ad. “What?! Is this real?” She shrieked.

“Looks like it,” you said, a frown on your face. You loved Minho, he was your bias after all. How cool would it be to become his girlfriend? It’s not like you haven’t imagined this exact scenario in your dreams.

Lexi was scrolling through the notice before handing you back your phone. “You need to apply!” She said while winking at you.

“Hell no!” You said. “I’d never be picked. I mean look at me! Why would THE Lee Minho want to date me?”

“Because you’re hot as fuck,” Lexi responded laughing. “It won’t hurt. Worst case scenario is you’d never hear back from them.”

You considered your friend’s statement. She was right. Why not take the leap of faith and apply. It would be a dream come true after all. “Ok, I’ll do it,” you said right as the ride share pulled up.

“That’s my girl,” Lexi said getting in the car before you. You looked out the window the whole ride back to your place, thinking about what you were about to do. Once inside, you changed into some more comfy clothes and slipped into bed, Lexi following suit as she was staying over. You pulled up the notice once more, reading it over.

“What is it asking for?” Lexi asked, leaning over your shoulder to get a closer look.

“Besides basic information like name, birthday, they want to know my occupation, family history, of course where I live, and a background check. They’re asking more information too. It’s like they want my whole life story,” you said nervously chuckling.

“Well makes sense doesn’t it?” Lexi said yawning. “They have to make sure whoever they pick isn’t a pyscho.”

It did make sense. I’m sure they only wanted the best for Minho. Someone who could withstand dating an idol, but also probably for Minho’s safety too. You started filling out the information they wanted, hoping even just a little that you would be considered. It took you a little over an hour to finish the application in its entirety. You let out a breath after submitting the application. You looked over at Lexi to let her know you were done, but noticed she was passed out, little snores coming from her mouth as she slept.

You set your phone on its charger and turned out the lights, settling in for the night. There’s no way they would choose you let alone consider you. Right?

You felt something hit your nose again and again. You scrunched up your nose, eyes fluttering open to identify what had disturbed you from your slumber…or more so who had disturbed you. You opened your eyes to see Lexi hovering above you, booping your nose with her finger.

“Wake up,” she said as she kept booping your nose.

“Ok, ok I’m up. “ you groaned, swiping her hand away and rubbing your eyes. You sat up in bed, letting out a yawn. Lexi handed you a cup of coffee fixed exactly how you liked it. You graciously grabbed the cup, taking a sip before cradling it in your hands.

“So, did you submit the application? Am I looking at the girlfriend of Lee Minho?” She asked smirking.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m not going to be Minho’s girlfriend. There’s so many other people out there that would be better for him.”

Lexi scoffed, “please, you’d be perfect for him. Don’t put yourself down.”

You just shrugged, getting out of bed to get ready for the day. After getting dressed, you took your cup and went to sit in the living room. You checked your email, looking for any word from the company. You were trying not to get your hopes up. There’s no way they would choose you. Not in a million years.

The rest of the weekend passed, your days spent at home relaxing, and preparing yourself for another hell week at work. You hated this job with a passion, sitting at your desk all day, discussing projects and sitting in meetings. You wanted to quit, but the pay was great, allowing you to live in a decent area in town. But if someone offered you another position, you would take it in a heart beat, getting away from the constant stress and toxic workplace.

The beginning of the week came and went by quickly, your days spent at work, just to come home, eat, and pass out from exhaustion. You only had to get through one more day and then you were off. You had been checking your email daily, multiple times per day at that, looking to see if you had any emails in regard to the little application you submitted over the weekend. Each time you checked however, your hopes were squashed, your email only being filled with spam.

You made dinner, and sat in the couch propping your feet up. You let out a sigh before digging in. You went back to your phone, scrolling through social media. After eating, you sat down your plate and settled in to watch tv. The night went on, you dozing off after a hard day.

You woke up with a start, looking around to see where you were before realizing you were safe at home. Rubbing your eyes, you got up from the couch and walked to your bedroom and got into bed. you checked your phone before setting it down for the night and noticed you had a new email. The title was in Korean and your breath hitched a little. Clicking on the email, you held your breath as you read the words in front of you.

They wanted to interview you tomorrow if possible before advancing you further in the process. Looking at the time they requested would be right toward the end of your work day. You’d have to step away for the video chat. You were more than happy to do so. You replied with a yes and set your phone down, closing your eyes to sleep and dream of the possibilities in your future .

The next morning, Lexi stopped by, coffee in hand so you could go to work together. You were giddy, practically bouncing on your feet, as you scampered through your apartment to finish getting ready for work. Your friend noticed something was up. You were never this happy to go to work or this happy in the morning period.

“Ok, what gives? Why are you so happy?” Your friend asked you, watching as you turned away to hide your face. You continued fixing your lunch, a smile on your face.

“So I checked my email last night before bed and um I got an email from the company asking to do a video interview today. “ you continued to prep your lunch, waiting for your friend’s reaction.

“Holy shit really?” She said, clapping her hands in excitement. “See I told you! You’re a catch, I knew they’d be interested.” You turned to face Lexi, a huge grin on your face.

“What time is the interview?”

“8am Korea time so 6pm our time. I’ll be working late today, so I’ll have to find somewhere to sit for the interview.”

Lexi nodded, “well you could always use the conference room. It’ll be empty by then.”

You shook your head in agreement. Making sure you had all your stuff for the day, you looked at friend and said, “ready?”

Lexi sighed, “no not really, but don’t have a choice do I?”

You grinned, grabbing your keys, “nope!”

Work was hell per usual, your day filled with answering calls and working on projections. You were stressed, every client you dealt with today must have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed, because everyone was pissy. But, the hours dragged on, the office buzzing as everyone worked on their various projects.

It was getting closer to 6pm so you grabbed your laptop and pulled up the video invite, making sure everything was ready for when the time comes. Satisfied, you picked up the laptop and made your way to the conference room, shutting the door behind you. You took a seat and made sure everything looked ok around you as well as made sure your outfit was fixed, wanting to make a good impression. At least you could look good if nothing else.

You logged in and waited for whoever to enter the meeting room. At exactly 6pm, someone popped up on screen. She was really pretty, long black hair cascading down past her shoulders, with light makeup on to accentuate her features. She smiled at you before speaking in Korean. Shit, you thought, you didn’t know anything in Korean besides hello and I love you.

You felt stupid as you politely stopped her before saying, “Im sorry, I don’t speak Korean.”

She looked taken aback for a moment. Great, you thought. She’s probably thinking why would you apply for this if you couldn’t even speak the language. You felt your face getting hot, embarrassed at this setback. However, the woman just smiled and apologized, this time in English. You let out a breath, happy that she didn’t think you were crazy…at least she didn’t show it.

Despite the little hiccup in the beginning, the rest of the interview went well. She asked you a ton of questions about yourself and your personality. She also inquired about your job and asked about details for that. You felt exposed, sharing things that even your best friend would most likely not know. She also asked you how you deal with pressure, which you answered to the best of your ability. You had some experience with how to deal with pressure in your current job, so it was helpful when you came up with a response for her. She also ran through scenarios with you, such as what would you do if people spoke not so kindly about you online or what would you do if paparazzi came up to you and started asking questions about Stray Kids. Of course you had no experience with this type of situation, so you just came up with the best answer you could, answering as truthfully as you could.

For over an hour, you sat there and answered question after question. At the end of the interview, she informed you they would run a thorough background check on you and would notify you if they want you to proceed. You thanked her for her time and said goodbye, shutting your laptop and leaning back in your chair. You took a deep breath and let it out, happy that was over with. That was more nerve wracking than the interview you had for your current job.

You gathered your stuff and exited the conference room, making your way back to your cubicle. Lexi was sitting in your chair waiting for you, no doubt ready to ask you how the interview went. You shook your head indicating not here and packed up your stuff to go home. Lexi got the hint and nodded, leaving to go pack her stuff up as well. You both left the building, making your way to the subway.

After walking a while you told Lexi all that occurred during the interview, how you were asked lots of questions and what she told you before ending the call.

“Whew, that’s a lot y/n. I get it though. She has to know your whole life story if you’re going to go on to date an idol.”

You nodded, agreeing with your friend. You secretly hoped you would get to the next step, but only time would tell. You parted ways with Lexi once you got to your stop, saying goodbye. You were happy it was the weekend as you were more than ready to do nothing and just rot on the couch.

Once back home, you got ready for bed, snuggling into your blankets, happy to be home. You closed your eyes and dreamed of sweet dates with a man, holding hands while walking down the street, going on picnics with him. The man was Minho, your mind already keen on the idea of dating him. You slept soundly that night, content with your dreams.

The weekend passed quickly, as they often do. It was Sunday night once again, and you were cleaning up your apartment, when you got a notification on your phone. You picked up your phone to check it, thinking it was probably Lexi, but you noticed it was a new email. You opened up the notification, quickly skimming over the contents of said email. What you read made you drop the towel you were holding. You read and then reread the email.

They picked you. You were to be Minho’s girlfriend. You were in shock, but also super happy. You did a little dance around your apartment, too happy to stay still. After a mini celebration, you called Lexi to share the good news. She was ecstatic for you, joining in on your celebration.

“So what’s next? What do you have to do?” Lexi asked once you both calmed down some.

“It looks like I have to fly out to Korea in 2 weeks to officially start my role…” your voice fading out with the realization how soon that would be. You would have to put your notice in for your job tomorrow and start packing up your stuff. It was definitely going to be a busy two weeks.

“Well you know I’ll help you. Damn, that means you’ll be in a whole other country.” Lexi said. “I’ll miss my bestie.”

“I’ll miss you too! But we can always talk and video chat!”

Lexi agreed, “you better!”

You chatted with your friend for a little longer before hanging up to get ready for bed. It was a normal workday tomorrow after all. You could hardly sleep though that night, your brain stuck on the fact that your life was about to drastically change in the next few weeks.

The day had arrived for your flight to Korea. Lexi went with you to the airport to see you off. You gave her a big hug. You were going to miss your friend, but would try to fly her out so she could visit once you were settled.

“Let me know when you land ok?” Lexi said. Her eyes were glossy and you could tell she was trying not to cry. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“Me too,” you said, trying not to cry yourself.

Right then, an announcement overhead announced that your flight would be boarding soon. You sighed, giving your friend one last big hug, before grabbing your bags and walking to the gate to board. Once your ticket was scanned, you looked at your friend once more and gave her a wave before walking down ramp to get to the plane. This is it. You were really going to Korea to date an idol. You settled in your seat for a long flight.

You slept most of the way, exhaustion from the last few days catching up to you. You had landed a while ago and had retrieved your suitcase. You made your way outside, looking for the company car that had been sent to fetch you. Locating the car, you slid in looking out the window at the unfamiliar city around you. It was busy, the workday having just started.

The car brought you to the company building, pulling up to the curb. The driver got out to help you out of the car. You thanked the man before walking through the front door. You showed your email to the security guard at the front desk. He nodded and made a call, presumably to the manager of Stray Kids. He motioned for you to sit, which you did.

A few minutes later, the same woman who interviewed you walked toward you, extending her hand out to shake yours.

“Y/n,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you in person. Was your flight ok?”

“Nice to meet you,” you responded. “It was a nice flight, thank you.”

She smiled at you before gesturing toward the elevators. “Shall we?”

You nodded and grabbed your bag before following her to the elevators. She punched the number five and stepped back, the both of you standing in silence as the elevator ascended. Once on the floor, she motioned for you to follow her.

“So you can drop your stuff in my office. We’ll go over some logistics. Have you look over and sign the contract and then you can meet Minho.”

You were taking in the halls around you, while trying to listen. “Ok, sounds good,” you said. You both came to a door, before she pushed it open, allowing you to step into the room first. She pointed to a chair in front of a desk. You took a seat and waited for her to speak. She briefed you on your role, which was to be the company appointed girlfriend to Lee Minho, one of the members to Stray Kids. You were to serve your role for a minimum of two years and at that time the contract could be extended or terminated. She went over some other things as well, before handing you the contract to sign.

You took the paper and pen she handed to you, took a deep breath and signed your name on the line. It was official, you were Minho’s girlfriend….at least on paper.

“Well are you ready to meet Minho?” She asked you.

You swallowed before meekly saying yes, your nerves getting the best of you. What if you made a fool of yourself? What if he laughed at you and thought you a joke? Your mind went through a million questions, not noticing that the manager had left.

A few minutes later, she walked back into the office, a man in tow. He had on gray sweat pants and a white t-shirt on. In all his glory, Minho stood before you. You were speechless.

The manager looked between you two before saying, “Minho this is y/n. She will be your company appointed girlfriend. I’ll leave you for a moment to get acquainted.”

You watched as she walked out the door, softly closing it behind her. You looked from the door to Minho, his eyes trained on you and…was that a scowl? He didn’t look happy to see you, but that couldn’t be it right? He didn’t know you enough to hate you right?

Taking a breath, you decided to suck it up and introduce yourself. “Hi Minho, I’m y/n, it’s nice to meet you! I hope we’ll get along well.” You said with a smile on your face. Minho just looked at you, his eyes hardened. The man was glaring at you and it was making you uncomfortable. You had no clue what to do or say. Despite this, you were not prepared for the words that would come out of his mouth as he continued to glare at you.

“I don’t need you, you should go back home.”

You watched as he turned on his heels and walked out the door, leaving you standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

Well shit, you thought. This is going to be fun….not.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @thesilvernight0wl @armystay89

[corroded-hellfire]

Red Hot - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish Story

Collaboration with the woman who makes this series possible @munson-blurbs 💚

Summary: It’s been one year since you and Eddie discovered your feelings for one another—and so much more. Now, it’s your anniversary and a romantic evening is planned. Unfortunately, life with two little boys around tends to throw some wrenches in your life—even on special nights like this.

Note: I cannot believe it’s been a year since I posted the first part of As You Wish. It was only intended to be this spicy one shot but so many people asked for a part 2 and…here we are! I can’t thank all of you enough for reading. It means more to me than you know 💜

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), breeding kink, oral, m and f receiving, vomit, implied medical issues, age gap, older!eddie

Words: 5.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

One whole year has passed of you being with Eddie. One year since the night he’d come home sullen after what was supposed to be a nice evening out, only to find that his deepest desire was right there waiting for him on the worn blue couch in his living room. 

Honestly, it was the night both of your wishes came true. Such dark secrets you each harbored, never thinking that the other could possibly return the feelings.  You, thinking he wouldn’t see you as anything more than a babysitter for his two kids. Him, thinking you’d never be interested in a man over a decade older than you. The spark finally lit the flame though, leading to the best year of your lives. The best year of the boys’ lives as well. Neither you nor Eddie had ever seen the kids in all around better moods than this past year—and that’s even with the divorce and custody proceedings. 

A romantic date night was planned for the one year anniversary, a date that came with some discussion at first. You had brought up that you weren’t a fan of having your anniversary with Eddie on the same day that was his wedding anniversary with Brittany. Eddie was quick to assure you that this had just been the night he and Brittany were able to get out and celebrate their anniversary—not the actual day itself. 

“Pretty sure the fun you and I had that night went past midnight, into the next day anyway,” Eddie added with a smirk.

