#why would they when they could just. not do that. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

celiababy · 3 days ago

Text

Ain't Right part 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: It's the holiday season and Joel is a Scrooge.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (56/20), swearing, p in v, unprotected sex, size kink, oral sex (m!receiving), SQUIRT, creampie, threats of violence, alcohol

Celia's note: uhm hello??? what the flip thank y'all sm for all the love on my first post!! I got so many requests to make a part 2 so dinner's ready y'all dig in!!!!

Read the first part! > part 1

Jackson looked so pretty this time of year. The Christmas lights, the snowmen, the comfy sweaters and chocolate chip cookies; you loved it all.

Especially gift-giving.

To you, there was really nothing better than seeing someone's face light up when they open a present.

This year, there was someone special you planned to go all out for.

It had been 3 days since Joel Miller fucked you in his house, on his bed.

You hadn't stopped replaying the moment in your mind, especially the part when he finished all over your stomach.

However, it just so happens that after those amazing thirty minutes, Joel was called away by Tommy.

He had to leave and do something that you weren't allowed to know about. Undoubtedly some dangerous mission that pained you to think about.

So your victory was short-lived.

But, like the gentleman he was, he walked you home and made sure you were okay before he left. You wanted to kiss him goodbye, but felt too nervous to do so.

You don't know why—he literally had his cock in you a few moments prior.

Yet you couldn't, and just had to watch him walk away.

Now, you haven't seen him in three days and were starting to get serious withdrawals. Whatever he was up to couldn't have come at a worse time.

You finally had the taste of his perfection, now he was gone, leaving you to deal with your desire alone.

You tried to preoccupy yourself with helping set up all the Christmas decorations around town as well as baking an absurd amount of treats.

You also managed to get him a little gift in the meantime, stuffing it in the cutest box with the prettiest wrapping paper.

God, you hoped he'd come back soon.

And luckily, he did!

You had heard from Maria that everyone had returned from their trip—safe and sound.

She had also told you that she was throwing a little Christmas get-together at her and Tommy's house to celebrate.

She was careful to mention that Joel would be in attendance.

So, that night, you whipped up your signature cinnamon apple recipe and put on your cutest outfit.

You topped it with some fuzzy reindeer antlers because you were in a very festive mood.

As you walked alone to Maria and Tommy's, you were freezing your ass off in your skirt and sweater. You wore tights with your skirt in hopes that it would help with the cold, but who were you kidding?

You didn't care, though. You just cared if Joel thought you looked pretty or not.

You pranced up the steps of their porch, letting yourself into the house and getting immediately bombarded by the hoard of people inside.

Maria made it seem like it was going to be a small thing, but the entire Jackson population seemed to be in her living room.

Thankfully, Tommy catches you come in and walks up to greet you. "Hey there stranger," He grins, looking down at the dish in your hands. "What you got there?"

"Brought desert," You chirp, handing it to him with a proud smile.

"Well well," He muses as he takes the glass container from you, looking it over with surprise. "Didn't think you could tie your own shoes, let alone bake anything."

You roll your eyes before scoffing. "You're just mad because I can tie my shoes and bake something before you can conjure a coherent thought."

Tommy fakes a wince before chuckling. "Alright, touché kid. We're gonna be playing charades in a little bit so stick around, alright?"

You nod, having absolutely no intention of 'sticking around' for charades. Tommy wanders off with your apples, finally giving you a moment to survey the party.

Obviously, you were looking for one person in particular.

You squeezed through all the crowds of people, scouring what felt like every room in the house.

But no dice.

Joel was nowhere to be found and sadness washes over you like a tidal wave.

Was he doing this on purpose?

Torturing you by depriving you of his presence? This was hell.

You plant yourself by the special eggnog and down several glasses to take the edge off.

You were tipsy in no time, it really didn't take much. It was like Maria just dumped an entire bottle of vodka in the bowl and splashed some milk in it. It was disgusting, really, but it was getting its job done.

As you hunched yourself over the bowl, someone tapped you on your shoulder.

You spin around, your hopes high.

"Joel!—Oh. Hi Connor." The disappointment you feel inside displays clearly in your tone.

You're now face to face with the boy who has been unsubtly trying to sleep with you for months.

"Hey there! You look fucking great tonight." He flirts, a smug grin on his face.

You grimace because you know he thinks he's so cool, even though you'd rather die than stand here with him right now.

"Thanks." You say flatly, turning back towards the eggnog and pouring yourself another glass. For some reason, Connor takes this as an invitation to step closer, now invading your space.

You don't even bother trying to hide your disgusted expression. His cologne is attacking your nostrils, and it doesn't even smell good.

"That skirt looks amazing on you." His eyes unabashedly drag along the skin of your legs, making you shiver in disgust. He takes it too far when his hand comes up to brush your arm.

"You come here with anyone?" He coos, leaning against the food table like he was hot shit or something.

You couldn't stand this douche. Just as you were about to tell him to fuck off or something, you feel someone looming over you.

"She did." A gruff voice comes from behind you, and you immediately recognize that it could only be one person.

You whip around, your face lighting up at the sight of Joel.

His expression is settled into a natural scowl, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed at the boy in front of you both. Even though he looked scary as shit, he was so fucking hot.

You're instantly horny just at the sight of him.

Connor scoffs, looking between the two of you, but your eyes stayed glued to Joel.

"Really? Him? But he's like—an old man." Connor spits, which immediately earns a glare from you.

Just as you're about to cuss him out, Joel beats you to it.

"Walk away before this old man breaks your jaw." His voice is stern, not to be tested.

It makes your core tighten with need.

Hearing the threat that he assumes to be all too real, Connor doesn't waste time scurrying off.

You turn back towards Joel, a warm, relieved smile spreading across your face. “Hi,” You whisper, wanting to hug him so bad but holding yourself back because he wasn’t a big fan of PDA. “M'so glad you're back." You do, however, step closer into his personal bubble.

His face softens when he finally looks down at you, and you can almost swear you see his lips curling up into a smile.

"Yeah, me too, kid." He husks out, looking between you and the bowl of half-empty eggnog. "Enjoyin' yourself?" He asks with somewhat of a disappointed look on his face, clocking that you were a little tipsy.

"Now I am." You answer truthfully, beaming up at him. "Have you been here the whole time? I was looking for you earlier but I couldn't find you."

Joel shifted on his feet, sliding his hands in his pockets. "Just got here. Tommy was talkin' my ear off at the door." He explained, an exasperated look on his face.

You laughed and nodded, knowing you both shared that experience.

"Are you having a good time, though?" You ask, actually curious because he seemed like he would rather be anywhere else right now.

He shrugs, brushing a hand through his short hair. "This Christmas holiday crap is givin' me a fuckin' aneurysm." He huffs out with complete honestly, scratching the back of his neck.

"What? Really? Why?" The shock and bewilderment in your voice isn't lost on Joel.

He sighs out, knowing you're about to explain the magical spirit of the season or whatever.

"The blizzards, people spazzin' out over gifts, all 'cause some fat guy is coming down chimneys—s'all just ridiculous."

You want to giggle at how actually annoyed he sounded, but you hold it down.

Grouchy old man.

"I'd let you come down my chimney," you flirt, but then correct yourself. "I have let you come down my—"

Joel shoots you a glare, daring you to finish your sentence.

You know when to cut your losses, so you don't.

"Well, speaking of gifts," You start, rummaging in your bag to pull out your present for him. You hold it up, the pink wrapping paper making him cock an eyebrow. "Merry Christmas, Scrooge."

Joel feels an unfamiliar feeling swimming around in his stomach at the sight.

He slowly takes the box from you, looking at it like it was a puzzle.

He really wasn't expecting anything from you. But he supposed people who have had the other persons genitals inside them should probably give them something for Christmas.

He finds himself very pleasantly surprised.

After a moment, he finds something to say.

"Couldn't find some manlier wrapping paper?" He coughs, his voice low but it's obvious he's joking with you.

You roll your eyes and scoff. "Just open it!"

Joel somewhat grins at your impatience but finally starts to open the box.

That grin drops off his face after he sees the contents, an immediate bittersweet feeling swelling in his chest.

You're watching his face so intently, so scared that he didn't like it based on his reaction.

Joel pulls out the watch from the box, clutching it tightly. He's not saying anything, so you hear yourself start to ramble.

"Do you like it? I just saw that the watch you wear is broken so I figured I'd get you a new one. If you don't like it I can take it back."

You're starting to crumble underneath the weight of his silence, anxiety bubbling in your gut. Just as you're about to ask him if he's okay, Joel finally looks back at you.

"S'real great. Thank you." His tone is genuine, you can tell he's telling the truth. But why does he look so pained?

"Of course." Your murmur, your eyes searching his. After a moment of silence, you clear your throat. "There's one more thing, actually."

Joel's shoulder slump. "You got me another present?" He asked tiredly, looking at you with disbelief.

A guilty smile paints your face before you gesture for Joel to follow you. "It's upstairs. C'mon."

He doesn't know how much more his heart could handle.

Reluctantly, he follows you up the stairs, wondering why you had a gift waiting for him in Tommy's guest bedroom.

You open the door and close it behind you both, purposefully not turning the lights on.

Joel walks into the center of the room, standing aimlessly and confused as to why you hadn’t flipped the light switch yet.

But then he hears the rustling of clothes and when you eventually turn the lights on, you're wearing nothing but a bra and panties.

His cock immediately gets hard.

"What do ya think you're doin'?" He whisper yells, trying to keep his eyes on your face but that proves to be impossible because your tits looked so good in lace.

"What? You don't like it? I bought it for you." You give him a 360 and he has to brace himself against the bed.

Fuck you looked good.

He sits down on the mattress, dragging a hand down his jaw in thought.

He's debating if he's really about to fuck you in his brother's house.

Why were you always making him go against his morals?

A few seconds of silence pass between the two of you before Joel snaps his eyes back to your figure.

"C'mere."

Got 'em.

You squeal excitedly before running over, slotting yourself between his legs and placing your hands on his shoulders.

In turn, his large hands come out to hold your hips, his gaze zeroing in on your perfect-looking cleavage that he was now eye-level with.

Just as he was about to slide his hands up to grope your breasts, you sink down to the floor.

Joel's puzzled as he watches you get on your knees, looking up at him with those mischievous eyes. He truly has no clue what you're up to, that is, until you bring your lips to the bulge in his jeans.

You place the softest kiss on his clothed hard-on, earning a groan from him.

Now he knows what you're trying to do.

He juts his hand out, holding you firm by your shoulder.

"You ain't gotta do that, sweetheart." Joel says softly, probably the softest you've ever heard him say anything.

Your body erupts in goosebumps when you hear the endearing pet name slip so effortlessly from his lips.

"I want to—been wanting to since, like, forever." You murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his inner thigh.

Joel wasn't sure what to think right now.

His past romantic experiences taught him that blowjobs were a hassle for women—something that they did only if they felt they had to.

But here you were, looking up at him with those wide eyes and wanting nothing more than his dick in your mouth.

You surprise him everyday.

His dick has literally never been harder, especially when you finally start unzipping his pants to let it spring free.

You gaze up at him again, waiting for his green light.

Joel had one hand white-knuckling the edge of the bed, while the other gently caressed the side of your head.

He offers a short nod of approval, already trying not to come just by the sight of his cock so close to your face.

You waste absolutely no time in grabbing the base of his dick with both hands, gingerly licking at his tip to warm him up.

Joel throws his head back, groaning at the feeling.

You tilt it up so you can drag your tongue all the way up his shaft, then bring your mouth down on his tip.

"Fuck," Joel curses, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before snapping back open, not being able to look away from you.

Tears are falling from your eyes the farther you go down on him, the sensation of his head poking the back of your throat was making you dizzy.

But you don't stop. You're eager to please.

Your hands pump at the length you can't reach, while your warm mouth and tongue swirl around him.

You're too good at this, and Joel knows he's not gonna last long.

He can't help it when his hand in your hair turns into a fist, tightly gripping the strands like he was afraid you might go somewhere.

You moan when he accidentally pulls your hair forwards, forcing you deep on his cock. You bet he didn't even realize what he just did, based on the way his chest was heaving and his face looked so lost in pleasure.

You gag and more tears spill from your eyes, but you don't even dream about lifting off. If Joel was getting off on this, you were going to do more of it.

You moan, still keeping his cock in your mouth as you try to go even deeper down on it.

"Oh fuck—" Joel suddenly yanks your mouth off his cock, breathing heavily as he stares down at you.

You cough and sputter at the loss, looking up at him with that same fucked out expression you had last time.

"Why?" You manage to whine, wondering why he stopped you before he came.

Joel doesn't answer—instead he picks you up by your armpits and places you on the bed.

The quick change almost gives you whiplash, but Joel's surprisingly steady and husky voice guides you.

"On your stomach, pretty girl." He mutters as he taps your leg in a gesturing manner.

...Was he trying to kill you with that bedroom voice of his?

A whimper crawls its way out of your throat, your body having an audible reaction to his sweet words.

You flip over onto your stomach, instantly arching your back for him.

Being the impatient man he was, he rips your panties and throws them to the side in a lust-driven blur.

You literally didn't even care. Sure, they were new, but you'd just find another pair. The only two thoughts in your mind right now was Joel and Joel's dick.

Something warm and soft prods at your entrance before slipping to wedge between your folds, gathering up your slick.

You try to push back on it, but Joel holds you still, making you lose the rest of the small amount of composure you had left.

"Joelpleasefuckme," You sob, your cunt weeping for his cock. "need you so bad it hurts,"

You reach back, your hand finding his that was holding your hip and squeezing it.

Joel didn't want to admit to himself how much he loved the neediness in your voice, your obvious desperation made him harder.

"M'gettin' there, don't gotta beg me baby." He mutters, his hand that you grabbed intertwining with your fingers. His other hand was rubbing circles in the skin around your hips.

You feel that same sensation of his tip, but then Joel also brings his chest down to engulf your back.

You're already trembling, but when he begins to pepper kisses down the nape of your neck and back, all while slowly sheathing himself inside your pussy...

You effectively lose your mind.

"OhFUCKJoelloveitsomuch," You blabber, not having enough strength to hold yourself up anymore so your head drops into a pillow, muffling your moans.

Effortlessly, he pulls you back up so that your back is flush with his chest, his one arm wrapped around your stomach to keep you secure.

You rest the back of your head on his shoulder as she starts rocking into you, letting your body go limp because you know he's got you.

"Can you take it or do I need'a stop?" He asks, his tone making you dizzier.

You frantically nod, turning your head to the side to look at him. "I can take it, promise I can," you muster out between moans. "please don't stop—want your cock in me forever-"

Joel chuckles.

God, he really never stood a chance against you.

"I don't know about forever sweet thing, but I'll see what I can do for tonight, yeah?"

You giggle airily, like you weren't all there, nodding your head in acknowledgement. Your eyes are closed for a second but you feel his lips on yours, hungrily taking whatever they wanted.

You passionately return his kiss, mewling into it because his lips paired with the slow thrust of his dick was enough to drive you crazy.

The stretch of his cock is as close to heaven as you're ever gonna get.

His speed picks up which means your moans get louder, and Joel has no choice put to bring his other hand up and cover your mouth.

There's still a party going on downstairs, after all.

"Gotta be quieter baby," he pants, even though he's not slowing down his speed at all.

You whine into his hand, surprisingly loving the feeling of it because it's like he's swallowing you whole.

You feel that tight coil in your stomach slowly start to come undone, and you know you won't last long now. You try to tell Joel, but his hand is muffling your noises.

All the sudden, he speaks in your ear—his voice low and raspy. "Don't want you doin' this with anyone else, hear me?"

...Well.

You weren't expecting that.

His words probably made you soak the sheets because of how wet you became.

He sounded so stern when he said it too, making your heart flutter even more.

You nod, tears pouring from your eyes. He lets his hand off your mouth for a moment and you immediately jump at the opportunity to speak.

"Only want you, only ever wanted you, Joel—m'all yours, always been yours," You mewl after gasping for air, your body jolting with each of his deep thrusts.

"Fuck," Joel swears, quickly but carefully putting you down only to flip you over onto your back. Now in missionary, he buries himself all the way inside you again before dropping down so your faces are centimeters apart. "All mine, huh?" Joel reiterates, and you can't tell if he's mocking you or maybe asking for clarification.

Probably the ladder.

You agree nonetheless, a string of yes's spilling from your mouth.

"Yeah, just for me." He pants, slamming into you with more vigor than before. Your cunt is constricting around him like a vice, he's—not planning to last much longer either.

"M'gonna cum," you whine, wrapping your arms around his shoulders for support.