So, the evening was planned. An intimate dinner out together while Ryan has a sleepover at his friend Charlie’s house and Luke spends the night with Wayne. 

Even though you didn’t officially live with the Munson men yet, you did spend more time than not at their apartment. A drawer in Eddie’s dresser contained a stash of your clothes, a toothbrush sat right next to Eddie’s by the sink, and if you weren’t spending the night, the boys would call up at bedtime to say goodnight to you anyway. So, it made perfect sense for you to get ready at the apartment so you and Eddie could just go together to drop Luke off and Wayne’s and then be on your way to the restaurant. 

You’re in Eddie’s room, leaning over his dresser to get a better look at your face in the mirror as you apply eyeliner. Eddie is wearing black dress pants with a gray shirt that make you want to rip them right off. He’s currently securing his hair in a low bun as you do your best not to stab yourself in the eye with the stubby little black pencil. 

Just as you finish applying mascara, you hear the soft pitter-patter of Luke’s feet headed towards the master bedroom. 

“I frew up.”

“Oh, Christ,” Eddie mumbles under his breath, swiveling on one heel. “What happened?”

Luke shrugs. “My tummy hurt and then I frew up. But I got most of it in the toilet; wanna see?”

Eddie just looks at you, twisting the mascara wand back into the tube, then back at his son. 

“Most of it?” Eddie asks.

“Mhm.” Luke scampers back to the bathroom, and you and Eddie follow reluctantly. 

Both you and your boyfriend were expecting the smell to be worse as you step into the bathroom. Your eyes are on the ground, making sure not to step in anything Luke wasn’t able to get in the toilet. 

The sick mess in the toilet—and around it—is bright red. 

“Shit.” Eddie scoops up Luke, not caring that there’s now vomit on his dress shirt. “Luke, did you have any fruit snacks today at lunch? Gushers or Fruit Roll-Ups or something like that?”

The little boy shakes his head. “Just a chocolate chip cookie.”

Eddie looks at you, horrified. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen true fear in Eddie’s eyes, and it curdles your own stomach. 

“We have to get him to the hospital,” Eddie says. His tone is urgent, but not panicked. The last thing you need is for Luke to start freaking out. 

You nod in reply, already heading out into the hall, grabbing all three of your coats from the closet and tucking them under your arm. 

Luke is clearly confused. He keeps looking back and forth between you and his father, his little brow pinching together. 

“Why are we going to the hopsital?” he asks. “I feel good!”

Famous last words, Eddie thinks. He needs both hands and feet to count the number of times his kids have claimed that they weren’t sick just moments before they inevitably crashed. 

Neither you nor your boyfriend know how to respond to Luke, so you silently help him into his coat while Eddie shrugs on his own. The keys clang as Eddie takes them off a peg by the front door and tosses them your way. Then he picks up a still-confused Luke and heads out the door.

You drive while Eddie sits in the backseat with Luke. It’s quite obvious you two adults are more stressed out than the six-year-old is. Both of you keep checking in on him but there’s no deviation from the usual Luke-ness that you know and love. 

“How do you feel?” you ask, glancing at Luke in the rear view mirror.

“I’m hungry; can we get McDonalds?”

When you arrive at the emergency room, you pick up Luke to carry so Eddie can go ahead and alert the employees at the intake desk of what’s going on. 

The biting February wind stings your nose and cheeks as you cross the parking lot, but Luke keeps chatting away as though it’s just a regular evening.

“Did you know that birds feed their babies by frowing up in their beaks?”

“Wow, you know so many things,” you manage, trying to tamper your nausea and nerves.

“That’s like if you chewed up my chicken nuggets and spit them into my mouth.”

“Yup, I’ve got the visual.”

Secretly, your insides warm up, flattered that he considers you the “mommy bird.”

“My teacher got pooped on by a bird today, but she didn’t even notice.”

He continues talking through the whole process: waiting, triage, until he’s assigned a room and asked to wear a hospital gown. The moment you step out of the room to give him some privacy, it feels as if the world outside the small room has gone silent, save for the occasional beep from medical instruments. Now it’s too quiet without Luke’s chattering. Needing to do something besides just standing there, full of nervous energy, you walk down the hall to find a payphone and call Wayne to let him know what’s going on. 

Back in the room, Eddie is trying to get his nerves under control. Nothing’s wrong, he tries to assure himself. And even if there was—which there isn’t—he’s in the best possible place he could be and surrounded by professionals who probably see all sorts of things far worse than whatever this might be. 

“Where are the pants?” Luke asks, looking like a dog chasing its tail as he tries to get a look at the back of the gown. 

“No pants,” Eddie tells him as he ties the strings together in the back for him. There’s a soft knock on the door and Eddie tugs it open. 

You step back into the room and Luke grins and holds his arms out at his sides.

“Look! I’m wearing a dress just like you!”

Despite the seriousness of the visit, you can’t help but smile. Though your purple A-line dress looks nothing like the white gown covered in blue dots that he’s wearing. 

“Now you’re my twin instead of Daddy’s,” you tease.

That makes Luke giggle, and he sits down on the bed, dangling his short legs over the side. It isn’t long before Luke is taken back for tests, most of which Eddie is allowed to accompany him for. You know that’s probably bringing far more comfort to Eddie than Luke at the moment. 

You wait back in the room, anxious thoughts getting the better of you now that you’re alone and have time for your brain to wander. There are a bunch of brochures spread out on a table, so you decide to flip through some of them, keep your mind busy. None of them seem relevant to any medical issue you’ll ever have; then again, you never pictured yourself rushing a kid to the hospital for bloody puke, so you plunk down with a booklet on goiters. It mentions scurvy, which reminds you of Luke, and you have to stifle your amusement before you become known as the Woman Who Laughs at Goiters. 

The nurse brings Luke and Eddie back to the room, along with an old coloring book and some crayons. Artist that he is, Luke is already eyeing the different colors to see which one he’ll want to use first.

“It’ll be another hour until we have all the results,” the nurse announces somewhat apologetically. 

Eddie manages a weak smile as he plops into his chair. You reach over and slide your hand into his. A gentle squeeze greets your touch, and you give him one back in reassurance. 

Finally making his decision, Luke plucks a red crayon out of the box. 

“Did you know that these don’t taste like cherry?”

Everyone—including this poor nurse—stares at him.

“Luke,” Eddie starts, “why would you think it tastes like cherry?”

“Evan Holloway said it did,” Luke replies absentmindedly as he starts to color a fire truck, “but I think he was just kidding, because it tasted gross.”

Eddie bites back a comment about how the kid didn’t stand a chance at being nice with parents like Heather Holloway and Billy Hargrove. It’s not the time or place though.

“When did you eat the crayon?” You investigate further.

“Today during arts and crafts,” he says, tongue poking out of his lips as he concentrates on the drawing at hand. 

You and Eddie both look at the nurse apologetically.

“When I asked you about what you ate today that was red, why didn’t you mention the crayon?” Eddie’s teeth are gritted as he tries to maintain his composure. 

“You asked about fruit snacks, not crayons.” He pauses and looks up from his coloring book. “But don’t worry; I took the paper off first.”

“Oh, good.” Eddie rolls his eyes, and you put your hand on his shoulder. 

Luke’s confession—and subsequent perfect test results—allow him to be discharged. He falls asleep in the car almost as soon as Eddie puts it in drive and leaves the parking lot. 

The ride home is draped in comfortable, relaxing silence. After hours of machines incessantly beeping, doctors checking in, and Luke whining about his boredom, the quiet is certainly welcome. At least now there’s a massive weight off of your and Eddie’s shoulders.

The little boy doesn’t even stir when you arrive at home, so Eddie carries him into the apartment and to his room, gently tucking him into bed. 

“G’night, crazy kid,” he says with a soft laugh. He kisses his forehead, and you do the same before you both head to your own bedroom. 

“Baby, I’m so tired—” Eddie starts, the two of you practically collapsing onto the queen-sized mattress. 

You muster up a nod. “Me, too, Eds.” 

“Raincheck on me rocking your world?” he smirks, leaning in and kissing your nose. 

“Sounds like a plan.”

“I’m home!”

Ryan’s excited voice jolts you awake; when you glance at the clock, it’s only a bit after 7 AM. Charlie’s mom must’ve been eager to end the sleepover. 

Eddie pushes himself up on an elbow and cracks one eye open. “Wait, Ry; how did you get in the house?” He didn’t have a spare key, and Eddie always made sure the doors were locked at night. 

Ryan shrugs. “I rang the buzzer and Luke let me in.”

Eddie groans and lets out a yawn. He’ll have to remind his youngest son about making sure an adult knows someone’s coming into the house, but he doesn’t have the energy now. Instead, he focuses on Ryan. “Ya have fun at Charlie’s?”

“Yeah!” he chirps. “We had—” 

You slowly sit up, trying to keep your temper at being woken up. “Can we hear this story over breakfast, Ry?”

He agrees and bounds into the kitchen, you and Eddie sleepily trailing behind. 

Luke is already halfway through a bowl of Frosted Flakes when the three of you walk out to the kitchen. 

“Ryan!” he shouts, way too loud for this early in the morning. Cereal sprays everywhere, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I went to the hospital last night!” 

Ryan’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “What?!”

“Yeah! I just told Grandpa about it.”

Eddie frowns in confusion. “When did you talk to Grandpa?” He grabs a bowl from the pantry and pours himself some cereal. Nothing sugary like the boys eat; those days are behind him. 

“I just called him before when I woke up,” Luke says with a shrug.

You throw some Eggos in the toaster for Ryan while the boys both regale you with their respective tales. Luke manages to make it sound much more fun than it actually was last night, tapping into his father’s knack for storytelling. Part of you is surprised there’s no supernatural elements to this tale. 

A little later in the day there’s a knock on the door. Eddie turns the knob and is surprised to see Wayne on the other side. He raises his eyebrows as he regards the older man. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks before realizing how that sounded. “I mean, hi.”

“I told Luke I was coming over,” Wayne says, nodding to the younger boy coming up behind his father. 

Eddie looks at the boy as he closes the door behind Wayne. 

“Luke, you never told me that.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Even though he already told him on the phone, Luke once again laments the events of last night to his grandfather. Once he’s done, Ryan tells Wayne all about his sleepover at Charlie’s last night. 

When he finally gets a moment to talk to you and Eddie without the rugrats around, Wayne offers to take the boys for the rest of the day and overnight so the two of you can have a do over on your anniversary date.

“You sure, Old Man?” Eddie asks.

“Positive. I’ll just keep ‘em away from crayons.”

The moment the three of them leave, Eddie locks the door behind them and grabs your hand to drag you into the bedroom.

“Eds!”

“Oh, right; where are my manners?” Eddie admonishes himself. “I should take you out to eat first.” He heads into the kitchen and fishes the brochure for your go-to Chinese restaurant. Not even needing to ask you, he orders your favorites before hanging up and turning back to you. “Now, time for my meal.” There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “If you don’t cum in thirty minutes, your next orgasm is free.”

The moment your back lands on the bed, he tugs off your pants and panties and buries himself between your legs. There’s time for slow and romantic later, you both need each other now.

“This pussy is perfect, goddamn.”

Any response is futile as words have left your brain the second Eddie’s tongue flicks over your clit. He does it over and over again, causing your abdomen muscles to tighten and your fists grip the blanket below you. 

You let your eyes fall closed and lose yourself in the feeling of Eddie sucking on your clit. He knows the exact speeds and pressures to get you where he wants you, changing it up in the most pleasurable of ways. As your back arches off the bed at a particularly harsh suck, Eddie slips two fingers into your waiting hole, meeting no resistance. Being stretched by and filled with Eddie just has you that much closer to hitting your high. 

Eddie pumps his fingers in time with his licks and it isn’t long before you feel that familiar heat building up in your body. Your boyfriend must be able to sense this as well, because he curls his fingers up against your walls as his tongue continues to flick over your sensitive bundle of nerves. It’s enough to have you seeing stars. Part of you wants it to last longer, but you know Eddie will do this again and again for you if you ask. The thought of him wanting to make you feel good and wanting your body so much is the push you need into oblivion.

“Fuck! Oh shit, Eddie,” you whine, a hand going down to grip his hair. “I’m—I’m coming.”

Eddie knows how to extract every last wave of pleasure from you as he works you through the orgasm. This he’ll take his time with, after being in such a haste to get you off. You feel boneless as you lay on the bed, utterly wrecked from your boyfriend’s thick fingers and sinful mouth. 

You whine as Eddie slips his fingers from your pussy, but the whine turns into a moan when he pops them into his mouth. It’s suddenly given you a burst of energy.

“My turn,” you say, giving him a salacious grin. 

Eddie flings his shirt into an abyss of laundry and rolls onto his back so you can trail kisses down his torso. He giggles when your fingers brush against his stomach as you unbuckle his belt and tug his pants off. His erection springs free, already leaking pre-cum from getting you off. 

“Such a pretty cock, Eds,” you muse, your lips tenderly touching the head. “And it’s all mine, huh?”

“Y-Yup,” his breath hitches. “All yours; please, please suck it for me.”

You happily oblige—as if there was any doubt that you would—licking from base to tip with a flattened tongue. His thighs twitch at the contact, the movement punctuated with a low groan. You never knew how much you appreciated a vocal man until you’d slept with Eddie. Now it’s a goal of yours to get him to make as much noise as possible.

“Oh, princess,” he growls, fingers twisting in the sheets. “Baby girl.”

Your hand grasps the part of him that doesn’t fit in your mouth, leaving no square inch of his cock untouched in some way. You want—no, you need—to make him feel good. Thinking back to that first time together, fueled by lust, but also a desire for one another. A longing that had burned steady in both of you. Eddie could have waited up for Brittany and had lackluster sex; you could have hooked up with that guy from your anthropology class who’s always checking you out. But that wouldn’t have been satisfying; you craved Eddie and Eddie craved you. It was impossible to satisfy that urge any other way.

He bucks his hips gently now, his signal that he’s close. You pump him faster, grip him tighter, until he’s spilling into your mouth and down your chin. 

Once you’re satisfied that you’ve milked everything you can from him, you pull off and swallow his load. Eddie manages just enough strength to lift his head up as he attempts to catch his breath. His eyes darken as he watches you lick your lips and wipe off the cum that drooled out onto your chin and pop it in your mouth. 

“God damn,” Eddie breathes out. 

You share in that sentiment. This fast and rough sex is exactly what the two of you needed after such a scary and stressful evening last night.

The doorbell rings and your boyfriend flops his head back down, his curls spilling around his pillow like a halo. 

“Want me to get it?” you offer, pushing yourself off the bed.

“Uh uh,” Eddie tuts. He haphazardly reaches over the side of the bed to search for his boxers. “Only I get to see you looking this wrecked.” A playful wink is thrown your way as Eddie sits up. He hops off the bed and slips on his boxers, sweats, and an old Deep Purple t-shirt. “You get dressed, baby.” 

“Don’t wanna,” you say with a pout. 

It makes Eddie chuckle, and he presses a kiss to the side of your head before reaching for the knob on the bedroom door.

“Don’t worry, we can take them off again later.”

Eddie strolls out of the room, and you raid your drawer in his dresser. There’s an old pair of jeans shoved in the back that you pull out and hop into those while you scoop one of Eddie’s old Hellfire shirts that he let you cut and customize to your liking—a true sign of love right there—laying over the arm of a chair. 