When Joel hears this, he drops a hand down to rub at your clit, making you come undone altogether.

"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck waitwait Joel-" You feel something..unique boiling, but then Joel's expert fingers release the flood gates.

You scream as you squirt all over his cock, your entire body writhing with the overstimulating pleasure.

Your juices soak him. When he see's this, he comes immediately.

He groans as he finishes inside you, unloading into your snug cunt. The feeling is incomparable for the both of you.

Once the haze of perfect pleasure dissipates, Joel realizes what he's just done.

"Shit," he grits, pulling out and watching his seed drip from your hole. "Fuck."

You manage to sit up on your elbows, looking up at him with teary eyes. "Don't worry," Your voice is quiet and cracked—you just had the squirt fucked out of you, after all. "I've been on the pill since we had sex the first time."

Joel looks down at you, stupefied.

Eventually, he feels his heart start beating again and huffs out a sigh of relief. "Thank christ." He leans back against the headboard, raking a hand through his hair and thinking about how that was a fucking close one.

You're lying next to him, still trying to catch your breath. "That felt so good," You manage to murmur, your body still shivering from the after shocks.

After you catch your breath, you turn your head to look up at him. "M'serious about what I said, about bein' yours."

He looks at you and your serious face for a moment, then brings his hand down to gently ruffle the top of your head.

"Yeah, I know you are." His texan drawl prominent.

"I'd let you brand me with a fire poker if thats what you wanted." You say flatly, no joking tone in your voice whatsoever.

Joel is taken back by the sudden jump in intensity, assessing you to make sure you were being for real.

You were, and when he realizes this, he shakes his head. "You've lost your damn mind." He grunts, dragging a hand down his face.

You shrug.

"I think a ring would do the trick." Joel mutters, not meaning for it to have some kind of underlying message or anything. But you're quick to jump to conclusions.

"A ring?" You squeal, moving to lay on his chest which earns a huff from him. "Didn't know we were already goin' steady like that, Miller!" You tease, the giddiest smile on your face.

"I didn't mean—quit. You know what I was sayin'." Joel grunts, looking at you with an unamused expression.

You don't quit though.

"My ring finger is a size 6, would love 2 carats but if you can swing for 3 that would be perfect—also, I hate silver bands, it has to be gold—but make sure it's not that super yellow fake gold, I like more rustic looks, I mean, if that wasn't obvious-" You cast him a glance, alluding to the fact that he was rustic looking.

Joel rolls his eyes before gently nudging you off him, getting off the bed and walking over to your clothes that you discarded a long time ago.

You continue rambling from your position on the sheets, staring up at the ceiling as you recited, in extreme detail, how you loved oval shaped diamonds the most.

He walks back over and manhandles you to sit up. "Lift up your arms." He mutters, putting your sweater back on you.

"Hm, gettin' some serious deja vu right now." You murmur, smiling up at him.

"Yeah, yeah, hush." He grumbles before sliding your tights and skirt back on as well.

The act is so kind and heartwarming. You mumble a thank you before standing up, almost falling back down because your legs were still a bit weak.

Joel made a motion like he would've caught you, reaching his arms out. "Careful." He warns, planting a hand on your lower back for stability. You giggle and nod, regaining your ability to walk slowly but surely.

You guys tried to discretely walk back down the stairs, but with Joel's hand on your back and your happy expression--it wasn't hard for people to guess what happened.

***

A couple days had passed since Tommy and Maria's party.

You were finishing up some hand-made Christmas cards on your desk when you heard a knock at your door.

"Coming!" You shout, leisurely making your way to the front door.

When you open it, no one's there. You look around, only seeing a familiar male figure walking away in the distance. When you step outside to shout after him, you feel yourself kick something.

Upon looking down, a small velvet box lays at your feet.

You pick it up carefully, opening it to reveal a gold ring placed so delicately inside. The small note inside reads:

Merry Christmas. -Scrooge

#smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel tlou #the last of us hbo #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #drabble #I need him so carnally

936 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 2 days ago

Text

Title: The Fawn Instinct.

Pairing: Yandere!BatFam x Reader (DC).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: Implied Non/Con, Implied Dub/Con, Kidnapping, Prolonged Captivity, Social Isolation, Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, and No Actual Incest, But Boy If Those Freaks Aren't Trying. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

If it’d only been Bruce, you might’ve been able to live with it.

You didn’t love him, but you could imagine a world where you tried to. Most of it was circumstance; as upset as you were about the whole kidnapping thing, it wasn’t exactly a Herculean feat to endear yourself to the idea of being a handsome vigilante millionaire’s stay-at-home captive-spouse. You had no room in your heart for the stoic, reclusive, untouchable Bruce Wayne, but you could remember the adoration you’d once held for your masked hometown hero, the pride that’d once given you the force of will to all-but carry a half-conscious man in a torn cowl and a familiar suit into your apartment and lie to the cops when they came knocking. If the conditions had been different, if he’d spent a little more time as something more intimate than a stranger and a little less damning than a captor, then maybe, you could convince yourself to love him. Or, convince yourself to try, at least.

But, the conditions weren’t different, and you’d never quite had the time you would’ve needed to align Bruce Wayne with his more heroic alter ego. It’d been doomed from the start – Icarus jumping from his tower, already knowing his wings were destined to fall apart.

That aside, though, there was the more glaring issue: all his fucking kids.

Calling them kids might’ve been too generous, actually. Only Damian and Duke were younger than eighteen, and as far as you were concerned, they were your saving graces – Duke for meeting the bare minimum requirements for human decency and Damian for adamantly denying you were anything but an unwanted burden on his father. The rest were more-or-less adults, as little as you wanted to acknowledge the nonexistent age-gap between you and your gaggle of stepchildren. They were grown. They should’ve known better.

Tim, for example. He had to be… what? Nineteen? It wasn’t the pinnacle of maturity, sure, but he should’ve known you’d be able to hear your own sheets rustling through the bedroom door, should’ve assumed that you’d know he’d know Bruce would be out on patrol until sunrise. He should’ve known to wait until you were in another wing of the sprawling Wayne estate, somewhere far away from the master bedroom, or better yet, skipped rummaging through your things entirely. You knew better than to dream, though.

The door was still shut, but what was happening behind it and who was responsible were both foregone conclusions. It was Tim, because of course it was Tim, and he going through your meager possessions, because what else would he wait until Bruce was gone to do? Cringing, you rested your shoulder against the steady wood and knocked gingerly. “…Drake? Are you in there?”

Immediately, the rustling stopped. You went on. “I think Bruce is out, if you need him. Is there something you’re trying to find?”

It was a good out. An easy out. Thankfully, he was smart enough to take the bait. A few seconds later, the door cracked, a disheveled Tim emerging with a dark blush spread over his pale cheeks and his hands shoved conspicuously deep into the pockets of his hoodie. It was a struggle not to roll your eyes. He couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d come out with his dick still in his hand.

Your cheeks ached as you put on your dozenth unstrained, unworried, everything’s-fine-because-why-wouldn’t-it-be smile of the day and moved aside to let him out. “I’ll let him know you were looking for him when he gets home,” you assured, like you couldn’t see the way his bright eyes were fixed to the carpeting. “I’m sorry I can’t be more help. You all are just so heroic – it’s still a little hard to believe I’m a part of this at all.”

“You’re perfect,” he muttered, and you pretended not to hear him, cocking your head to the side. When he corrected himself, his voice was a bit louder, a bit clearer. “Don’t worry, I… I found what I was looking for. You don’t have to bother Bruce.”

“Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He’s so proud of you and your siblings, after all – it’s practically all he talks about.” A lie, but a fair one to tell. There was no reason Tim should have to know Bruce spent the majority of your time alone with his teeth buried somewhere in your neck, muttering paranoid fantasies about how many different ways you could be killed, mutilated, or otherwise indisposed by the members of his rouges gallery. “Honestly, sometimes, it’s hard not to feel like I’ve been here for years, rather than just a couple of months.”

You only realized your mistake when those bright eyes shot to you, suddenly wide and blown out with desperation. A hand darted towards you, and you stumbled out of the way, but not quickly enough to avoid Tim’s vice-grip on your forearm, to spare yourself the feeling of something cold and wet sinking into your sleeve. “You’re leaving?” The words seemed to slur together, spilling out too quickly to be restrained or refined. “You can’t leave. Bruce won’t be able to handle it, and Steph, she’ll—I mean, security-wise, we won’t be able to make sure you’re—”

Internally, you were keeping up a steady mantra of ‘Thisissogrossthisissogrossthisissogross.’