When you meet Eddie in the living room, he’s unpacking your food into the coffee table. There’s a pile of VHS tapes in the corner of the room, and though most of them are the kids’, you manage to find Benny & Joon and pop that into the player. 

The moment you plop down on the couch next to Eddie, he wraps his arm around your hips and tugs your body up against his. 

“It’s difficult to eat with one hand, you know,” you tell him when he doesn’t move his arm.

“I’ll deal.”

Somehow, he does—even if it causes a bit of a mess on the couch and coffee table.

Eddie swallows a mouth full of rice and turns to look at you. His eyes take in your profile, the expression on his face turning to adoring almost instantly.

“I’m really grateful that you were there with me last night,” he admits, voice softer and more serious than usual. “I don’t know if I would’ve been able to handle that without you.”

The way that you look at him from beneath your eyelashes takes his breath away. He gets just as stunned by your beauty now as he did when he opened the front door that first time he met you.

“Yes, you could’ve,” you assure him. “You’re stronger than you think, Eddie. But I’m glad you didn’t have to do it alone. There’s nowhere I’d rather have been at the moment than with you. Well…I’d have liked not to have had to go to the hospital at all, but you know.”

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head. “Turns out we didn’t need to anyway.” Your boyfriend sighs and runs a hand over his face. “God, Luke’s gonna kill me someday.”

“Kill you with his cuteness, you mean.”

“You mean because he looks just like me?” Eddie asks, a cocky smirk dancing on his lips.

“Of course,” you say with a chuckle. You lean in and press your lips to Eddie’s, resting your hand on his chest.

“You mean the world to me,” Eddie whispers against your lips. He knows he’s told you that many times, in many different ways. But it’s because he needs you to know how true it is. Having a partner who he can count on and trust with his life—with his son’s lives. It’s new to him, and even after a year, it surprises him every day how much you do for him and the boys. Your kindness and your heart are bottomless, he’s decided. And though he has no clue how he got so lucky, he’s not about to question it.

“I feel the same way about you,” you reply, also in a soft tone. Eddie always tells you the way that you make his life better, but he tends to brush you off when you try to do the same. He believes you deserve more than him, but he doesn’t realize there isn’t any more than him. He is everything.

“I can’t believe we’ve been together a year,” Eddie says. Sometimes it feels like it went by in the blink of an eye, but when he thinks about all the shit the two of you have had to overcome, he thinks that a year feels about right.

“Best year ever,” you say. “Even dealing with a certain psycho couldn’t ruin it.” You don’t want to mention Brittany by name, but you need to let him know that you’d do it all over time and time again despite her and all the bullshit.

“Aw, come on. Ryan’s not that bad,” Eddie jokes. You giggle and bury your face in his neck. Electricity sparks where your skin rests against his and Eddie wraps you up in his arms. “Happy anniversary, baby. I love you much.”

“I love you too,” you murmur against his skin. You go to wish him a happy anniversary as well, but Eddie’s loud growling stomach steals your thunder and sends you into another round of giggles. “Would you like some of my food?”

“God, you’re perfect.”

Not five minutes after the two of you finish your food, Eddie has you on your back, his body resting comfortably on top of yours as you makeout. The kisses are slow and passionate, taking your time to explore one another’s mouths. Hands roam each other’s bodies, some soft touches and some rough grabs—all of it possessive.

Needing air, Eddie pulls his mouth from yours and begins to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. Strong fingers dig into your hips as you lift your own hands to tangle in his soft curls.

“Bedroom?” Eddie growls against your skin.

“No,” you say, wrapping your legs around the man’s hips to keep him where he is. “Want you here.”

“Mm, whatever my princess wants,” Eddie mutters, punctuating it by grazing your jaw with his teeth. Slowly, he sits up, bringing you with him until you’re seated comfortably in his lap.

You shiver, his tongue warm against your neck and hands strong on your back and sides. It’s as though you can’t be close enough to him, your hips rolling to create a friction that has both of you aroused. 

Eddie unbuttons your jeans disapprovingly. “Don’t know why you even bothered to put these back on,” he tuts, apparently forgetting that he was the one who told you to. “Now I gotta rip ‘em off again. Making this harder than it needs to be.”

“Tell me more about making things harder,” you tease, grinding against his stiff length with the intent of feeling him through your panties. 

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs into your mouth, a smile twitching on his lips. “I fuckin’ love it.”

Your pants get shrugged down your legs, not even making it all the way off, and your lace thong gets pushed over slightly to expose your pussy. Eddie pulls himself out of his boxers and runs his cock along your soaked core before aligning himself with your entrance. 

“Tha’s it,” he moans as you sink onto him, taking every inch within your walls. “Fuck, you know exactly what I want.”

You bite your lip and nod. It’s as though your brain clicks off when he first enters you, your head filled only with thoughts of Eddie Eddie Eddie. 

Once you regain some semblance of sanity, you hold onto his biceps and bounce on his cock, the tip hitting your sweet spot over and over. “So big—so full,” you manage, eyes rolling back as he thrust up into you. 

“That’s right; you’re fuckin’ full of me,” he grits out, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. “And I’m gonna pump you full of my cum, too.”

You nod before gently biting down on his shoulder. “Please. Want your cum.”

“I know you do, princess. Because I’ve gotta fill you with my cum to knock you up, don’t I?”

You can only whimper in response, but that isn’t satisfactory for your boyfriend. 

“Words, princess.”

“Want you to knock me up!” It comes out in one pathetic breath. 

His thrusts become more frantic, needier. “Oh, I don’t think you want it,” he goads. “I think you need it. I think you need me to get you pregnant, so you can show off that you fuckin’ belong to me—and only me.”

Tears form along your lash line; your orgasm is so close, but you know he can withhold your pleasure if you don’t answer him. “Need your baby,” you whisper. “Need everyone to know I’m yours.”

“God fuckin’ damn.” The thought of you swollen with pregnancy has him unhinged, his thumb circling your clit as his own release nears. “Gonna fuck you so full.”

You clench around him, chanting his name while you cum. He follows, holding down your hips so he can slam into you and give you every last drop. 

A string of breathy whines leaves your lips as you lower your head down to Eddie’s shoulder. His grip on you softens and slowly glides up your body until one hand trails up and down your back and the other cups the back of your head. 

“How was that?” he murmurs.

“Fucking amazing and you know it,” you mumble against his shoulder. 

Eddie chuckles and you pick your head up to press your lips against his. 

“Don’t wanna move,” you say with a sigh.

“I know, sweetheart,” Eddie coos. “Just want to keep me inside of you forever, don’t you?”

As hard as he just made you cum, you shouldn’t get so instantly turned on by his words and teasing tone. And though he may be teasing, he is also absolutely correct. 

You push against his chest playfully and reluctantly move yourself off of his lap. As gracefully as you can manage—which isn’t very—you lay back down on the couch. A trickle down the inside of your thigh tells you that Eddie’s cum is escaping. Your boyfriend seems to notice this just as you do.

“Absolutely not,” he says as uses two fingers to shove it back into you. 

The feeling has your eyes fluttering closed as you let your muscles relax into the cushions. 

“Ah, shit,” Eddie says.

“What?” you ask, forcing your eyes open. Eddie’s looking down and you follow his line of sight to see that some of his cum got away from both of you and landed on your jeans. “Oh, it’s okay. They’re—huh.”

A giggle begins to bubble up out of you and Eddie raises an eyebrow in question.

“Eds, these are the same jeans I was wearing that night,” you tell him.

“Our first night?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I couldn’t find them when I went to get dressed. Someone else did though and threw them in my face.” You chuckle at the memory. “I didn’t even remember I had these jeans stashed here at your place.” 

“And as nice as they are,” Eddie drawls, crawling on top of your body, “I think you look far better without them on. Or any pants. Or any clothes.”

You smirk up at him and drape your arms around his neck. “What do you say we make some new stains, then?”

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

[s4bbatical]

Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want | Part 3. (Rivals Declan O'Hara x Reader 18+)

see masterlist (PINNED) for all parts Warnings: profanities, consumption of alcohol and cigarette use. hints of sex! age gap (reader!22) enjoy!

━━━━━━☆━━━━━━

You're at your desk when you hear the news, the entire office in commotion as Cameron, Tony and Declan appear after the wrap of Declan's newest episode.

"Rupert said yes?" You gasp, smacking Seb's arm. "Fucking brilliant, man." You say, grinning. "Declan's gonna take a chunk out of his neck, it's gonna be grand." You look over at Declan, who's clinking glasses with Tony in his office.

"I'm just grateful our efforts aren't going to waste. Christ knows how much time we put into this sleazy bastard." Seb grumbles, crossing his arms.

"Why you look so down on yourself Seb?" You ask, standing up straight from your previous position of leaning against the oak desk.

"I don't know, y/n. Maybe you can figure that out yourself." He says bluntly, walking away towards the common space.

Your jaw drops slightly, throwing your arms up. "What the fuck?" You whisper to yourself, grabbing the back of your neck. You had been turning down Seb's advances on you due to your clandestine actions with Declan, not realizing how much of an impact it really had on the ginger. You knew he liked you a little more than just friends, you just hoped he'd let go of it sooner than later.

As far as you were concerned, still no one knew about you and Declan. You tried to stay focused on your work and not overthink it much, although it was on your mind every minute of your waking hours. Not telling anyone, especially your new best friend Taggie, was taking a toll on you. How does one tell another that they find their dad very attractive, and also have been banging him in his office after hours? It wasn't an easy feat for anyone. You tried to remind yourself that it was okay to have a little fun, as long as no one else knew about it.

You jump slightly as you notice Declan standing by your desk, straightening out your blazer as you nod towards him. "Declan, hi. Congratulations on securing the interview with Rupert." You say, giving him a smile.

"Thanks, y/n. You've been a great help with it all, I wouldn't be as confident as I am without you." He says, a smirk growing on his face. "Would you mind doing overtime on Saturday? To help me with additional flawed research?" He asks, now properly smiling.

"Ah, I would, but your daughter has asked me to accompany her in catering for Baddingham's falconery that day. I'm sorry." You admit, shrugging.

"That's alright. Will you be coming to our home for dinner afterwards, then?" He asks.

You grin, tapping your chin in thought satirically. "Yeah, I guess so." You say, letting out a small laugh.

"Great, see you then." He says, a light tap on your bottom as he walks away.

You gasp lightly, looking around hastily to ensure no one saw. "Unbelievable." You whisper to yourself, sitting down at your desk.

-

As Saturday rolls around, you find yourself bright and early at The Priory, attempting to hold back your yawns as you prepare cheese and fruit platters with Taggie.

"Can I ask you something?" Taggie asks, rinsing a bowl of grapes.

"Course, yeah. What's up?" You say, slicing wedges of brie.

"Do you think my dad should go through with interviewing Rupert?" She inquires timidly, putting the bowl of grapes on the kitchen table.

"Rupert is an asshole. He deserves anything that is thrown at him." You say bitterly out of respect for your friend, and her father.

"Y/n, I don't think he should go through with it." Taggie says, meeting your eyes. "I'm afraid my father will ruin him." She whispers, frowning.

"Taggie," You start, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Where is this coming from?" You ask, worried about her concerns.

"I think Rupert isn't as horrible as everyone thinks he is. He sincerely apologized to me, and I can tell he wasn't just doing it out of spite for me or my father." She explains, sighing. "After you left before the party ended, we slow danced together and..." She trails off, seeming upset with herself. "We shouldn't've, I know. But there's something about him that isn't worth destroying him over." She finishes.

You furrow your brows and purse your lips. "I'm not the one to call the shots on this, Tags. You know that." You say.

"My father listens to you better than me, for some reason." She says, causing your breath to go still. "I don't know why, but I would like for you to try saying something." She pleas. "For me, y/n. Please."

You let out a deep sigh, letting go of your breath. "Fine, I will. Don't get mad if he goes through with it, though." You mumble, reorganizing the assembly of cheeses.

"Thank you." Taggie smiles, giving you a side hug.

"Course." You whisper, it was the least you could do considering what secrets you've withheld from her already.

"Taggie!" Declan yells, entering the kitchen. He is taken aback by our presence, perhaps not expecting you so early in the morning. "Y/n, hello." He smiles. "Have you seen my plaid shirt your mum put out to dry?" He asks his daughter.

"I folded it up in your dresser, dad." Taggie says, causing Declan to nod.

"Right, course. Thank you darling." He places a kiss on her head, secretly gliding his fingers across your lower back as he steps away. "See you girls later." He says, waving as he exits the kitchen.

"Why'd you look at my dad like that?" She queries, nudging you.

"Like what?" You say defensively.

"Like he was a piece of meat." She says, scoffing.

"Your dad's hot, that's not my fault. It's not like I'm doing anything." You exclaim, raising your hands.

"Good, you better not." She says jokingly, grinning at the banter between the two of you.

You laugh, trying to not frown at your inner thoughts.

Only if you knew, Taggie. Only if.

-

Declan is in the office, going through evidence against Rupert as he notices Charles Fairburn reorganizing his office. "Charles!" He says out of surprise.

"Oh, hello." Charles says. "I didn't expect to see anybody."

"I'm researching Campbell-Black and needed something from my office." He says, approaching Fairburn.

"I never thought I'd see the day when Tony Baddingham had Declan O'Hara doing his dirty work." The road of Baddingham's distaste for Campbell-Black is a long one, and quite complicated enough even for you to even know about.

"I have my own reasons for wanting to take that bastard down." Declan interjects.

"You know, in different circumstances, you and Rupert could've been friends." Charles says simply. "Both complicated, both stubborn, misunderstood." He jests, putting down office supplies on his new desk.

"Bollocks." Declan states. "What are you doing in on a Saturday?" He queries.

Charles clicks his tongue, "Moving offices ahead of my grand return." He says, now holding a clipboard. "Apparently, my recent coronary episode makes me a medical liability." He says, referring to the panic attack that happened on New Years. "Which is why Cameron Cook is now controller of programmes and I'm--"

"Head of Religious Broadcasting." Declan says, reading the new plaque on the door underneath Charles' name. He looks back and gives him a look of sympathy.

Charles scoffs. "I can't begrudge her too much. Climbing the greasy pole requires its own set of skills." He mumbles, sitting down. "Especially when the greasy pole in question, lives in Tony Baddingham's trousers." He says sarcastically. A moment of silence passes by.

"How's the heart?" Declan asks, redirecting the conversation.

Charles sighs. "Oh, you know, broken." He goes quiet for a moment. "How's the new journalist, Declan?" He asks, watching as Declan's face contorts into bewilderment.

"What'd you mean by that?" He asks, attempting to act confused by Fairburn's statement. Heat rose to his face as his heart began to race.

Charles gives him a weak smile before speaking again. "I'm sorry for what I saw at the New Year's Eve party. I was out in the garden and wasn't expecting to see you, especially with y/n." He says quietly, Declan staying dead silent. Fuck.

"I'm not telling anyone." Charles adds, seeing the worry in O'Hara's face. "Don't show Tony any weakness, Declan." He abruptly says. "Or this is what you get." He whispers sadly, referring to his new demoted office space.

Declan looks down for a moment, unable to find words as he slowly walks away. He looks back again at Charles Fairburn before he returns to his office, closing the door and running a hand through his dark curls.

Charles knew of Declan's dirty secret, but regardless of what assurance he is given, he has to keep it completely under wraps now. He has to be careful, and so do you.

He notices a folder on his desk, opening it to reveal a note from the sender mentioning of a phone call regarding Rupert Campbell-Black accompanied by a photo. He grins, his worries dissipating as more evidence has landed in his lap. He folds it up tightly, enclosing it in a new envelope with a devilish grin.

-

You find yourself back at The Priory with Taggie later that afternoon, your stomach unwell from seeing all the dead birds that day.

"God, it's astounding how they manage to eat and drink so much while killing those innocent creatures." You say, taking a leftover ham sandwich and taking a bite out of it.

Declan enters the house, returning after his time at the office. "Ah, how was the shoot?"

"Well, they killed loads of birds," You say, swallowing your food.

"But they liked my food." Taggie finishes the sentence for you. Declan chuckles. "Rupert stopped by." She adds, crossing her arms.

You watch in bemusement as Declan reacts poorly. You take another bite of your sandwich.

"Oh, Jesus Christ. Is there no place free of that man?" He exclaims, walking away.

Taggie furrows her brows, looking over at you to do something.

You sigh, taking the last bite of your sandwich as you follow her father into the other room. "I'll talk to him." You mumble to Taggie as you pass her.

After quickening your pace, you follow him into the master bedroom, where he begins unloading his blazer. "You shouldn't be so harsh on Rupert, y'know." You begin to say, closing the door behind you.

"And what makes you think you have any say in that?" Declan replies with an edge in his voice, putting a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it.

"Taggie's forgiven him, I think you can let it go-"

"Let it go?! Let go of the fact that he groped my daughter? That my own wife still wants to sleep with him even though he's a horrible fucking bastard?!" Declan yells, aggressively huffing on his cigarette.

"Look, I understand where you're coming from Declan, but this could backfire and then what happens to you, huh? What if he ends up burying you into the ground instead of the other way around?!" You try to explain, holding your place as Declan begins to undo his shirt, tossing it onto the bed. You stare at his torso as he breathes heavily in anger, his chest rising and falling. Time and place, time and place.

"He will not do any such thing." Declan mutters harshly, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray atop his dresser. "You know that Charles Fairburn knows of us, huh?" He says, leaning against a bed post.

Your eyes widen, taken aback by his statement. "What? How?" You ask meekly, guilt mixed with fear rising up your throat from the pit of your stomach. "But no one saw us?" You whisper, beginning to pace back forth.

"Well he did." Declan states flatly. He grabs your arm and halts your movements. "He said he won't tell a soul, but this means we have to keep it controlled or this can no longer happen, y/n." He whispers firmly, staring into your eyes.

"I think I'd rather quit than stop whatever this is." You mumble, turning yourself completely towards Declan.

The two of you stare deeply at one another, Declan placing a hand on your cheek. "I need to control myself." He whispers, leaning in close enough to have his lips hover over yours.

"No one can see us now, Declan." You remind him.

-

The two of you come undone in multiple positions. You find yourself cuddled up beside Declan as he lights a cigarette, inhaling as he strokes your hair.

"Thanks for that, I needed a good fuck." You joke, closing your eyes as Declan hums.

"My pleasure." He grins, inhaling his cigarette once again.

"Wait, shit." You say, sitting up abruptly. Declan looks at you with confusion. "Taggie is still here, she must be concerned why it's taking so long." You say worriedly, getting out of the bed and retrieving your clothes.

Declan watches you with a smirk, his eyes trailing over your exposed body as you shimmy your underwear and jeans back on, following with your shirt.

You run over to Declan's side of the bed, pressing a firm kiss on his lips. "I'll see you for dinner, Mister O'Hara." You tease, smoothening your hair as you exit the grand master bedroom. He simply laughs, inhaling his cigarette.

You hurry down the hall, slowing down your pace as you look for Taggie.

"Tags?" You yell, eventually stumbling across Declan's study.

She had opened his file of evidence against Rupert, abruptly closing it when she hears you approach. "I-I was just looking through it, I'm sorry. Please don't tell my father." She says hastily, getting up from the desk chair.

"Taggie, relax. It's okay." You say, hoping nothing about your appearance gives away what you had been doing for the past half an hour. "I tried convincing him, I really did. He wouldn't budge, Tags." You admit, sighing. "Maybe you can warn Rupert, I don't know. I think your dad has more dirt on him than we know." You warn, running a hand through your hair.

"Maybe I should talk to him, then." Taggie says, beginning to walk past you.

"No-!" You say, grabbing her arm. She looks at you with confusion. "He seems exhausted, I think he needs to be left alone to be completely honest." You say, hoping Taggie would drop the whole thing for today.

"Alright, then." She says, your grasp loosening on her arm. "I'm gonna start making dinner, then. Care to help?" She asks, walking slowly out of the study.

"Always." You say with a smile, following Taggie out the door.

-

As the evening rolled around, you found yourself around the dining table with Taggie to your left, Maud and Caitlin on the other side as Declan sat at the head of the table.

"This food is incredible, Tag." Maud muses, taking another bite of the dish.

"It's y/n's recipe, actually." Taggie admits, smiling at you.

"Oh, y/n. Lovely job, then." Maud says, sending a smile towards you.

"Thanks Maud. It's my mom's favorite dish. I ate it a lot growing up." You say, taking a sip of wine.

"Hmm, American culture doesn't taste as bland as I thought, then." She remarks, taking another bite.

"Be nice, Maud." Declan warns, glaring at his wife.

"Actually, my mom's from Greece. It's Mediterranean, not American." You correct her, trying to hide a shit-faced grin behind your glass of wine.

Caitlin stifles a laugh, earning a light kick of the shin from Taggie.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you." Maud apologizes, clearly embarrassed.

"No, it's okay. I agree, American food is god awful." You assure her, taking a bite of your meal.

"So, what's this big interview you've announced on live television about?" Maud says, looking over at Declan.

"Ah, I'm interviewing Rupert on Valentine's Day." He says casually, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"That's it?" Maud persists, raising a brow.

"He wants to take him down, mum." Taggie interjects, Declan scoffing at the statement.

"I'm not doing anything that he doesn't deserve." He emphasizes, taking a sip of his glass.

"Declan, don't you think you're taking this a bit too far? They're calling you the Corinium Butcher, for god's sake." Maud exasperates, putting down her cutlery.

"I am doing the interview the way I want to and that is that!" He states firmly. "Now, can you all get off my arse about it and enjoy this lovely meal y/n and Taggie put together? Christ." He exclaims, picking up his fork and taking another bite out of his dish.

Everyone goes quiet, returning to their meals.

You feel a bit cold in the room, the peaks of your breasts hardening as you realize something dire-- you've left your bra in their bedroom.

You clear your throat, standing up. "I have to use the restroom, if you'll excuse me." You say, hurriedly exiting the room.

You make your way down the hall from the foyer towards the master bedroom, slowly opening the door and flicking on the overhead light as you scan the room hastily for your bra.

You get down on your knees, looking underneath the bed on the opposite side from the door. You see it just within arms reach, stretching your arm out as the door opens.

"What are you doing?" Maud says, causing you to smack your forehead against the bedframe, unable to grab ahold of your bra as you stand up hastily.

"I uh, Taggie was giving me a tour earlier and I thought I lost my ring in here. I was just trying to find it because I realized I lost it when I was going to the washroom." You lie out of your ass, smiling oddly at a very confused Maud.

"Oh, what does it look like?" She asks, not realizing this ring did not exist whatsoever.

"It's small, really small. Honestly it was super cheap it's not that big of a deal!" You force out, making your way towards the door. "Let me know if you find it though, it was from my mom." You laugh awkwardly. "I'm going to the washroom now."

You hastily exit the bedroom, leaving Maud behind as you run into the nearby washroom and close the door behind you. You panic as you stare at yourself in the mirror, whispering profanities to yourself. You wash your hands as if you had dirtied them with your actions, almost afraid to return to the table.

You take a deep breath and open the door, walking back out to the dining table as you practice breathing normally.

Maud had already returned to eating her meal, seeming disinterested in your bizarre behaviors from before.

"Is everything alright?" Declan asks you, referring to your tense aura now present in conversation.

"Yes, everything's fine." You say, taking a sip of your wine.

"Y/n was trying to find a ring she lost earlier in the master bedroom, maybe you can keep an eye out for it too." Maud says nonchalantly to Declan, whose face drops at the mention of you being in their bedroom.

"Is that so?" He asks, coughing slightly as he tries to swallow his food down. "That's a shame. I'll keep it in mind then."

You watch as Maud gives him a puzzled look, her eyes squinting at her husband with suspicion.

"Would anyone like dessert?" Taggie asks, standing up.

"Me!" You say abruptly, also getting up. "Let me help you with that!" You offer, following Taggie into the kitchen.

She suddenly stops right by the kitchen island, causing you to bump into her. "Something's going on with you y/n. You've been acting weird all day. Is everything alright?" Taggie asks, a look of concern upon her face as she grabs ahold of your hands.

"Sorry, I'm just stressed out about the whole Rupert ordeal." It wasn't a complete lie, ever since you landed this internship you've felt like putting your head in a door way and slamming the door repeatedly on it. You couldn't imagine how many grudges these Lords hold against each other, it would've been disputed in an instant if you were back at home.

"I shouldn't have brought it up, I'm sorry." Taggie says, sighing. "I tried getting Rupert to step down earlier at the falconery, but he wouldn't listen. He's convinced my father doesn't have the capability to take him down." She whispers, afraid of her father overhearing the two of you.

You quickly glance into the next room where Declan was speaking to Caitlin, Maud seeming very displeased in the middle. "I don't know if we have any more options, Tags. I think we have to let them go at it." You say remorsefully, looking back at her.

"I'm not giving up just yet." She says firmly, picking up a platter of desserts as you shake your head, bringing out another bottle of wine to share.

-

It was now Friday, February 14th. You and Seb were in mid conversation when Cameron Cook comes barreling down the office floor, yelling about needing coffee.

"You'd think the promotion would make her happy, but she's angrier than ever." You say, closing your folder. Your desk phone starts to ring.

"I'll get the coffee, you get the phone." Seb says, walking around from your shared cubicle.

"Hello, y/n y/l/n speaking." You say.

"Look, I'm going to make this very clear y/n." Maud says on the other line. "I know that you are seeing my husband." She says, causing your eyes to nearly pop out of your skull.

You laugh breathlessly, looking around as you sit down, almost whispering into the phone. "What are you talking about?" You ask, your body beginning to sweat profusely.

Declan's wife has called you, at work, on the day of all god damn days, to confront you about your affairs.

"I found your bra underneath my bed when I was looking for something else." She says, almost sounding too calm for the circumstances she was speaking of. "I know I am one to talk, but I insist if you know any better, that you no longer see him. His work already keeps him away from our family, god forbid someone at The Corinium starts doing the same." She remarks, her tone never wavering.

Your jaw drops slightly, unable to find your words.

"Oh, and good luck tonight. Don't ruin my husband's career." She says, the line going dead.

You are left in dismay, slowly putting the phone back down on the hook. You look around your workspace once more in complete mortification.

"Oh god." You whisper to yourself, getting up to retrieve a cup of coffee to mask the fear building up inside. You couldn't fathom the audacity Maud O'Hara had to tell you to leave her husband be when she was trying to get with every other well-off man in the county.

All personal feelings aside, you knew you had to listen to her wishes in order to keep your job, and Declan's. It would be unfair to both parties if you kept this up.

You shakily pour the coffee pot into your mug, putting one cream and one sugar in after before stirring it with a spoon. You stare at the ground, unable to gather your thoughts up properly as Declan quickly walks past the kitchen with his focus on papers in his hands, taking a step back when he notices you standing idly.

"Y/n, what're doing just standing there?" He asks boastfully, causing you to jump and spill some coffee on your hand.

"Fuck," You whisper, wincing as you quickly run your hand under the cold tap.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Declan says, coming up beside you and placing his hand on yours. "Is your hand alright?"

You turn to face him, giving him a flat tone. "It's fine, thanks." You say, pulling away as you grab your coffee and step into the hallway. "I have work to do."

He grabs your arm. "What work? You've done it all already." He says, raising a brow. "Is everything alright?" He asks, his eyes full of concern.

"What? Haven't you heard the news?" You quip, staring at him with dread in your eyes. You hated yourself for developing feelings for Declan O'Hara. You were smarter than this, and to allow yourself to dig such an emotional hole was the last thing you needed for your brand-new career.

"Everything is fine, Mister O'Hara." You say, pulling your arm away from his grasp. His face drops when you refuse to use his first name. "Maybe you need to ask your wife the same question." You add bitterly, stepping away from him. His eyes widen at the mention of his wife.

"Elvis is about to enter the building." Seb says, him and Daysee both running down the hall past you two.

Declan looks you for a long, silent moment. "We'll discuss this later." He mutters, following them down the hall.

You close your eyes and sigh, walking away towards your desk.

-

You're now standing in the control room, biting your nails nervously as Daysee counts down Declan, now live broadcasting the interview. You exchange glances with Seb as Declan begins with mundane questions before hitting him with mildly offensive comments that will eventually snowball into something worse.

You cover your mouth as Declan brings up the topic of adultery, and how it must do Mr. Campbell-Black well for life within the Conservative Party.

"I'm sorry?" Rupert says with dismay.

"You know, sneaking around, lying, betrayal, sexual degeneracy." Declan lists nonchalantly, as if Rupert was born for such actions.

"Oh fuck." You mumble into your hand, Seb patting your shoulder with a sympathetic look.

"Remember, Declan's just doing his job." He reminds you.

"I'm no longer married." Rupert exclaims.

"Yeah, but you were, for six years! And yet throughout your marriage, your affairs were common knowledge." Declan states confidently, gesturing to the crowd. "I mean, one Gloucestershire peer has described you as 'rather a nasty virus that everyone's wife caught sooner or later.'" Declan reads off of a card.

"Well if you've seen his wife, it's definitely later." Rupert retorts towards the audience, causing everyone to laugh. Declan's jaw vividly tenses on camera.

You sigh putting your head in your hands. "Oh wow, that's great." You mumble to yourself.

"What a fucking arsehole." Seb mutters, crossing his arms.

"And that's the break in five..." Daysee begins counting down.

You nervously watch as Declan composes himself to announce the commercial break.

"That's time for break. When we return, who knows what Mister Campbell-Black might choose to share with us when we return." Declan says through a forced smile, looking directly at the camera. It felt like he was looking right at you.

"...and we're out." Daysee says.

"Thank fuck." You quickly exit the control room, needing to be elsewhere for the next three minutes. As you make your way through the halls, you run into Taggie.

"Taggie?" You say in a quizzical manner, causing her to turn and face you.

"Y/n, I'm here to talk to Rupert. Something's very wrong about this." She says urgently.

"Jesus, Taggie you can't-" You begin.

Rupert appears around the corner with his assistant. "Taggie, what are you doing here?" He asks her.

Taggie walks past you. "You need to go. Just walk out."

"Rupert, I advise you to not do that." You warn him.