Externally, by some miracle, your smile never wavered, only growing sweeter as you cut him off with a chirping laugh. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, and then, after a slight lapse, “Would you mind letting go of me? It’s—uh, it’s kind of starting to hurt.”

As if on a switch, he let go of you entirely, pulling away as abruptly as he lashed out. There was a mumbled ‘I’m sorry’, and he made a swift retreat, disappearing around the next corner before you could so much as think about bringing up Bruce, again. You watched him go, only letting your expression fall once you were sure he was out of sight.

Without further caution, you slipped into your bedroom, glazing over the mess of pulled-out drawers, overturned clothes and scattered dirty laundry in favor of falling into bed, rolling onto your chest, and screaming into your pillow as loudly and for as long as your lungs would allow.

You tried your best never to be alone. It was a little draining, to be honest – having to keep a running chart in the back of your mind of who you could trust and who you couldn’t, constantly trying to guess whether it’d be safer to be alone with someone or if you were better off taking your chances on your own – but you’d learned your lesson the first time you’d fallen asleep in the Wayne’s at-home movie theater and woken up to Cassandra spread over you like a human weighted blanket, staring unblinkingly at your face and playing half-consciously with your hair. You tried not to leave yourself unguarded, after that.

Alfred was your first choice, Barbra your second, with Bruce as a distant third. Sometimes, you could get away with loitering near Damian (something you hated nearly as much as he did – you could only stand to be addressed as his father’s “jezebel lover” so many times), but Bruce was at one of Damian’s school events, leaving them both conveniently unavailable, and Alfred would be locked inside of his underground shooting range for another hour and a half, an activity you knew better than to interrupt. Meaning, you were on your own.

Meaning, you’d picked a very bad time to need something to drink.

The kitchen was deathly quiet, but you still made an effort to keep your head on a swivel as you made your way carefully to a corner cabinet, like stepping on the wrong tile would trigger a pit trap, or a flurry of arrows, or one of another million terrible things you hadn’t thought were possible before Bruce dedicated himself so entirely to proving you wrong. Mentally, you reviewed your haphazardly assembled schedule as you fumbled with the wood paneling and reached for a mug from the highest shelf. Tim was definitely out, touring local colleges on Bruce’s behest, Step was supposed to be in class, and Dick—

Your fingertips made contact with cool ceramic half a second before another, larger palm wrapped around yours, a broad chest pressing into your back as your mug was stolen out of your hand. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

And Dick was on bed rest with three broken ribs. Right. Of course.

You really shouldn’t have bothered leaving your room at all. Suddenly, dehydration didn’t sound like such a bad way to go.

“Let me get that, baby bird.” You cringed at the petname, but nodded, letting Dick confiscate your mug and with it, your ability to make a swift exit from a conversation you’d rather not have. “Green tea, right? I know it’s your favorite.”

“On the mark as always, Dick.” There was just enough enthusiasm in your voice to overshadow the despair. You waited until you heard the muted click of an electric kettle before turning around and settling against the counter. “I wish you wouldn’t dote on me, though. I already feel useless enough as it is.”

“Don’t sweat it, I’ve been going stir-crazy all week.” He flashed you a quick smile – tooth and beaming – before pulling open the silverware drawer and rummaging through it, like Alfred would keep his teabags with his cutlery. He was topless, wearing the same pair of black sweatpants he must’ve slept in. He didn’t plan to go out, clearly, and it wasn’t like you had much of an alternative. “This is just the basics, too. For a while there, I had your breakfast, lunch, and midnight snack preferences memorized.”

You forced yourself to smile, albeit, not as brightly as him. “…did you, now?”

“Mhm. B had us running in-person surveillance before he finally bit the bullet and brought you home, and—” He cut himself off with a sudden laugh, shaking his head. “And, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that part. Oops.”

Mercifully, the kettle whistled before you could start to consider the implications, and you reached behind you, fishing two bags out of a teacup-shaped jar. It was easy enough to edge him out of the way, but not having to worry about pretending he’d ever made himself a cup of tea meant he could devote more of his energy to talking, so you still managed to lose, in the end. “He’s stingier with the surveillance footage, now. I’ve never seen him so jealous.”

“He can definitely be a little overprotective.”

You tried to keep your tone even, polite, but Dick was like his siblings – quick to action and slow to take a hint. A hand curled around the counter next to you, and you dumped an extra spoonful of sugar into the darkening water. “It’s just us in the manor, right?”

Another spoonful, just to be safe. “I think Alfred is—”

“Out for the day. Wayne Enterprise emergency – I let him know as soon as he finished down in the range.” In your peripheral, you watched his other hand come to rest on your opposite side, caging you in. “I wouldn’t mind the company, if you were starting to get lonely.”

Another spoonful. It’d be too sweet to drink, but anything not to have to look at him. “I’m afraid wouldn’t be a lot of fun, Grayson. Honestly, I was just planning on getting a little sle—”

“That’s perfect,” he cut in, too eager to wait his turn. “I’m a great cuddler.”

You curled your hand around your mug, hoping the warmth would be enough to ground you. Instead, it only burnt your palm, and for a second, you could imagine a world where your teeth weren’t buried in the plush of your cheek, where you didn’t have to remind yourself that turning around and splashing boiling-hot water on an all-but superhero’s face wasn’t a good idea. For a second, you genuinely considered it.

And then, a sound not totally dissimilar to thunder filled the kitchen; loud enough to leave your ears ringing and your adrenaline spiked. You flinched into yourself, but it only took a moment for fear to shift to relief as you noticed the bullet lodged into the wood less than an inch from your head. Your expression lit up just as Dick’s fell.

Without waiting for him to let you go, you slipped away – sprinting across the kitchen and throwing yourself into Jason’s – brave, bold, beautiful Jason – chest. He caught you one hand and finished re-holstering his handgun with the other, laughing as you hugged him as tightly as you could manage. Dick huffed, playful offense failing to mask real agitation, and you felt Jason brace against you. “Jerk off and shut the fuck up, Oedipus.”

Dick’s smile turned uneasy. “It’s good to see you too, man.”

“I didn’t come here for you,” he snapped, as short-tempered with his siblings as you wished you could be. He looked down, holding you that much tighter. “How’s my best girl holding up?”

“I’m just fine, Jason. I do think we have to have a talk about how you treat your brother, though.” You glanced over your shoulder to Dick. “A little privacy? You really ought to be staying off your feet, too.”

Reluctantly, Dick slinked out of the kitchen, hesitant to go but eager to nurse his wounds. You only went on once you were sure he was gone.

“It’s been awful. I found another hidden camera in my bedroom, and I think Tim’s tapping my—”

“I’ll do a sweep.”

He let you go, but you caught his arm. “Please, I know it’s important, but—” You cut yourself off, swallowing. It was irrational – the way you let your guard down so quickly around Jason. The mask never slipped around anyone else, whether you were afraid of them or they were one of your rare, precious exceptions. Jason existed outside of the Wayne family, though, outside of Bruce’s corrupting influence. He wasn’t going to hurt you. More importantly, he wasn’t going to let anyone else hurt you, either.

“But I really don’t want to think about that, right now,” you finished. “Just… just for a little while, alright? I don’t want to constantly feel like I’m walking on eggshells, at least not while you’re here.”

Jason stood strong for all of three seconds. With the fourth, he sighed, buckled, and shook his head, his exasperation brimming with affection. “How long until Bruce gets home?”

“Six more hours. He’s not due to check-in for another three.”

“I’ve got my bike out front. How do you think he’d feel about a joy ride?”

And just like that, you lit up. “It’d give him a heart attack.”

Jason pulled you close, kissing the top of your head.

“Perfect.”

Unfortunately, Jason’s visits were few and far between. You had to find ways of fending for yourself, in the downtime.

“I miss the city.”

Bruce glanced over his shoulder, gaze flickering over you before returning to the buttons of his dress-shirt. You sunk that much deeper into the mess of sheets and pillows, taking some small amount of solace in the way the cool silk felt against your warm skin.