Rupert laughs at you both. "Your father's not the first old socialist who's tried to catch me out." He reassures Taggie, putting his hand on her arm. "Whatever you're worried about, it's already out there."

"Taggie, you need leave-" You begin, tugging at her arm.

"No, I know him." Taggie says, ignoring you as she pulls away from your grasp. "He's saving the worst for later. When he wants something, he's ruthless." She warns him. "He'll do anything, I mean, he's-"

"He's just like you, Rupert." You say, pursing your lips.

"Exactly." Taggie says.

Cameron Cook appears, interrupting the conversation. "Minister, we need you back on set. The break's almost over." She directs Rupert, who keeps his gaze on you and Taggie.

"Listen to Miss Cook, Rupert. You have to go." You say.

"Just walk out of the building with me." Taggie interjects, pleading with her eyes.

"Minister!" Cameron snaps, glaring at Rupert.

"Screw this." You say, walking away from everyone. You return back to the control room, slamming the door behind you.

"What's going on?" Tony Baddingham asks, puffing on a cigar.

"Cameron has it under control." You simply say, returning to the corner with Seb and Daysee.

"What happened?" Seb asks quietly.

"Taggie's shown up to try and get Rupert to leave. She thinks Declan has more blackmail on him than we are aware of." You whisper, grabbing the back of your neck as you watch Daysee begin to count Declan back in.

"Where the fuck is he?" Tony says harshly, looking down through the viewing glass.

You hide your face behind your clipboard, unable to watch the scene about to unfold.

"Y/n look, Rupert's back." Seb says, tapping on your back to redirect your attention. You look over the clipboard at the monitors, watching Rupert Campbell-Black sit back down on the stage. Rupert begins to compare the interview to being back on the playing field.

"Seb, I don't have a good feeling about this." You say quietly, covering half your face with a clipboard.

"Just watch, relax." Seb whispers.

"It's an interview, there are no winners." Declan tells Rupert, who gives him a look.

"That's not true though, is it?" Rupert queries, looking towards the audience. "He wants to beat me." He exaggerates, giving a shit-faced grin.

Your eyes widen as Rupert begins to compare him to Declan, putting both of them under the same umbrella metaphorically. Declan brings it back around by repeatedly shitting on Campbell-Black, about to pull out an envelope from underneath his blazer as Rupert does something no one expected; admitting everything Declan has said to be true.

"Oh god." You whisper.

"I remember what it was like, to be the best. And what I was willing to do to stay there." Rupert says grimly. "What are you... willing to do?" Rupert asks in a taunting manner.

Declan goes quiet.

"To your family?... To yourself?" Rupert asks solemnly, the both of them having a stare down as the control room starts to light up in commotion.

You watch in fear as Tony urges Declan in his earpiece to take down Rupert, your eyes flickering between the multiple camera angles on a very, very quiet Declan.

"You're right." Declan finally says. "I'm a workaholic. And when I'm consumed by something... I can be, um... I can be a-"

"Monster." Rupert finishes the sentence, the both of them sharing a stare once again.

Rupert makes a comment about Declan being a better husband than he ever was, which causes you to look away from the screen when Declan argues against it. You couldn't help but feel as if you're one of Declan O'Hara's many flaws.

The interview starts to go in the opposite direction. You look back at the screen, watching Declan pull out his earpiece as Tony becomes enraged.

"If it's any consolation, we've made some really great television." Cameron Cook reasons.

"This would have worked if you'd just done your fucking job!" Tony yells at her, causing the rest of you to side eye him madly.

"Seb, I need to go home." You tell him flatly, putting your clipboard down.

"What? Y/n, the show isn't over yet! Where are you going?" Seb exclaims quietly, confused by your course of action. Daysee also gives you a look of worry.

"I just said home! I'll see you on Monday." You whisper aggressively, leaving the control room.

You hastily go over to your desk to retrieve your bag and coat. You glance over quickly at the viewing room the rest of the staff was in, your stomach tying in knots as the sight.

Heading down the hallway and the stairs, you push open the front doors and end up outside, where a massive group of fans stood awaiting Rupert Campbell-Black's return. They all share looks and noises of disappointment as they see you, an intern on the brink of tears instead of the acclaimed bachelor.

You push through the crowd, hurriedly approaching your car and unlocking it. You sit inside the beater and stare off in the distance. Your cheeks are stained with tears against your own will, your forehead resting upon the steering wheel as you begin to sob mercilessly.

You felt so hopeless amidst it all, no longer sure of yourself as you were before.

-

i will not lie this chapter was becoming so fucking long it's just gonna end up a continuation into the next part... also im lowkey too awkward to properly write out sex scenes because i give myself second hand embarrassment so forgive me this fanfic is plot driven over sex driven (':

as youve noticed ive started to follow by the episode plot line, it makes it easier for me to write and follow. thank you again for the support, and as always keep interacting with my works! keep me motivated ;)

much love,

isabel

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ little rule breaker ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymous ˚₊ ⊹

ft. the masked officer (+ hwang in-ho +pink guard) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ the officer taking charge teaches you a lesson for breaking the rules┊2k words

written before season three came out!! may be ooc contains: smut! extreme dubcon/fuck or die basically, legal age gap, pretty misogynistic ngl, hate fucking, degradation & use of the word “whore,” reader is nude while he remains clothed, promiscuous reader, blackmail, canon-typical violence

➤ author's note: this is not stupid anon because i agree!! park hee-soon has always been hot, there need to be more fics for him (this fic kept getting freakier as it progressed, i also think they should have let him grow out his facial hair a little more) (i also know the seok-woo fic won the poll but oh my god the masked officer is hot i hate him but i want him and i can’t wait to see him in s3 but im nervous what hes capable of anyways have fun reading i kinda rushed this)

the rules as a guard are simple, plastered inside every bedroom to memorize each time you wake up and go to bed: always wear your mask outside of your room, do not converse without permission, and do not leave your room without permission. sounds pretty fucking simple, don’t they? even well-behaved preschoolers would be able to follow them without much question, so why are you in your grown-ass age breaking them like the punishment wasn’t execution by firing squad in front of the others to make an example at his command?

it’s as if you don’t have an ounce of respect for him, only beginning to act out now that the frontman has joined the games to keep an eye on a previous winner and passed on the highest position available on the island to him. although it’s only temporary, he’s still holding the title of the boss, and everyone obeys as expected, except for you. 

he’s always had his eye on you— it’s impossible not to when he knew about how you were the frontman’s little secret who would tend to his needs and be his arm candy when needed for the vips. it’s not something that’s well-known among the ranks, and in a way, it makes him even more aware of your presence with the fact that there’s no one else to notice the little ways you get princess treatment: how there’s always a little dessert on your food tray, how your dorm has an extra fluffy pillow and thicker blanket to keep warm, how you were always able to retire earlier than the others to attend to his needs instead of cleaning up your station and tending to your firearms— it drove him absolutely crazy. surely there were others who knew about this? there had to be some guard who was receiving orders to put that stupid pink-frosted cupcake there and was doing your chores for you. for a man who previously hung guards and a player in front of everyone for breaking the rules of equality, the boss sure was willing to throw all that out the window when it came to his little pet.

not like he was much of a stickler for the rules when he was taking part in the underground organ-harvesting scheme, but it boiled his boil to know there was such a guard who didn’t bother to do their job to their fullest capabilities and was receiving unfair treatment merely because his boss couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.

it must have been too much of an expectation to assume you wouldn’t share the same sentiment and that you would behave yourself while your master was away. the moment he saw you striking up a conversation with a guard before taking off your mask after hours in the dim light using the live security footage, he should have called you into his office immediately and shot you on sight. these rules weren’t a suggestion, they were the regimen expected to be followed without exception. they were valid grounds to execute you for putting the sacred anonymous promise of the guards at risk and threatening the integrity of the instilled system set more than thirty years ago. 

you weren’t looking to make friends, not with the way you were smiling to him all sweet with that pretty exposed face of yours, preying on the shared feeling of isolation that came with this job. a mere day without hwang in-ho was just too long for your needy self and you were already off looking for someone else to fill the void in bed with you.

it disgusted him to no end. 

of course, the other man wasn’t about to say no to your companionship, what sane man would? he couldn’t hear the whispered details of a rendezvous, but he remained in his seat watching the cameras a bit longer than necessary to catch you breaking the third rule of sneaking out of your room to see the other man when everyone, including the officer watching, was supposed to be asleep. you looked too relaxed strolling down the hallway to enter the other guard’s, almost as if you forgot there was surveillance monitoring every square inch of the building— or almost as if you were relaxed doing so because you thought you weren’t going to get caught.

he didn’t bother sneaking a peek into what you guys were up to when the picture was already regrettably crystal clear in his imagination, but there were also other things running through his mind, notably what on earth was happening behind the scenes for you to have the audacity to break the rules so comfortably without fear of repercussions. if you continued to act out of line like this, it would only be inevitable for their respect for him to dwindle. yet he knew deep down there wasn’t anything he could really do to you that was permanently damaging, not when you were also the frontman’s little secret.

so, making use of his new powers, he decided to find out and call you in for a meeting. 

you were visibly nervous when you stepped into his office, which only heightened when you heard the door ship and lock behind you. he must admit, he likes you a lot more like this, afraid in his presence with your eyes downcast as if he would eat you alive if you dared to look him in the face instead of insolent brat you usually were, flinching at the sound of glass against metal when he placed his liquor on the nearby table next to the lit cigar whose smoke was filling the air. he even found it cute when you started to stutter over your words when he confronted you about your secret meeting the night before, ending up with tears forming at the corners of your eyes when you realized there was nothing you could say to save yourself as you fell on your knees and begged him to spare you. you swore you would never break another rule again, you were too young to die and you still had family back home— you just couldn’t die yet, was there nothing you could do for him to let you off the hook? you were willing to do just about anything.

he realizes what he demanded of you is quite hypocritical of him after looking down on others for their actions driven by lust, but once again, what sane man would say no to a pretty thing like you groveling at his feet? the punishment fits the crime, and he’s sure that you would much prefer being in his lap than having cold metal pressed against your forehead for your final moments. besides, you seem to be enjoying yourself quite fine with the way you’re now crying out in pleasure rather than fear, not giving a damn about anyone nearby who may overhear through the walls and already losing yourself to the feeling of shamelessly fucking the man who threatened to execute you a mere few minutes ago into yourself.

maybe he now understands why all these men are obsessed with you and are willing to break rules risking death for a piece of you. underneath the mask and hot pink jumpsuit that made you indistinguishable from the hundreds of other guards, you’re a tantalizing little minx that could make anyone falter at a single look with those doe eyes. you look so pretty on top of him with those hazy lustful eyes he could drown in, your hair sticking to the sides of your face framing it like a painting, and he found himself unable to resist taking off one of his gloves to feel the soft skin of your thigh against his hand. “stop squirming so much, if you want to act like a whore, you’re going to get treated like one.”

“i can’t help it…” you whined, clearly struggling to keep a consistent pace with an ache forming in your upper legs as you slowly dragged yourself along his length. “won’t you help me, please? it’s too hard…”

the older man scoffed with a roll of his eyes. knowing his boss, you were likely a spoiled pillow princess who never needed to lift a finger while he did all the work— you’ve probably never even rode someone like you were doing now without the help of their hands on your hips (and to think someone like you was regularly handling sniper rifles and firing at losing players like it was nothing, they should really set up more qualifications for your position other than being desperate enough for money to kill).

regardless, he relented, not because he was giving into your pathetic plea but rather because both of you were getting nowhere if it continued like this, grabbing you by the waist and picking you off of him before pinning you to the nearby table to take proper control. you winced at the pain at your back hitting the hard surface and the cold metal against your bare skin, but it was quickly overcome with heat and pleasure as he began roughly thrusting into you, treating you more like a living doll rather than a person with his fingers harshly digging into your flesh and the look of what seemed like contempt in his eyes. you couldn’t really tell if he hated you more or himself more for giving in to temptation, but you could certainly feel his anger with every snap of his hips that made your eyes roll back and could see him scoff at the way you were squeezing his cock with a vice.

god, he hated you. he’s been working for fucking decades like a damn dog needing to show his undying loyalty to the higher-ups to get where he was, but all you had to do was waltz in and fuck your way into the frontman’s good graces. he hadn’t even noticed that his fingers were leaving bruises into your previously unblemished skin until he emptied himself inside of you, letting out a groan and realizing just how pent-up he’s been until now. there was a strange sense of relief now that he’s allowed himself to give into his earthly needs and desires, but not for you, seeing as you were twitching and whimpering under him for your own climax while he remained inside of you. 

then he smiled at you, although you weren’t sure if it was a smile, as it was chilling and made you feel like a scared little child that was too scared of the imaginary monsters in her closet with curled horns and sharp claws. now, the monster was on top of you in the form of a man, holding your life in his hands as he wrapped a threatening hand around your neck and seemed to relish in the fear he was causing. “listen here, you’re going to tell me everything that’s been going on behind the scenes with you and the frontman, or else i’m going to inform him that his precious little pet has been whoring herself out whenever he’s gone. i’m sure that whatever he’ll do to you is worse than whatever i could do when he finds out,” the statement came out of his mouth bitterly, reminding you of the rumor of the inferiority complex the man held with your boss, but he didn’t give you much time to dwell on it. “all you have to do is behave, i’ll keep your secret and i’ll even let you cum, isn’t that nice of me?”

you didn’t think he had a sense of humor, mocking you as if your orgasm was more important than your life at the moment as you nodded desperately. all you wanted to do was leave the room alive with all your limbs and bodily functions intact, but you knew you were going to find yourself alone with him in this exact situation from now on. he wasn’t going to let you free that easily.

request from anonymous

this is really stupid but the hot guard from episode 5 has zero people writing for him. and i understand why, he’s a bad guy who cornered noeul- but i LOVE psycho evil men so if you would want to, please write for him

[cinnajun]

ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: zb1 as your boyfriend

a/n: these get progressively longer the more you go on and that’s my bad, i’m just insane over this group idk …

notes: long hair is implied in jiwoong’s, yujin is not included due to his age!, i did not proofread this so sorry for typos

wc | 3.5k

jiwoong

i think this would be so much fun in the like adult way … like doing taxes together and watching tv shows

dating jiwoong means SETTLING DOWN!!! this is for the long run for real

in all seriousness i think being jiwoong’s s/o means you will feel very secure at all times

he isn’t interested in anyone but you … like seriously

looks at you like you’re the only person on the planet when you’re out and about

if anyone hits on him, he shuts it down SO fast that you’ll barely have time to process what happened

in terms of love languages, i’d say his is probably acts of service in both giving and receiving

there’s no better way to show him that you love him than taking care of little chores around the house (especially the ones he usually does) or picking up some toothpaste when he’s running low

in the same way, he loves to do those things for you—he really appreciates the way you smile when you find out he did the dishes for you <;<3

overall, a very sweet relationship, and a very very long-term one

IT’S ALMOST LAUGHABLE how gentle Jiwoong is as he braids your hair, pulling each strand off your head with such precision and cautiousness that you’d think he was braiding strands of pure gold. Weddings were long events, and you’d noticed that, every time you went to one, you ended up with a million knots in your hair that you had to spend extra time brushing out after.

So, Jiwoong had the bright idea to braid your hair—and insisted he do it for you, so that you wouldn’t have to keep your arms raised for so long, or something. You just didn’t think he’d try this hard at it.

“You can go a little faster, you know,” you said, painting your eyelashes with mascara. “If you go any slower, we’ll be late to the ceremony.”

“We can just sit in the back,” he mumbled, continuing to put one strand over the other. “I need to make sure it’s well-done so it doesn’t just knot your hair even worse than leaving it down does.”

You sighed, a little smile appearing on your face. “Whatever makes you happy,” you sighed, continuing to put on your mascara. “Who am I to say no?”

zhang hao

i feel like the most prominent part of dating zhang hao is trying to figure out how you scored him LOL

i mean look at him … he's so perfect it’s almost painful

and he’s such a good boyfriend that literally all of your friends are so jealous … and he’s the only guy they haven’t called ugly so that’s a plus LOL

i will say though dating him has to mean you’re really comfortable with yourself because just about everyone shoots their shot with him

obviously he turns them down but he’s too nice to do it in a way where they’ll actually be scared off (cough jiwoong cough)

he’s very loving and very appreciative, and loves hearing about everything you do

tbh he just loves you

his love language is definitely physical touch, but in the like sweetest way possible

he holds your hand and swings it around when you’re out and about, he leans his head on your shoulder when you watch movies, he puts his head in your lap when you’re sitting on the couch…

and he always stares at you, which is super nerve-wracking, but he just loves you so much that he can’t help it

seriously has heart eyes for you

IT’S NOT ALWAYS that your mom calls, but you supposed today just had to be the day. As much as you love her, she tends to talk your ear off, which is something you’d rather not deal with at a random time in the middle of your day. Nevertheless, it was better to get it over with now rather than later.

Hao had been napping with his head on your lap when she called, and you’d hoped that would be a good excuse to hang up. Except, when you pleaded with your mom, telling her that Hao was sleeping and you didn’t want to wake him, she insisted that she needed to talk to you right then. So, for the past twenty minutes, you’d been listening to her talk about her knitting club while you ran your hand through his hair.

You’d also failed to notice that Hao had been awake since before she’d even called. Initially, he just wanted a few more seconds laying on you before you kicked him off (because your thighs were cramping and you needed to stretch), but he’d been pleasantly surprised when your attention was stolen by the phone call.

So, when you looked down and saw him staring at you oh-so-lovingly, you choked on air, causing your mom to frantically ask you what was wrong. All the while, he stared at you, wondering how he managed to find you (but shouldn’t you be asking that)?

hanbin

if you’re feeling unloved, just date hanbin and he will fix it right up for you

he is an endless pit of love and is just waiting to give it to someone (that someone happens to be you)

you’re like 90% sure he popped out of a cheesy romance novel and wandered straight to your door but i digress

everything about this guy is so pleasant that it’s almost nauseating

his mom, how clean his bedroom is, how much he happens to enjoy cooking, how much he loves all the things you suggest as date ideas, it’s so much that your friends are suspicious that he’s hiding something incredibly unforgivable

he’s not, though, he’s just like that

and he just happened to be truly, madly, deeply in love with you so congrats on that one!!!

hanbin’s love language is also physical touch (shocker)

he’s super clingy, especially when you go out together, and has to have a hand on you at all times (if you get separated it will literally ruin his day)

really loves to cuddle with you…for example, if you decide to take a nap without him, you will wake up wrapped in his impossible to escape koala hug

he also loves kisses. forehead kisses, cheek kisses, all kisses … he especially loves it when you kiss his tattoos

he gets super enamored with you when you give him the same energy back, so try that out, too

EVERY DAY, YOU GET HOME from work around the time Hanbin’s decided to start dinner, and, every day, you attempt the same little prank. Slowly, you enter your home, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

The sound of the nightly news fills your ears, and the smell of whatever Hanbin decided to make attacks your nose. As subtly as possible, you put your bag and keys down on a dresser you have in the entryway, removing your shoes and tiptoeing through the house as quietly as possible.

As usual, Hanbin’s back is facing the doorway, and he’s hunched over the stove, fiddling with whatever he’s making. You tip-toe run up to him, bumping into him and wrapping your arms around his waist. He giggles, as usual, and puts his hands on your arms.

“Hi,” you say into his back, which prompts him to turn around in your embrace, staring down at you with the most loving expression he could muster up.

And, placing a kiss on the crown of your head, he says, “I missed you.”

matthew

CUTE BOYFRIEND!!!

matthew is like so clueless in a relationship and he’s just kind of winging everything, which makes him about 70% funnier

you’ll be out shopping and he’ll pick something up, usually a trinket of sorts, look you dead in the eyes, and say, “is this something people get for their partners?”

if you say yes, it will magically appear in your bedroom like 4 days later and he’ll be oh-so proud of himself

your parents LOVE matthew, to the point where you begin to wonder if they like him more than they like you

it’s nice, though, because they’re more willing to help pay for your utility bill if they know matthew’s benefitting from it too LOL

he’s such a sweet boyfriend that sometimes you like need to stop and put your phone down

his love languages are words of affirmation on the receiving end and gift giving on the giving end

when you’re away from one another, he texts you selfies along with cute little summaries of what he’s doing and absolutely expects you to do the same

also sends good morning/good night texts if he can’t say it in person for whatever reason

also has some like tiktok-worthy beige flags (the comments say they’re all green flags)

like he asks you what your ring size is like once a month and then comes home with ring pops and goes “i had them custom made to fit your finger”

and you’re like “omg matthew i can’t believe you would do that for me!!!”

MATTHEW’S HANDS ARE poorly covering your eyes as he leads you to this mystery-location that he’d spent the entire day hyping up. He swore it was going to absolutely blow you away, and had even said that you’d be at a loss for words.

“We’re almost there,” he said, excitement dripping from his words. “Be careful, there’s a couple of steps here.”

You did your best to ascend without face planting, although it was a bit difficult given that Matthew was unknowingly rushing you due to his excitement. “Okay, are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

In a flash, he removed his hands from your eyes, and it takes you a second to realize what you’re staring at. It’s a table cutely decorated for some sort of picnic, with string lights overhead and a candle burning on the table. You realize you’re in your parents backyard pretty quickly, but the thing that really has you confused is the teddy bear sitting on the edge. It looks exactly like the one you carried around as a kid, albeit much cleaner—but you’d lost it when you were 10.

“I tore apart your house looking for it,” Matthew said, putting his head on your shoulder. “Mr. Tumnus, right? Like the Narnia character? He was behind the couch. I got him cleaned, too. Do you like it?”

taerae

swoon

UGHHHH taerae is so perfect

like he’s totally the boy next door, locker neighbor, church boy type of boyfriend

he asked you out on valentine’s day with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a box of like really pretty chocolate-covered strawberries and you’ve been whipped since

you’re both wrapped around each other’s fingers in the most severe way possible

you’re also definitely like a married couple, specifically a couple of grandparents who’ve been retired for like 30 years

you probably share a friend group, and everyone in the group considers you two the parents of the group (you’re the dad)

almost always, you have a third wheel, but that’s fine because you and taerae are good at making sure it’s not awkward (which is why people always want to come on your dates)

taerae’s love language is definitely quality time

more often than not you’re both doing something completely separate from one another and he doesn’t care, he just likes knowing that you’re around

i don’t see him being the touchiest person, even in a relationship, so spending time together is the only thing taerae needs to feel loved. if you never blow him off and spend all of your free time just sitting next to him, he’ll be entirely pleased forever and ever

SOMETIMES, YOU FORGET that Taerae is in the room with you, which tends to be more embarrassing than you’d have wanted it to be.

Once, early in your relationship, he’d come over and you’d been spending time in your room. Except, hours had passed without you saying a word to each other, and you’d forgotten he was even there in the first place. You were so engrossed in your latest craft project, attempting to crochet, that he’d blended into the scenery of your bedroom.

So, when you kept messing up on a particular stitch, you found it fit to stand up and absolutely scream at the top of your lungs. When you got done, you planned to sit down and keep doing, but you heard Taerae laugh nervously behind you, causing you to freeze up.

“Uh, what was that?”

You turned around, staring at him with what could only be described as horror written on your face. You stared at one another in complete silence for what felt like hours, although in reality it must’ve been no more than five or six seconds.

“I forgot you were here,” you finally choked out, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. Taerae just laughed, and it only made you feel more miserable.

“You’re adorable, you know?”

ricky

ricky is such a sweet boyfriend

even if he’s a bit awkward at times he’s so nice to be around

i think he just cares about you so much that he fluctuates in the same way that you do…if you’re happy, he’s happy, if you’re sad, he’s sad, etc…

at the same, he’s always completely panicked that he is not doing enough for you

he constantly checks in to make sure that you are getting what you need from him, and, while he wouldn’t say it aloud, he appreciates it when you do the same

he doesn’t like conflict so he pretty much does anything he can to get rid of the problem before it happens

as such, if he finds out anything upsetting, he will approach you about it instantaneously

i think ricky’s love language is gift giving, though, both on the receiving end and on the giving end

whether it’s an origami flower made out of a receipt you got or a pretty necklace you found while out and about with friends, ricky treasures it like it’s his child

almost every gift you’ve gotten him is displayed in his room somewhere, like he’s got a whole shelf dedicated to things that you gave him …

all of his gifts are incredibly well thought out too even if they’re last minute

he also tends to just give you anything that you express literally any interest in

you like the hat he’s wearing? okay it’s yours now

“no i mean that i like it on you!!”

he doesn’t care it’s yours now

THANKS TO A FAMILY VACATION, you hadn’t been able to see Ricky for a week, which had been the end of the world for both of you. So, the moment you got back home, you ditched the comfort of your room to head straight to his house.

The moment he opened his front door, you collapsed into his arms, taking in the scent of his cologne mixed with the smell of laundry detergent coming from his sweater. Then, you realized that the sweater he was wearing was new.

You leaned back to get a better look at it, taking it in. “I like it!” you exclaimed, smiling up at him. He tilted his head in confusion, staring back down at you.

“Like what?”

“The new sweater.”

Without even skipping a beat, Ricky tugged it over his head, causing your mouth to drop open a bit. “Wait, no—”

Before you could finish your sentence, he’d pulled it over your head, and was waiting for you to put your arms through the sleeves. He smiled, happy with his sudden attack. “I knew you would, so I got two.”

gyuvin

dating gyuvin is so much fun

you were probably friends before you started dating, so when you start dating, it’s like your friendship amped up 200% along with like some kissing and stuff LOL

he knows you inside and out, to the point where you wonder if he knows you better than you know you

he also definitely had a crush on you for a loooong time before he acted on it so he remembers little details you shared in passing from years in the past

as such he’s constantly taking you out on the most lovely dates you could possibly imagine

you mentioned you like hot chocolate two years ago on a friend group outing? well good news! gyuvin remembered and he’s taking you to a world-renowned cafe that’s specifically noted for its hot chocolate

you like barbie movies???? every single one is downloaded onto his computer. every one. and he knows which one is your favorite

i think gyuvin’s love languages are acts of service + quality time

he just likes doing things for you and he likes doing things with you too … he just likes you tbh

he’d be heartbroken if you ever said no to one of his meticulously planned out dates so make sure to never do that (his friends would also hate you instantly and being hated by sung hanbin AND park gunwook is terrifying so don’t do that)

strangely enough, when you reciprocate the energy and plan out intense dates based on little tiny information, he gets super flustered, so try it out if you can

THE FIRST THING that comes out of Gyuvin’s mouth when he comes into your living room is, “You remembered?”

You’re almost taken aback by the question, eyes widening the moment the words leave his mouth. He was asking you that? After he remembered every little detail about you, from your favorite episode of your favorite show to your favorite breed of dog?

“Of course I remembered that you like soccer. How could I forget that you like soccer?”

You’d set up a little mini-party for the both of you to watch the World Cup, equipped with snacks and a jersey for his favorite team. And, somehow, he was a blushing mess, as if he didn’t expect you to remember something so basic about him.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, turning away from you as he turned beet red. “I just…I don’t know, I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well, expect it more often,” you said, linking your arm with his, a bright smile on your face. “Cause I love you. And I love doing things for you.”

gunwook

yea gunwook is definitely your first love and you’re really hoping he’ll be the last

you probably had some sort of super dramatic lead-up to you actually getting into a relationship, so you’re also probably super attached to each other by the first day you’re calling him “boyfriend”

even though he’s young, gunwook feels a lot of responsibility for everything in his life, so being with you is essentially his wind-down time

as a result you have a lot of sleepovers, which include doing facemasks and going to bed at like 9pm because he’s so tired

and you just generally spend a lot of time together because you’re an oasis in the middle of the desert for him

gunwook feels really proud that he gets to have the title of “your boyfriend,” so be prepared for him to call himself that a lot

it makes him all giggly and happy, which makes you all giggly and happy, so you’re pretty much giggly and happy 24/7

gunwook’s love language is absolutely words of affirmation

he’s under a lot of pressure (student council vice president, class president, like good lord he is leading the people) so he just wants to hear that he’s doing well, especially from someone he cares so much about

even just telling him that he’s doing his best will make him melt in a pile of i-love-you putty

and he makes sure to do the same for you :)

IT’S NOT OFTEN THAT Gunwook breaks under the pressure, but when he does, it breaks your heart, too. It’s inevitable that he loses his balance sometimes, given the fact that he often takes on way more than he can handle, but you’re always there to pick up the pieces.

“You need to go to bed,” you say as warmly as possible, placing a hand on his shoulder. He continues to write a flurry of numbers onto his paper, trying to fulfill his plans of finishing all his weekend homework so he could spend the majority of it hanging out with you. “You can finish tomorrow morning, okay?”

Gunwook stops, finally, leaning back in his chair. He looks up at you, a frown on his face, and you can tell that he’s starting to unravel. You cup his face in your hands, looking down at him with the calmest smile you can muster.

“You did a good job, tonight. And calculus will be there for you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”

You smile, a feeling of triumph overtaking you. “Thank you very much!”

thank you for reading!

[pedropascallme]

People Worth Saving

Pairing: Emmett x f!Reader

Summary: "You bit the bullet and wandered closer to the dome, quiet footsteps aided by your worn-down sneakers and a strong will to find some security in this new space. Before you managed to lean down, to open the hatch and slide down into the waiting abyss below, something grabbed your jacket and pulled you back. The urge to cry out was tamped down by your will to live, and by the hand that quickly covered your mouth."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI) age gap (reader is 19-20), p in v sex, oral (f receiving), mentions of death, child loss, general Quiet Place II angst, you know the drill, etc, etc. If I missed anything please let me know!

You had distant memories about your childhood, and the hammock that your father set up in the front yard between the two tall trees that had been there longer than the neighborhood had. He had gotten lazy, setting it up one summer and then never taking it down; it sat through sleet and snow and sunshine in the same spot.

Even if it got wet, you didn’t mind. You loved that hammock.

You realized early on that if you swung your legs over the side and swayed back and forth, you could use it as a swing. Pumping your legs hard and building up momentum only to leap off at the last second and fall in a heap at the end of the lawn. It drove your mother crazy with worry about skinned knees and concussions, but you were so full of joy in the moments of adrenaline leading up to the landing.