(Sex wasn’t something Bruce came to you for often, but when he did, you gave it to him willingly, albeit with no more enthusiasm than was absolutely necessary. You rarely enjoyed it and always regretted everything you did or said during the act, but it was better than the alternative. Part of you trusted him, trusted Batman, enough to believe that he’d take your refusal for what it was, that you wouldn’t have to say anything more than ‘no’. The remaining overwhelming majority was able to look around you, to remember the way he’d held you down as he forced a needle stocked with medical-grade sedatives into your throat, and recognize that your opinion probably didn’t mean very much to him. Still, you couldn’t let things get that bad. Even if you had to surrender every other facet of your being, you couldn’t let things get that bad.)

“You hated the city. You said your landlord was a tyrant and that even the criminals were living paycheck-to-paycheck.” And then, after a second of thought, “And that there were more rats in Gotham than people.”

“Well, he was, they are, and you know I love animals.” You pushed yourself up, keeping a sheet bunched against your chest as you slumped against the headboard. “I was tired and overworked – you could see that. But, things would be different if I was staying with, say, my wealthy trillionaire boyfriend in one of the penthouse apartments that I know he has because his youngest son got in trouble for bragging about them in school last week?”

Bringing up his kids was a dirty tactic – the fastest way to get Bruce’s undivided attention. This time, when his eyes shifted in your direction, they stayed there, and he made his way back to your side of the bed. He collapsed next to you and, with no resistance on your end, pulled you into his lap. He didn’t seem to care whether or not his immaculately tailored, freshly pressed suit was creased in the process, but you did your best not to squirm. “You want to leave the manor?”

The first half of a frown tugged at the corner of your lips. “That’s not what I—”

“Elevated pulse, avoidant eye-contact,” he muttered. “Something’s bothering you.”

It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t wrong, either, but still. You would’ve preferred to be asked.

“…it’s your family,” you admitted, feigning guilt. “They’re all—” Horny, depressed, creepy little orphans. “—great kids, but it’s just been so much so quickly, and I think it… I think it might’ve been too much too quickly. For them and for me.”

“They adore you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Dick was close to moving back in when I decided it was too dangerous to leave you to your own devices.”

You melted into his chest, sighing. Reflexively, he curled around you – a good thing, if a bit claustrophobic. Bruce liked feeling like a shield between you and harm, between you and the world he couldn’t control. Hopefully, eventually, he’d realize he had more to shield you from than greedy landlords and villains who always seemed to be just out of sight. “It’s not that easy. It’s just been such a rocky adjustment period, and…” You curled your hand around his wrist and squeezed, hoping the force would be enough to communicate what you couldn’t put a word to. “I’m really afraid something bad might happen, Bruce.”

For a moment, he seemed to consider it. There was a kiss to your shoulder, solemn and lingering, then another to your cheek, more fleeting. “I’ll talk to them. They’ll give you space, if they’re told to.”

If he told them to. You doubted you held much authority, here. “And the apartment in the city? On the highest floor, tall enough to see from Gotham to New York?”

Bruce smiled, and your heart soared.

Then, he started talking, and it crashed back down, dying upon impact. “Once I know it’s safe for you, sweetheart.”

There was another kiss, this one to the nape of your neck, then another, lower down on your spine. A calloused hand slipped underneath the sheet still hugged against your chest, and you allowed it to.

Honestly, it would’ve been kinder if he’d cut you into pieces and fed you to the wolves himself.

You made a run for it as soon as the arguing started.

Arguing, not yelling – the distinction was minor, but significant. Yelling would’ve meant an injury, or a mission gone wrong, or something else that signaled a sudden complication that couldn’t be smoothed over with sugar-sweet sentimentality or orders issues with an ice-cold strictness. Yelling would’ve meant Bruce didn’t mind letting you overhear, which usually meant you didn’t need to be involved. Arguing, all hushed whispers and hissed explanations and vague warnings, was different. Arguing meant, more often than not, that they were arguing about you.

It was Tim’s fault, as far as you could tell. Barbara had been the one to find the conspicuously encrypted file on one of Dick’s civilian devices, the one to mention it to Stephanie as a point of concern who went to Tim within the hour, but it was still his fault. He’d gotten Bruce involved, let his need for approval tip the tenuously balanced scales that kept his family whole and you safe. He’d talked them all into waiting until Dick was close enough to confront in-person, stopping by for his weekly equipment pick-up and check-in. He was the reason you’d gotten close enough to hear something about ‘pictures’ and ‘inappropriate use of reconnaissance material’ before fleeing to the mansion’s foyer – the only part of the house you could be sure wasn’t occupied. If you were lucky, you’d only be there for half an hour or so, enough time for them to compromise on some non-solution and return to your carefully maintained status quo. If you weren’t, you’d spend the early hours of the morning—

Something small but forceful hit the nearest window, shortly followed by another projectile, then another. The glass was too thick and the world outside too dark to make anything out, but you didn’t need to see anything to know who’d come to your rescue.

Jason.

You rushed to the door, then hesitated. Jason would only get a slap on the wrist for luring you out of the estate, and Bruce could never bring himself to be that strict with you, but now might’ve been a bad time. Tensions were already running high. Your little disappearing act wouldn’t—

A sudden rush of footsteps clattering through the ceiling from the floor above you, hushed voices raised just to the point of audibility. None of it was entirely coherent, but Dick’s came the closest. You managed to make out a half-choked “If you’d just let me—” before someone cut him off.

With your better judgement reduced to buzzing static, you pried open the closer of a pair of huge, mahogany doors and slipped out of the estate entirely.

Of course, Jason was waiting outside, a small stock of pebbles still in his left hand and, of course, you threw yourself at him, letting him catch and spin you twice before setting you back onto your feet with an airy laugh. A pitch-black sports car was waiting at the end of the driveway, the engine purring loudly enough to drown the rest of the world out. “Rough night?”

“You have no fucking idea,” you muttered, breathless. “I don’t care where we go, just get me out of here.”

There was a reason Jason was your favorite. There was no argument, no prying, just his arm around your waist as he herded you into the passenger seat. Fifteen minutes and a little over fifty miles later, the mansion was little more than a dull glow on the horizon, and you could pretend you’d stopped thinking about Bruce entirely.

There was no effort to make conversation, as bad as you felt about pulling Jason into your prolonged tryst with self-pity. Instead, you sunk into the leather of his seat and fixed your gaze on the passing landscape, clinging to any detail you were able to latch onto as it flew by. It was possible, between the subways and boarded-over windows and perpetually overcast skies, to go days without seeing the sun in Gotham. Still, your life had felt brighter there than it ever did in Bruce’s estate.

Jason turned down a road you didn’t recognize, and you managed to find your voice. “Are we going into the city?”

“Even better.” He flashed you a smile, the engine purring as he accelerated. “You’ll like it, I promise. Just sit tight.”

As if you had much of a choice.

Road gave way to forest, forest to empty plains, and empty plains to the dilapidated remains of what you could only label as a long-abandoned amusement park – like Disney World if there’d been some terrible, possibly nuclear accident followed by twenty or so years of absolute neglect. Jason’s car glided past the rusted remains of an iron gate, past the corpses of rides buckled under their own weight, and came to a stop in front of a paint-stripped merry-go-round almost entirely sheeted be vines and weeds and overgrowth. You let out a low whistle as he threw the gear shift into park and, for the first time in any vehicle you’d ever shared with him, pulled his keys out of the ignition. He’d always left the engine running while visiting the mansion, but then again, you’d always been pretty eager to make a hasty escape, too.

“I love it, Jason. I’ve always wanted to get tetanus from a broken down carnival.”

“A fair, actually,” he corrected, slipping his keys into his jacket pocket. Like he expected you to try and steal them while his back was turned, or something. “My parents used to take me here, before I met B. There weren’t a lot of Ferris wheels after that.”

There was a short lapse, the sound of lips moving against teeth. You made the mistake of humming, of glancing over to him, of leaving yourself open for another question, and Jason, as nice as he was, was more than happy to take advantage of you. “So, when did you and B start…”

He trailed off, drumming his fingers against the wheel. You filled in the rest with a breathy chuckle. “When did I start sleeping with your dad?”

He jabbed an elbow into your side. “First of all, you can admit you’re fucking him or call him my dad, but you’ve gotta pick one.” You opened your mouth, already ready to spit out some dumb joke about what Bruce would’ve preferred to be called, but Jason cut in, sniping your stupid joke out of the air. “Secondly, answer the question. I get enough of your diversions back at home.”

“Being a buzzkill must run in family,” you sighed, but gave in quickly enough. “It happened once before the whole kidnapping thing, when he was staying at my apartment and sleeping off a broken leg. I hadn’t even seen him without his mask on at that point, but I figured it was a sign – destiny, or something.” You did your best to smile, slumping against the door. “It was dumb. He gave me a couple weeks after bringing me to the estate, mostly because of the crying and stuff, but things started up again pretty quickly.”

“Do you… like it?”

“Do you like asking about your dad’s sex life?” He flinched back, and laughing, you went on. “I guess I don’t care. There’s not a lot else to do.” You swallowed. “Would it matter if I didn’t?”

For someone with so many questions, he didn’t leave a lot of time for yours, the hypocrite. Moving on swiftly, he asked, “And the others, have they…?”

“No.” And then, after a beat, “Not yet.”

He seemed to relax, at that. His back was still straight, his shoulders still squared, but his grip on the wheel loosened, his jaw unclenching ever so slightly. You tried the handle – locked. Obviously. As if you’d ever get that lucky.

His voice was soft, sweet. The kind of tone you’d use on a child, or an animal, or a doll. “This would probably be easier in the backseat, right?”

“Let me out.”

“So you can go where,baby? It’s just us out here.” He laughed, resting a hand on your thigh. You slammed your shoulder into the door. It didn’t budge. “Hey, hey, this doesn’t need to get rough. I’m not going to be like Dick. The others – they’ll do it wrong, treat you like a cut of meat they have to get to before anybody else. I just need to make sure you get out of this in one piece.”

Nails embedded in leather, body crammed as far from him as you could force it be. You weren’t hyperventilating, but only because you’d stopped breathing entirely. “Let me out, Jason.”

“I love the way you say my name. It’s pretty, and delicate – just like you.” He sighed, shook his head. “I know you don’t get it, but I’m just trying to take care of you, like you’ve been taking care of me for the past few—”

“Stop acting like I’m your mom.” A sob fractured the final syllable, another bubbling up from deep in your chest a moment later. Your body was beyond the point of rationality, but the soft, preservational part of your mind wasn’t so beyond the point of seeking refuge. There was a way out of this, as ghoulish as it seemed. You couldn’t stop it from happening, but you could make it better. You’d regret it in an hour, when it came time to explain yourself to Bruce, but what happened in an hour didn’t matter, not if you couldn’t survive the next few minutes.

You might’ve done it, too – or, you might’ve tried, at least. You wanted to. You planned to. And yet, when you opened your mouth, there was only one thing you could seem to say. “I don’t want to do this, Jason.”

His nails bit into your thigh, his smile easing at the corners. For a second, you almost thought he’d pull away. For a second, you almost thought he’d sigh, straighten back up, and admit this was all part of some cruel, unfunny joke that the two of you would remember fondly, later on.

Then, he laughed and leaned forward, lips brushing against the top of your head. You felt him speak before you heard his voice, but the cloying reverberation alone was enough to tell you that you would’ve been better off never saying anything at all.

“Welcome to the family, sweetheart.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere batman #yandere dc #dc x reader #batman x reader #batfam x reader #yandere batfam #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere tim drake #yandere jason todd

995 notes · View notes

beloveds-embrace · 3 days ago

Note

Thinking about designationless reader...

Imagine how alone she must've been for all her life. It started since she was young, her parents pushing her to the corner of the home, away from the family, and naturally, her siblings would follow their parents' lead, pointedly ignoring her, and finding any excuse available to be out of her presence. She wouldn't understand them anyway, she can't tell the difference between noises nor could she even recognize scents. It just wouldn't work.

Reader thinks that maybe she could find someone, anyone in school, but kids are like sharks, except instead of smelling blood, they smell the lack of all scents on her. Most kids have a combination of their own and their family members' scents. Reader has nothing, so everyone continues the pattern, but now with more stares and jeers and hushed giggles. Reader knows that bullying is bad, but anything would be better than simply not existing to anyone. That's what the others say, at least, that she's nothing, nobody. Never to her face, though, just in the whispers shared between friends.

She eventually tries to find others like her through the wonders of the internet. There's maybe a handful more scattered in her country, but none are her age, and all have their own families who care about them. Was it just her who wasn't deserving of love, of connection? Reader reaches out to them, and they talk a little, but before long, through no one's fault, it falls through. She was bad at talking anyway, even if she doesn't have to worry about scents or sounds that aren't there, she never knew much about context or connotation. She never had the opportunity to learn about the intricacies in communication. Reader is back alone.

The military eventually scouts her, and it's the first time anyone has ever really looked at her. Sure, they look at her like a valuable tool, but a tool is better than nothing. Reader obviously joins, desperate for crumbs. She climbs the ranks, gets the job done. She is good at her job, so people respect her. She learns how to talk professionally, emails, texts, and so one, but no one talks to her on leave. No one invites her to the pub after a good mission. No one even talks to her in the mess. But people do talk to her when they have to, and that's enough. Maybe she even gets a callsign. Doe. After Jane Doe, the placeholder name for unknown individuals, and insult if anything.

Now there's the 141. They invite her to things. They talk to her. They touch her. Reader exists for them. She isn't just an unknown person stuck in the background and invisible to everyone else, and Reader doesn't know what to do. Her speech is awkward and overly professional, even in personal settings. How is she supposed to be friends with someone, multiple someones? How is she supposed to move? To act? To express? She doesn't know, but she really wants to learn. At least now she has good teachers.

ANON YOU GENIUSSSS okay but this? Perfect. AHHHH I ADORE THIS IDEA!! Esp the jane doe callsign omg yes

You weren’t used to being seen.

Growing up, you learned quickly how to make yourself small- how to exist quietly, without taking up space, without asking for too much. Because the few times you had asked- asked for a hug, asked to be let into the nest, asked why you felt so different- the answers had all been the same.

No.

Not now.

Not you.

It wasn’t that your parents didn’t love you. You were sure they did, in their own way. But love was hard to feel when your mother flinched at your touch like you were something disgusting, when your father sighed like he was tired every time you entered the room as if you were taking up space he was saving for his other children. When your siblings built their nests without you, curling into piles of warmth and safety while you sat outside the door, knees pulled to your chest and hands balled into fists to keep them from knocking, a cold ache burrowing itself in your chest.

You stopped knocking eventually.

You stopped trying.

You used to wonder if you’d done something wrong- if maybe you could fix yourself and everything would go back to normal. But it wasn’t something you could fix. It was just… you.

Scentless.

Designationless.

Invisible.

School had been worse, perhaps the worst. At least your family had pretended not to notice how different you were. The other kids didn’t bother pretending. They stared openly, whispered behind your back, laughed when you walked by. You’d caught bits and pieces of what they said- weird, wrong, broken, as if they hoped by having you hear their words, they’d convince you to leave at last.

You’d started keeping your head down after that, slipping through the halls like a shadow. No one talked to you unless they had to, and even then they either did it with a mocking, jeering tone that echoes in your nightmares or with a meek tone; as if your lack of everything is contagious. No one sat next to you at lunch, either. When partners were assigned, you always ended up working alone per your teachers’ instructions.

It was easier that way.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

By the time you joined the military, you’d gotten good at being alone. You didn’t need friends. Didn’t need packmates. You had work, and work didn’t care if you were quiet or awkward or too stiff to laugh at the right jokes. Work didn’t care if you flinched when people got too close or froze when someone raised their voice. Work demanded to be done, and you had nothing and no one to stop you from that.

But the military also has the same teens who used to bully you so consistently. Rookies all to ready and happy to lord over you. It’s how you get your despised callsign, Doe. Jane Doe. A cruel mockery, comedy wherein you are the joke that has the world laughing.

Still, you wear it. It’s still an acknowledgment and that will always be better than never being seen. You flit from team to team, unit to unit, always an observer from afar, watching everyone around you speak a language you can’t.

But the 141 was different, when you eventually end up working for them.

They cared.

They cared in ways you weren’t ready for.

Soap was relentless, dragging you into conversations even when you barely knew what to say. He filled the silences like it didn’t bother him, kept talking for the both of you, lounging against you unbothered, until you started talking back. Gaz was gentlest, steadier. He never pushed, just lingered close enough to remind you he was there, waiting, whenever you were ready. Quiet, silent acceptance you’d never been given before, and you were yet far too afraid to so easily cling to it.

And the Alphas- Price and Ghost- were worse.