In the fall, when the leaves changed and fell and the trees became dormant, your father brought out the rake to clear the driveway and the path to the stairs. He piled the leaves high, and you always managed to completely destroy his hard work; swinging in the hammock and launching yourself into the dry, dead leaves, you created an explosion of autumn colors around yourself, feeling the solid crunch under your body. You’d laugh and laugh, and when your father had seen what you’d done, he would laugh, too, raking the leaves back up to repeat the cycle again.

You didn’t even care that for the rest of the day you found small twigs in your Pippy Longstocking-style braids, or that the leaves made your clothes smell musty until your mother threw them in the wash. You were too young to care about anything but having fun.

Now dry leaves terrified you.

Walking through the field felt like a death sentence, and every step you took was carefully calculated to avoid detection. Your heel would land softly in a patch of dirt, then your opposite foot would land sideways on the grass surrounding an obvious booby trap. You had no idea if it was still operating, if whoever had put it there was still checking it or if they were even still alive, but you didn't want to test any theories.

You longed to crunch the leaves under your feet, to feel the simmering nostalgia under your skin come to a boil and create your own pile to jump into—to feel free again from the burden of the world and of survival.

You made it to the entrance, concrete and dry, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Though the building was huge and likely easy to hide in, and the interior was empty enough to create a dull echo with every step, you still found solace in solid footing. Part of you wanted to scream out a greeting, to see if anybody would reveal themselves—perhaps the creator of the traps outside, or someone who had found said creator and done to them what most people do now when they come across an unsuspecting second party.

Screaming was off the table, for obvious reasons, but that didn’t stop the voice in your head from repeating hello? Over and over until you couldn’t remember if you had said it out loud or not.

You took several light steps to explore your surroundings. It had been a factory, maybe, or a foundry; it was mostly machinery and empty space, but you could imagine the people that must have once taken up space on the now-empty floor around the large pillars and appliances.

You couldn’t imagine that many of them were still breathing.

There was a dome shaped trap door on the far end of the building, and you felt the urge to explore further; it had been too long since you’d been able to rest in a sturdy, isolated place, and the itch to know what was behind the hatch made you feel unreasonably confident in finding safety with whatever it was. A bed, maybe. Something soft and warm and capable of helping you forget the constant state of fear you lived in.

You bit the bullet and wandered closer to the dome, quiet footsteps aided by your worn-down sneakers and a strong will to find some security in this new space. Before you managed to lean down, to open the hatch and slide down into the waiting abyss below, something grabbed your jacket and pulled you back. The urge to cry out was tamped down by your will to live, and by the hand that quickly covered your mouth.

You breathed heavily into the warm hand that now sat on your lips. The other hand of the person who now held you captive tightened around the base of your jacket, pulling you further from the promise of any dream you had created that lay beyond the underside of the trap door. You couldn’t turn your head, relying now on your eyes quickly darting side to side, trying to use your peripheral to catch a glimpse of whoever the hands connected to.

“No.”

It was a man’s voice, shaky and frightened but clearly attempting to reprimand you. You kept breathing, trying to find a way out of the situation, or at the very least a way out of your current position. You slowed your breathing, trying to still your body, making yourself malleable and light in his hands so that he assumed you would submit. You felt his hand loosen its grip on the fabric around your back, and in the same moment you swung your leg back, digging your heel into his shin as best you could from the angle before stomping on his foot when your leg came down.

His hands flew to his face, covering his own mouth in an attempt to silence his yelp at the sudden pain in his leg. You turned around, grabbing his wrists limply and forcing your fingers into his short hair to pull him down to you. You saw him wince under the handkerchief he wore across the bottom half of his face, bright blue eyes, worn down and tired, narrowing at you. You stared at each other until he gathered his bearings, straightening his legs and overcoming the pain you had caused him.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” You whispered as menacingly as you could, refusing to become a shrinking violet in the presence of this stranger after everything you had gone through. He moved his hands slightly, as if to shrug, before you realized you had him trapped with his palms over his face and thus left him unable to speak. You dropped his wrists, and his arms fell to his sides, but you kept a vice-grip on his scalp.

“Get out.” He kept his sentences short, you noticed from the three words he had spoken, and you understood why.

“Why?” You weren’t going to make this easy for him.

“You can’t stay here.” Four words. New record.

“Why?” You pressed, bothered that he seemed to think he had a right to the entirety of the building despite its size.

“It’s mine.”

“Don’t see your name on it.” He rolled his eyes at you, and you tightened your grip on his hair, earning another pained look from him. “And you don’t seem to be in any position to be giving orders.”

“Took me by surprise.”

“Yeah, you and me both.” You were dry, not wanting to give in to any banter he might try to pry from you. “Look, I haven’t eaten in two days, haven’t slept in three, and I don’t think either of us wants to make a scene given the current climate,” you nodded your head toward the door, implying that you’d leave him for the wolves if you had the chance. “Let me stay. One night. Then…”

“One.” He repeated, not bothering to acknowledge your sob story or the implication that this would be a fight for later. “Can you let go of me now?” You let go of him, pushing his head slightly as you loosened your fist. He straightened to his full height and rounded you. “Were you followed?”

“If I was, we’d be dead by now.”

“By people?”

“If I was, we'd be dead by now.” You persisted.

He let out a long exhale before nodding, bending to open the hatch and offering a hand to help you into the room below. “Ladies first.”

You exhaled sharply, biting your cheeks, and grabbing his outstretched hand before lowering yourself into the fluorescent lighting that awaited you. You retracted your hand as soon as you made it down one rung of the ladder.

It was small. Not small—it was actually bigger than most rooms you’d slept in for the past few months, but it was built like a classroom; high ceilings and minimal furniture, the lights flickered above you and you jumped when you heard the hatch close with a loud creak and crash.

“S’alright,” the man dusted his hands off on his jeans, “can’t hear us down here.”

There was a tunnel built into the wall, and you noticed a rag tied to the handle.

“What’s this?” You fiddled with the fabric before he came over to brush you off of it.

“Even quieter in there.”

“How’d you figure that out?”

“Trial and error.” He said simply before turning his back to you and slumping into the couch that lay in the middle of the room. He removed his handkerchief, sharp features only slightly hidden now by his unkept beard.

You wandered around, taking in the meager furnishings and the machinery. You had no idea what this room was meant to be in the building’s prime—maybe some sort of safe room, some sort of storage area. Who cared, really; now it was just another waste of perfectly good silence.

“So,” you started, still speaking softly out of habit and mild distrust, “are you going to, uh, get me to let down my guard? Kill me in my sleep?” You picked at the paint that was peeling off the wall.

“Not as long as you’re out by tomorrow,” he almost smiled, “and for the record, I’d only kill you if you were awake. Only fair that you see it coming, at least.”

“Cute,” you huffed, “And now that I’m down here what makes you so certain I’ll leave?” You were testing him, trying to see if there was any truth at all to what he was saying. He didn’t look like a killer, granted neither did you before day one; he was tall, compared to you, at least, and lanky. He clearly hadn’t had access to a razor since he’d been down here. He folded his arms where he sat on the couch, pleasant-ish small talk paired with closed off body language. You couldn’t see any weapons within arm’s reach, and if you had to guess you would say he only learned how to use whatever gun that he owned—if he owned one—when everything went to hell.

“Guess I’ll leave it up to trial and error again.” You liked his eyes, you decided, and the way the blue of his irises was so pronounced against his pale skin and brown hair. Maybe you even thought he was handsome, and if the circumstances were different, you might let him buy you a drink and see where it took you. You kept walking in circles around the room in silence, figuring that if he had anything worth saying he would come out and say it.

You stopped at a small table, something your mother would’ve gawked at in an IKEA as if she would actually ever buy it after looking at the price tag. There were pictures, hand drawn sketches and scribbles and faces in black and white. Some of them had color, faded, and worn by time, but still clear as day in the part of your brain that bothered to register the details.

“These are nice,” you were first to speak again, “you draw them?”

“No…” he looked like he was struggling to find the words to say what he wanted to, “My—my wife…” He trailed off, and you knew immediately that she was no longer in the picture, whether it had been before or after the invasion. Still, you felt a twang of disappointment; maybe for him, for his lonesomeness—or maybe for you, for your own.

You picked up a sketch that looked to be of two young boys, and even on the washed-out paper they looked like the man behind you. You turned, paper in hand, unsure of whether you wanted to speak to him about it, dredge up his memories.

But what's a little friendly conversation between new anti-companions?

“Yours?” You leaned over the back of the couch, holding the sketch in front of you so he could see what you were talking about. He reached for it, and you noticed a slight tremor in his hand before he took the paper from you.

“Yes,” he breathed, “yeah.”

“Look like you.”

“Better looking kids than I ever was,” he chuckled, low and solemn, “better behaved, too.” You watched on as he studied the picture, before he stood up and placed it back on the table behind the couch. “I was—um…y’ever seen the movie The Mist?”

“Yeah…” You wondered what exactly he could be building up to.

“When they—my sons—they…the first day…" You could feel his breath, not because of proximity, but because you knew the same pain. "And I was so, so scared that I would wake up on day two to find that everything had returned to normal, and everything was going to be ok, but they would still be…like at the end of that movie.” He folded his arms again, “but now I, I mean this is—god, I guess I’ve never said it out loud, uh…maybe…it’s good they didn’t have to see…this.”

You nodded, remembering how that movie ended; your parents had let you watch it, not knowing what it was about. You had nightmares any time it got foggy until you were ten or eleven. “Yeah,” you looked at him, making eye contact for a solid few seconds before averting your gaze. “I—my parents, and…my brother…” you didn’t know how to phrase it, feeling as though he had already said it all, “I get it.”

You didn’t tell him you had turned 19 in the week leading up to doomsday, that you had been sitting on the hammock that shaped your childhood and thinking about the joy of being small enough to jump into the leaf pile your dad was raking when you saw the first meteor strike town, or that the last words your mother screamed were “I’m sorry.”

It just didn’t seem right; sometimes grief is better explained through the silences.

“I’m Emmett,” he broke you from your thoughts, “And I’m…sorry for—if I scared you. Up there.”

You said your name, realizing it was the first time you had introduced yourself to anybody in over a year. You reached out your hand and he took it in a firm shake. “Pleasure.”

He smiled, a genuine, full smile this time. You decided it suited him well.

“You sleep on the couch?” You broke free from the way he was analyzing your features, trying not to focus on what he might think of them.

“Usually, yeah,” he leaned against the arm of the sofa, “but I’d be ok to sleep on the floor if you want.”

“No—that’s nice, but no, you don’t have to.” You hoped he saw through your lie, how desperately you wanted to rest on something soft. “I’m only here for the night, anyway, remember? Don’t want to…shouldn’t get too comfortable.”

“You can…” Emmett looked at you, then over his shoulder toward the couch, “I’m sorry.” He ran a hand over his forehead, lifting his messy hair before trailing down to stroke his beard, “you can stay, I just—can’t be too careful, you know? And I didn’t, I was worried you were—”

“Gonna kill you?” You smirked, and he smiled again.

“A little, yeah.” He looked at you, and you realized how close you’d gotten to him over the course of your conversation, “Stay as long as you want.”

“Does this mean I get the couch?”

“I think that’s fair.” He moved, grabbing several pillows from the couch, and dropping them on the floor underneath it; his makeshift bed would, at least, be mildly comfortable if he could help it. “You got here when the sun was setting, I’ve been up since it rose,” he sat amongst the pillows, trying to lay them out in a manner suitable for him to rest on, “So, if you don’t mind, I’m about ready to get some sleep.”

You nodded, dropping yourself onto the couch and grabbing the thin blanket draped over one of the cushions; it was threadbare, and fraying, but you didn’t care—too focused on the fact that you’d be able to sleep in a quiet, comfortable spot. You watched Emmett flick a switch in the corner of the room before he returned to his mess of pillows, and the lights dimmed. If you squeezed your eyes shut you felt like you might be able to hear your parents watching television in the other room, like you were in your own bedroom eavesdropping on their hushed conversations; safe, known.

But it wasn’t any of that—not really. In the back of your mind, you worried about the lack of exits in the room, the fact that you still didn’t know whether or not Emmett had a weapon, the looming threat that remained just above you. You looked at the ceiling when you opened your eyes, wondering if anything had followed you, wondering if they would figure out how to unscrew the hatch and find you in this echo chamber of a building.

“Emmett,” you managed to whisper through your anxieties, “Are you awake?”

“It’s been five minutes,” he sounded tired, and you realized that the dryness of his voice wasn’t due to any disinterest in you, but lack of use. “I’m still awake.”

“How do you know this is safe?” You picked a loose thread from the blanket and watched it unwind in your hands.

“It’s safe.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

You tried to drop it after that, ignoring the fears that you carried with you from past encounters where you were assured of your safety, only to wake up and find that you had to keep running. “And they can’t hear us?”

So much for dropping it.

“They can’t hear us.” You heard him turn over on the floor, and you shifted to face him. Even in the darkness, his eyes were piercing, and you had no trouble finding them with your own. “I’m certain. I promise.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be,” he shook his head, “only fair to be nervous.”

You nodded, lying back down, and pulling the blanket to your chin. It didn’t really do anything, and the chill of the room seeped into you even after you shifted to make yourself more comfortable. Maybe it was because you kept moving, or maybe he felt it too, but Emmett addressed you again.

“Cold?”

“Yeah,” you didn’t bother hiding it. Once the world went to shit there was no real reason to keep up the niceties of denying discomfort to your host. At sleepovers hosted by your friends, you would’ve said no, I’m perfectly comfortable, and breathed into your hands until the sun rose, and your mother picked you up with a sweatshirt and a bagel fresh from the toaster. Now? Fuck it.

“Would’ve been warmer in here when the building was still in use,” he began to ramble, and you thought it was so dad of him to feel the need to explain the history of the building you slept in when all you really wanted was some comfort, “machines and bodies moving, and, I mean, the heat generated from these things would’ve been crazy.”

“Emmett,” you cut his monologue short, your face peering over the couch cushions and down at him, “are there more blankets?”

“No…” He seemed embarrassed, almost like he was worried he was disappointing you.

“Are you cold?”

“Not really.” He closed his eyes.

“Emmett.”

“A little.” He sighed; his eyes opened again.

You sat up and patted the couch, unsure of why exactly this was the solution you had landed on, but feeling like it was worth a shot. “Come.”

“Are you sure?” He hardly seemed hesitant, moving to join you almost immediately, but still trying to gage whether or not it was an empty offer.

You nodded, moving to make room for him behind you. When he first settled onto the couch, you recognized that this was the first time in ages that anybody had touched you—that anybody had come close to you. Heat radiated off of his clothed body and you couldn’t help but inch closer to him, bodies tangling together on the small sofa, trying to find peace. You wondered if he felt the same catharsis that came with sharing a sleeping space; if he was just as in awe as you were at how perfectly your bodies seemed to fit together, curving to appeal to the needs of each other and your individual comfort. Emmett’s arm draped over your abdomen, his hand brushing the hem of your shirt, and you sighed, unable to hide your content at the feeling of him shielding you from the wider world.

“When was the last time you…” you whispered, trailing off when you realized how awkward the question would sound.