Price had a way of looking at you that made your chest ache, like he saw you, really saw you, and didn’t mind what he found. Scentless, with no designation and all. Ghost was quieter, sharper, but his eyes tracked you everywhere, presence wrapping around you like he was staking a claim you didn’t understand, like he was teying to etch every part of you behind his eyelids.

You didn’t know what to do with it.

They didn’t give you space. They sat next to you at meals, tugged you along when they went out for drinks, called you over during breaks like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it felt natural- until it didn’t, because sometimes you still felt like an outsider.

Like you didn’t belong.

You tried to hide it, but they saw through you. They always did, and they never shied away.

When you started avoiding the mess hall, it was Gaz who caught you, shoving a plate of food into your hands and dragging you to sit with him like it wasn’t a big deal. When you hung back during missions, letting the others fall into their pack dynamics without you, Soap was the one who looped an arm around your shoulders and pulled.

And when you flinched, once, at the sharp sound of someone’s voice echoing down the hall- when you tensed so hard it made your fingers tremble- it was Price who closed the distance, standing in front of you like a wall and letting Ghost linger at your back. Neither of them said a word.

They didn’t have to.

You weren’t used to being protected. You weren’t used to belonging.

But they made it hard not to.

778 notes · View notes

nichuuu · 2 days ago

Text

Dinner & Diatribes: Analogous

Shin Yuna x Im Nayeon x M reader

Word count: 14k+

“A younger girl… And I’m talking much younger. Eight years younger than me I think.”

Normally, it feels like you’re worlds apart from Nayeon in her bed. You’re just her toy, her plaything, her doll.

Tonight though: it feels like she’s in the same world as you. She feels here — emotionally and physically present as her nails trace circles on your bare chest. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, or maybe even classic manipulation, but she feels like more than just someone who you fuck on the weekends.

“And you won’t be jealous?” you ask, indulging yourself and playing with her hair a little. She scoffs.

“You talk like we’re dating.” She shifts so that she has a cheek on your shoulder. A relationship with her wouldn’t really fly: she’s not gonna let you take care of her when she loves control more than anything. Still, it’s nice to dream about holding her hand sometimes. “I have no reason to be jealous, so why would I be?”

(It’s a question you’re asking yourself too honestly.)

“Dunno,” you muse, admittedly a little disheartened, “maybe it’s cause you’re kinda freaky… Just a thought.”

She smirks. “Trust me. A younger girl in this thing we’ve got going on isn’t gonna affect anything.” She starts tapping her nails against your chest. “Besides… You know you’re mine.”

Oh…

(Not sure how to feel about that last part.)

***

Last you checked: you weren’t expecting a guest today.

“Uh,” you can’t help but mutter past her lips as you stagger back into your own apartment. She lifts her lips off yours out of consideration, and she takes a few moments to soak in the look of mixed emotions that has made its way onto your face. You don’t mean to be rude when you point at the other girl and ask, “do you wanna perhaps wanna, you know, fill me in on what’s going on here?”

Im Nayeon turns, looks over her shoulder, smiles. She turns back, cups your cheek with her hand.

“Thought I’d bring some company tonight, just to spice things up.” Nayeon tells you, turning your head in a way that lets you get a good look at the younger girl standing at the door to your apartment. “Hope you don’t mind.” With her other hand, she makes a come hither motion, and tells the girl to close the door on her way in. The girl does as she’s told, and when she’s next to the both of you, Nayeon takes her by the hand and pulls her closer.

“Introduce yourself sweetie,” Nayeon instructs—firm yet almost saccharine. Nayeon lets her thumb rub over the girl’s knuckles, a deceivingly sweet smile playing on her lips. “Tell him what we’ve rehearsed. Go on.”

She’s an eye-catcher for sure—the other girl, not Nayeon. Not that Nayeon isn’t already turning heads when she walks just about anywhere, but more that the other girl is just a rather far cry from what you're comfortable with. You’re so used to Nayeon’s gentle, piercing eyes that can probably break you with a look from her; those small, plump lips of hers that kiss you with precision and passion; those bunny cheeks that you love pinching so damn much that it probably should be considered an addiction. But this girl brings something new to the table, and you have to admit that it’s refreshing.

Smoky, kinda innocent eyes that have a whole foot in the territory of doleful and another foot in the realm of entrancing; luscious long black hair; a face that could make just about anyone melt. Nayeon’s guest is certainly a few years younger than her, and certainly less lecherous than her senior at first glance. You don’t really know where or how Nayeon could pick up a girl that looks as sweet as this, and you certainly want to find out how a girl that looks like the textbook definition of ‘smoking hot’ could ever end up in a place like this. She’s clearly nervous, but you give her credit for being able to stand perfectly still with Nayeon’s hand starting to roam up her arm.

“I’m Yuna… But you can call me whatever you want.”

The sentence has Nayeon’s fingerprints all over it, and you can assume with full certainty that she’s had this idea stewing in her head for at least a week or two. The smug grin on Nayeon’s face tells you that things are going according to plan, and her fingers latch themselves around Yuna’s forearm.

“She’s a fun one to play with.” Now she’s directed her attention to you, looking right at you as she pulls the younger woman even close to the both of you: till you can literally feel Yuna’s breath in your ear. “A young little slut to spice things up.”

Nayeon takes her attention away from you, and with gentle hands on Yuna’s cheeks, she pulls the younger girl in for a kiss. It’s simple—no tongue or anything—but it’s enough to make the younger girl squirm a little where she stands. Nayeon’s clearly taking pleasure in this. Even with her lips locked with a girl younger than her, you can clearly see the whisper of a cheeky smile playing on the corners of her lips. You wonder if she’s gonna get more joy out of this than you at the end of the day.

The younger girl is released from the fierce lip-lock. She looks dazed, like she just took a hit of a blunt. Nayeon admires her craftsmanship for a moment, taking in the look on the poor girl’s face as she chuckles softly to herself, “oh my… Someone wasn’t quite ready, was she?”

Yuna’s at a clear loss for words. She tries to speak; her words fail her. You can’t exactly blame her though. Nayeon just kinda chooses when and where to be a bit of a minx, and you just have to roll with it. It’s fun, kinda hot; but not when you’re in a horrible place to get it and she decides that she just wants to blow you at some restaurant that you’re at. It’s a bit of a handful really, and you don’t quite know what to do with her sometimes. Wonder how Yuna fares?

“It’s okay,” Nayeon assures her, “you’re in good company now, though you're free to just watch if you’re still shy.”

The younger girl looks at her senior, then at you, then back to her senior. “I think I’d like to join in on this.”

Nayeon beams, her smile almost sweet if it isn’t for the fact that she’s quite literally happy to see a younger girl get it on with you and her. “That’s the spirit.”

And it’s confusing really: figuring out which of them is gonna make the first move. Yuna’s energy gives her an air of uncertainty, but you can sense some mischief within her that resonates at the same frequency of Nayeon’s. Yet there’s something a little different about her that you can’t quite place your finger on. Her youth is a breath of fresh air; there’s that young energy in her smile towards Nayeon that tells you that she’s eager but somewhat cautious. You would call her a mirror of Nayeon as they start discussing how she wants it, but you pick up on a bit of pickiness in her voice that strays from Nayeon’s attitude. The older girl before you will take it however she likes, fuck herself on your cock till she cums and kinda leave you high and dry. Yuna on the other hand has some grungy ideas of where she wants you to cum and how she wants it to happen.

Okay, let’s return to home base and consolidate: they're similar but different; kinda conflicting yet go together like dinner and diatribes on a family reunion. There’s reason to believe that they are somewhat two sides of the same coin, yet simple observation contradicts the notion. Bottom line – it’s confusing.

“You know what?” Nayeon has a finger twirled in Yuna’s hair as she casts a glance at you. “How about we get you naked first… Then we figure out what we can do?”

Yuna seems to enjoy the proposal. The two women look at you, and Nayeon gestures with her head to come closer. As your feet land on the wood floor, Nayeon goes at a slower pace of walking as she rounds Yuna and stands behind her. She’s shorter than her by a considerable amount, but it doesn’t make her any less imposing as she pokes her head out from Yuna’s right side.

“Go on. Unwrap her,” Nayeon whispers, running a hand up Yuna’s stomach. “Let’s see what she has in store for us…”

And Yuna is more than glad to lift her arms up for you as you pull her sweater off her body. The girl has an amazing body – you’d give her that. Slim waist, wide hips, hourglass figures so defined that the sands of time would be jealous. A body to die for really, and the appeal only increases as she reaches behind her back and unclips her bra. Nayeon smiles as she tosses her article of clothing aside.