“Hm?” His response was muffled, his face all but buried in your hair.

“When was the last time you touched somebody?” You but the bullet.

“I…must be months, now.” He didn’t think too long about it, “What about you?”

You turned in his arms, careful to not disturb the cushions too much under your weight. You were face to face with him now, with little room to do anything but breathe. “I don’t remember.”

You didn’t mean it in any sexual sense; really you were just curious as to how much physical affection anybody was getting given the current state of things; how long had it been since any two people had the time to just hold hands? And really enjoy the touch and weight of the other’s hand in their own, fingers interlocked? But deep down you knew there was an implication to your words, a desperate implication that you hoped he would pick up on, and that, if he did, he would understand your want, and fulfill it wholeheartedly.

Emmett’s hand strayed from your waist to brush your cheek, the back of two fingers caressing your skin, and your patience broke; you held his wrist with both hands, a parallel to the way you had trapped him earlier when you considered him a threat, and lowered it to your lips. You could feel the callouses he had built up, the roughness of his palm versus the soft skin of the back of his hand. You gave each finger a delicate kiss, waiting for him to break away, waiting for him to move back to the floor and tell you that you absolutely had to leave tomorrow, to hell with what he had said earlier.

But he didn’t.

He watched, transfixed, as you slid one finger into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip and releasing it with a quiet pop. You let go of his wrist, and looked up at him with hooded eyes, half-expecting a look of disgust.

His mouth was open just enough to see the edges of his top teeth, eyes focused on your lips, and you felt that his breathing had picked up, though that could have been a trick of the surrounding quiet.

“You like that?” No, he was definitely breathing harder. You could hear it in his words.

“Yeah,” you sighed, relieved by his words, the bright eyes staring back at you in the dark room seemed entirely untroubled with your actions, “Do you?”

“Yeah.” His fingers moved to trace the shape of your face before landing on your chin, lifting you slightly higher to allow him access.

No time was wasted in the moments that followed; his mouth attached to yours in one natural movement, and he immediately granted your tongue access to him when you began licking gently at his lower lip. You felt spit and teeth, and you could hear your heart in your ears, its rhythm in your face as he nipped gently at you, your lips getting puffy from use.

Arms wrapped around your waist again, this time to haul you up and over Emmett’s body, his motion encouraging you to straddle his waist. You planted your hands on his chest before reconnecting your lips to him, determined to explore every inch he offered you from your new vantage point. His t-shirt, stretched and worn, exposed a sliver of his chest, and you were quick to suck marks onto his collar bones and just below them. He groaned at the contact, hands traveling lower down your body in order to undo your jeans.

“Work with me baby, c’mon,” Emmett clumsily undid your fly as you licked over any skin you could reach. He pulled at your hair to bring your line of sight to his, and the stinging pressure on your scalp made you moan, “Help me out here, I’ll give you what you want.”

You straightened out above him, grinding your hips into his as you stripped down; jacket, shirt, and jeans following once you had made enough room for yourself to remove them. You returned to your rightful place on his lap, continuing to grind down onto him to relieve the building ache in your core. The friction he gave you was just right, and it helped to hear him groan when you dragged your hips up and down at just the right pace, his cock twitching in his pants at the weight and the angle.

His hands came up to paw at your chest, squeezing the tender skin before leaning forward to wrap his lips around your nipple. Your back arched, and you could only guess how pathetic it looked, coming so undone, so easily, for a man you had just met, clearly more than ten years your senior.

It was desperate and needy, and you didn’t care; you deserved this. Both of you deserved this.

You felt teeth brush against your pebbled skin, making you grind down harder atop him, letting the tip of his clothed cock catch your naked cunt and relishing in the sensation. He removed his mouth from your nipple, pulling you down to him to reconnect your mouths and give you a deliberately sloppy kiss full of tongue.

“Off,” you pleaded between gasps of air, fingers skimming the edge of his pants, “Take them off.”

Emmett huffed, and you sat back on your knees, giving him the space to sit up and remove his shirt, before he stood to take off his jeans. You waited for him to rejoin you on the couch, to continue what he had started there, but he kneeled in front of you instead, pulling you legs apart and holding them wide open.

“God,” one of his hands fell forward, gently placed low on your stomach, his thumb toying with your swollen clit and puffy lips, “Fuck.”

He dove into you, mouth open and wanting; you felt him come into contact with your hole and you jumped, head back and eyes closed as genuine pleasure washed over you. You placed a hand on the back of his neck to stabilize yourself as he began to fuck you with his tongue. The muscle lapped up your slick, pushing back into you, and repeating the process, his thumb still massaging your clit.

“Yeah, like that,” you whimpered, back arching off the couch. The hand still on your thigh ensuring that your legs would stay open for him reached up to squeeze one of your nipples; it was rough, and all the movement and friction he was giving you was utterly relentless. The overstimulation left you reeling, and you put your own fingers in your mouth to muffle the screams you wished you could let him hear. “Just like that, Emmett.”

You felt yourself teetering on the edge, one breath and you were a goner, bound to free-fall.

"I feel you," he let a trail of spit fall over your cunt, and when he spoke you could feel the prickly hair of his beard against your thighs, "squeezing me so tight—cum for me, baby, c'mon."

He sped up his movements on your clit ever so slightly, and you felt your legs begin to tremble, body light and head full of stars. You came with ease, the most relaxed you’ve felt in ages was with Emmett’s face buried in your cunt, lapping up what dripped from you like it was his only water source.

You nearly had to pry him off of you, fist in his hair while you came to from your high as he continued to enjoy himself vicariously through your pleasure.

“Come,” you steadied your breathing, “come here.” And he listened, but not before allowing himself a final taste, dipping his tongue into your center, rising to meet you face-to-face in another deep kiss. You could taste the sweet tang of your cum on his tongue, and it only drove you further into the fucked-out fugue state you were experiencing; you gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer and moaning into his mouth.

There was no rush, no bell to beat or timeframe to fit into, but you wanted so badly to see him come undone for you; you raised yourself up on your knees, and you felt them dig into the couch, the pattern of the fabric marking your skin as you pushed Emmett down. He sat, beckoning you to straddle him. You felt a shred of embarrassment, clambering to position yourself on top of him, an awkward feeling you hadn’t felt since high school, but it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered right now except him.

“Slow,” you finally settled, feeling his length brush against you from below, and with your head resting against his shoulder you could feel your own breath rebound against your nose. “Need you to go slow.”

“I know, baby,” he cooed, reaching down to fist his cock and line himself up with your entrance, “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You began to lower yourself, the feeling of his swollen head nudging your hole made you suck in a sharp breath; you bent your legs further, taking more of him, letting him fill you completely on your own terms, and he guided you every step of the way with his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, breathing hard against the crown of your head.

Maybe it was because of the tension, or because you so craved the connection—to hear him respond to you and what you alone were doing—but you dropped down quickly on the last few inches, feeling him deep and rough against your cervix, earning a choked groan from Emmett in your ear.

“Fuck, good, baby, that’s right.” You preened at his words, holding your position for a while longer to get accustomed to the stretch you felt before finally raising yourself up slightly just to inch back down his shaft again.

You felt full, stretched out and used—but in a way that was so positively welcomed; it had been too long since you were able to enjoy yourself in any capacity, but this act was certainly the most fun.

“Feel good? Like riding me like this?” Emmett tilted his head back, grabbing a handful of your hair to pull you from the crook of his neck. You stared at him, and he at you, hellbent on watching as you liberated yourself from the nerves and anxieties of the world around you—he craved your bliss as much as you did.

“Yes,” you squeaked, still bouncing on his cock, legs getting sore at the exertion in such a tight space, “So fucking good, Emmett.”

He moaned, eyes fluttering closed and hands moving to grip your ass. You could feel his blunt nails dig into your skin, and you expected—hoped—that there would be bruises to show for it tomorrow.

“Getting tired?” He whispered when he noticed the short breaks you took between moving up and down on his cock to simply grind down onto him, moving your legs around his chest awkwardly in an attempt to shift your weight. You nodded, thighs burning from exertion, and he sat up, kissing your forehead before lifting you gently off of him and moving you to lie back on the couch. Emmett took his time crawling over you; he kissed your thighs, your stomach, the space between the plush skin of your breasts, before finally he had you completely engulfed underneath him, giving you soft kisses as he slid himself back into your warmth. You lifted your hips to meet him, moaning at how he fit with you, how you could memorize every ridge and vein of him like this.

And then he started really moving.

You felt him pull out, the slight pressure of the tip of his cock pressed gently against your entrance, taunting you, before he slammed himself back into your waiting cunt. It was deep, and rough, and you clawed at his bicep to ground yourself to him.

Emmett let out deep moans, forehead pressed against yours while he drove his cock as far into you as he could, and your logical side went completely out the window; you whined, yelped at the pleasure coursing through you, mewled for him louder than you should have, but neither of you seemed to care.

“That’s right,” he closed his eyes, focusing every part of himself on you, “give me another one, let me feel you.” His fingers latched onto your clit, watching intently at the way your face contorted at the friction combined with the feeling of his cock inside of you. He drew tight circles over the bud, letting you buck your hips up into him to signify how much pressure you needed at a given moment.

“Gonna—I’m gonna cum,” you whispered, then, louder, “Emmett, I’m gonna fucking cum.”

He didn’t say anything, just applied more pressure to your clit and gave you longer, slower thrusts. He watched as you began to tremble, your mouth falling open with small whines of his name. He sat up, cock still buried in your heat, thrusts slowing as you opened your eyes to the white-hot satisfaction of your orgasm. Overstimulated didn’t begin to cover it, but you didn’t want this to end.

His thrusts were getting sloppier, not in the sense that you could feel his rhythm falter, but his hips stuttered slightly every time he was fully sheathed in you, and you could tell he was holding back, trying to make this more about you than about his own release.

You pulled him down, nuzzling his neck and placing sloppy kisses on his pulse point as you whispered to him: “Want you to cum,” your lips grazed the shell of his ear, “Please, Emmett.”

You were proud that it seemed to only take your pleading whispers for him to lose himself to the finish he longed for; his hips snapped rough against you, and you could feel his chest heave against your own when he allowed himself one more moment inside of you before pulling out to finish in his fist.

His cum was warm, a perfect contrast to the sweat cooling on your skin, and his growl of your name was music to your ears. He fell forward, head cushioned by your breasts while you both focused on your breathing. Your fingers found the hair on the nape of his neck, thumb brushing the part of his beard that curved just under his ear.

You were in the perfect space between tired and satisfied.

“Thank you,” Emmett murmured into your skin, punctuating his words with soft kisses.

“Thank you,” you echoed, unsure of what to say now that the heat of the moment had passed. “I…I needed that.” You paused, “I liked that.”

“Me too,” he whispered.

“I don’t want it—I don’t want this to be the only time.” You felt immature for some reason, all but begging for this to happen again when you didn’t even know if you’d see next week.

“Doesn’t have to be,” he whispered, “we don’t have to leave,” he looked up at you, tracing your features with his eyes, “You don’t ever have to leave.”

You grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently. He squeezed it back.

You fell asleep without a care, thrilled to be in the position you were in, in every sense of the word; Emmett stayed on your chest, the weight of his body on yours only adding to the reassurance and calm you felt.

You had a dream that you raked your own pile of leaves, and jumped into them.

[fishsticksloser]

Hey! If you still write for rottmnt, do you think you could write a fic, about Future Leo x gn/f reader

It’s quiet night and somehow they ended up being the only ones available for a night shift, they start to talk, as they knew eachother, best friends even(before the Kraang), there’s tension and a bit of romantic feelings BUT there’s something else, reader was Donnie’s wife before he passed.

Hope it’s okay, and if you don’t write for rise then I’m sorry <333

Alone At the Edge of the Universe

f!Leo x gn!reader

Warnings: angst, character death mentioned, barely any comfort, guilt

A/N: what a fun concept, I'm excited. :)) I might do a pt 2 if y'all are interested. Just comment if you are

With everyone else occupied with their own responsibilities, the night shift in the base's security room fell to you and anyone else willing to sacrifice precious sleep. It was a necessary duty, after all. Climbing the stairs, you paused when you spotted Leo. He was focused on some reports, his head supported by his prosthetic hand. You were taken aback, not expecting to see him.

"Leo?" Your voice wavers slightly; it’s been ages since you’ve spent time alone with Leo, let alone any of the turtles. Since Donnie’s passing, your encounters with them have been rare. It hurts to see them, especially Leo, who you were once so close to. You can’t shake the feeling that they look at you with pity, as if your grief is overshadowed by their own. Yet, amidst the chaos of life, mourning has taken a backseat for all of you.

Leo turns at the sound of his name, his tired eyes widening slightly when he spots you. He shifts in his chair, then looks down at the documents before him. The tension hangs heavily between you, with both of you shifting uncomfortably. "How are you?"

"As good as one can be, I guess." You give a slight shrug and glance down as you head to your seat. Your eyes scan the security cameras, ensuring that the gate is securely locked. "How are you?"

"Pretty much the same." Leo scoffs, bitterness creeping into his voice. He held no anger towards you; his frustration stemmed from the unfortunate cards life had dealt you both. You had lost Donnie, his brother and your husband, and that loss was a heavy burden. Leo couldn't even begin to grasp the extent of your sorrow. He understood how deeply you loved Donnie, and that made your loss all the more poignant for him.

The silence that lingered between you and Leo only heightened the tension. You yearned to break the stillness, feeling the void left by your best friend. It had been years since Donnie's passing; wasn't it time to reach out and reconnect?

You start to open your mouth, your eyes trained on the security screens before you. Yet, Leo speaks up before you can. "I miss you..." His voice is thick with emotion, tinged with guilt, sorrow, fear, and something more. He anxiously runs his hands over his pants, attempting to rid them of the clamminess. "I... I miss you so much... Which is kinda stupid to say since I've been avoiding you."

"Avoiding me? I've been avoiding you."

"What...? So... We've been avoiding each other?"

"That... Sounds like us."

"I just didn't wanna upset you... After everything."

"I didn't... Want to force you all to prioritize me."

"What? That's crazy. You are a priority... Always." With a shake of his head, Leo spins his chair and tenderly holds your hands. His thumbs brush over your knuckles in a calming gesture. "We - I should've been there with you... Every step of the way..."

His touch radiates warmth, causing a delightful shiver to run down your spine. You shake your head, reminding yourself that this is your late husband's brother. Yet, it's been years since his passing… Surely, Donnie would want you to find happiness again, wouldn't he?

Leo appeared to sense the moment as well, softly pulling your chair nearer to him. Your legs fit snugly between his. He lifts his hand, cradling your cheek. A soft churr escapes from his chest, resonating through his plastron. You feel yourself lean closer, his breath hitching slightly.

"We shouldn't..." Leo's voice is barely above a whisper, his breath mingling with yours. His eyes momentarily glance at your lips before reconnecting with your gaze. The tension in the air is palpable, filled with love and yearning. "You were... Donnie's spouse..."

"Y-You're right..." As you mumble and withdraw, you notice a flash of disappointment in Leo's gaze, a feeling that resonates deep within you. Still, you tell yourself this is the right choice. Isn’t it? "Let's just... Get through tonight..."