“Tight and forthcoming?” The older woman muses. “Looks like we have quite the toy on our hands.”

Yuna’s gaze is almost searing as you step up to her. Her breathing is kinda unsteady, but you can’t exactly blame her. She’s half naked in front of two older people, with one of them running her hands along her smooth skin while the other cock their head and examine her from head to toe. If you were in her shoes, your blood would be racing and boiling fast.

“Do what you want with me,” she whispers. She reaches forward and grasps your crotch through your pants. “I’m yours to take.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Did Nayeon teach you that?”

“Nope.” Speak of the devil and she doth answer on the younger woman’s behalf. “I only told her how to introduce herself, didn’t tell her what to say after,” Nayeon explains, a glint in her eye as she stares up at Yuna’s face. “Is it kinda fucked up if I wanna see her suck your dick?”

Yuna glances at her senior, then returns her gaze to you. “A little… But we can make it happen.”

Another point of difference – 2 actually: she doesn’t play around with her words and she’s pretty proactive. You like that.

It’s a mess as you fumble with clothes, but it doesn’t take long for you guys to rid Yuna of the rest of her clothing and have her on her knees in the living room carpet. Her hands are delicate as she pulls down on the waistband of your boxers and frees your cock, and their even more so when she grips your throbbing shaft with both hands. On the chair that Nayeon pushed you onto, you watch her eyes as they survey what she’s working with.

“Wow…” she mutters, looking over to the right where Nayeon’s lounging on the sofa. “You had this all to yourself?”

Nayeon’s lips slant at an angle. “I know right? Better than any dildo you can find on the market.”

Yuna takes a moment to really look at the cock in her hands, eyes full of lustful wonder as she takes it in from all angles. She lets her mouth hang open for a little as she processes what she’s seeing, then she asks, “how does she even walk the next morning? I mean… This thing is girthy as fuck. Would probably split me open if I’m not careful.”

“It won’t,” Nayeon answers rather spontaneously, tapping her finger against a cushion as she watches Yuna pump your shaft with her lanky fingers. “It’ll fill you just right,” she leans against the handrest of the couch, watching intently as you push away some hair from Yuna’s face, “though I think it’ll look the best in your mouth.”

Yuna gets the gist. Her cheek presses itself against the inside of your thigh as she lifts your shaft and kisses it at the base, and she works her way up to the tip while one hand keeps your twitching cock steady. She gets to your head, and her lips take the sensitive part of you about halfway in, making sure you're looking (and you mean, like, really looking) as she lets her tongue lick the precum off from your leaking tip. Once she’s certain that she has your fullest attention, her jaw slacks and her shoulders rise; she takes a breath, closes her eyes.

There’s the hiss of an inhale — from you — as your head tilts back against the backrest while your cock enters the warm wet tavern of her mouth. She’s almost methodical in the way she takes you in, stopping halfway to adjust the angle of her head so that she can push forwards and down and drive the rest of your meat into your mouth. Her hands steady her, resting against your thighs as she tears a little. She’s a little more patient than her senior, waiting for a bit before she starts moving at a steady pace. Spit’s starting to drip down to her chin – will probably ruin the carpet if you cared enough (and you don’t). Nayeon’s been meaning to change this damn thing anyway. It’s seen too many juices and some dog piss in it from when her pomeranian was over those few times.

“Jesus,” is all you can hiss, through closed teeth of course. The young girl is nothing short of heavenly; she’s almost perfect at taking your dick as she starts to bob her head. The gurgling is kinda loud; spit flows like a stream down your shaft, only to be collected by that fastidious mouth as it traces a path – up and down and up and down. You wonder if there’s some make-up to be ruined.

“Won’t you look at that?” And you don’t even need to look over at the couch to know that Nayeon’s playing with herself. The squelching tells you lots, but the way her speech is kinda breathy tells you more than you need to know. She’s probably really turned by the sight of a younger woman taking cock into her mouth, riled up at the sight of tears flowing down her youthful cheeks. It’s borderline voyeuristic, pretty fucking freaky but also kinda hot. That’s her whole brand anyway. “She’s fucking taking your dick. My god…”

Yuna gurgles on your dick – probably some reply she’s trying to give but fails to because she has dick in her mouth. The suckle of her lips; the slide of her tongue against the base of your shaft; her throat kinda convulsing as she struggles and struggles – you don’t know if it’s all gonna be a bit too much, but now you’re really focusing on not trying to hurt her while your hands grab a handful of her hair in a fist. You’re assisting—or maybe forcing… Low-key goes both ways when there’s a very, very fine line between the two in this context—her, pulling her into your crotch and pushing her off just to pull her in again. It’s a vicious cycle – kinda doubling on the meaning while also butchering it: harsh and repetitive but there’s not a fucking instance where this produces a detrimental result.

She comes up for air, your shaft pretty much dripping with spit as she takes a moment to gather herself. The gasping is hot, and so is the way she wipes her spit towards her mouth with the back of her hand. “God this is… Fuck...” she mutters, licking her lips while her fist is in constant fluid motion. Bruce Lee would be proud: she is like water.

“Keep it up darling,” the motions of Nayeon’s wrist have gotten quite sharp, sudden and lacking interval. Okay, maybe not sudden, but more… Desperate. It’s not like she isn’t gonna get her fair share of cock or anything, but she hasn’t been over for a while. There’s only so much that a vibrator and her fingers can do; she kinda needs to see it and revel in it for her to actually get off properly. You don’t know if watching a young girl take dick into her mouth is softening the blow dealt to her senses, but you kinda know that it’s still doing a number on her because she’s completely hiked up the hem of her dress to fuck herself with her fingers. There’s not much thought behind her actions, but she’s definitely letting herself go a little wild for the night. She is being indulged after all.

“Am I doing good?” Yuna inquires, and it’s a question directed to both of you really. You give her a nod; Nayeon’s answer is verbal: Keep that up and you’re gonna make two people cum in the next five minutes. The young girl is pleased. She lets her tongue swirl around your tip, lick the cock before her from base to tip and sneak in some scissoring flicks of her tongue. Your hand finds itself on her cheek, thumb massaging the bone just above the flesh as she giggles and tosses her hair.

“You’re a doll,” you tell her. She smiles.

“That’s one of the many names I’ve been called,” she replies, letting your spit-covered head rub against her cheek. “Though I like the name cumslut the most.”

Oh.

Your grip on her cheek becomes more firm. “Okay then,” and your pushing her to the left so that her lips are in line with your head. “Open wide you fucking cumslut.”

The enthrallment in her eyes is apparent. Obedient, subservient, forthcoming, whatever; she parts her lips and lets her tongue hang out. Her eyelids flutter shut. You pull her forward. Nayeon cusses.

You're unbelievably hard in her mouth, and your member is ever so sensitive to every movement inside those cheeks of hers. The softness of her tongue, slickness of her drool, warmth of her cheeks… Too much to focus on with so little space for appreciation. You settle on fixating on the suction, the sweet vacuum her lips form around your length as she quite literally lets her mouth get used. Two hands around her head – pulling, pushing, pulling, pushing. A hot rhythm, not quite a dance but kinda cyclical like a routine. More perverse than any street jazz choreo you’ve seen though.

“Yuna,” you mutter, “ you’re so – fuck I – ugh… Your mouth.”

Somewhere in her throat, there’s space for a hum. Her hands are behind her back, locked in place by her own accord as she lets you fuck her mouth with no qualms. It’s smooth, almost natural till she gags a little on your dick and has to blink a bit. Slip n’ slide; front and back – she just takes your cock like an obedient little slut. It’s amazing, kinda dark, but still amazing nonetheless. The gurgling and the sound that comes from her throat that’s almost like swallowing; your fingers grasping the silky strands of her hair; eyes meeting hers. Fuck.

You're desperate for a taste of heaven. You pull her down harder, faster.

She gags, chokes, sucks a little harder.

“Fuck this,” Nayeon hisses. “I’m joining in.”

And she straddles you before you can even blink, kissing you fiercely like she’s gonna die the next day and this is the last time she’s seeing you. Somewhere along the way, she’d shed her clothes. Now she’s nude and kissing you, jabbing her tongue into your mouth and exploring the feel of your teeth. Your cheeks are hers to hold, your mouth hers to own.

She breaks the torrid kiss, “Yuna,” she drawls, playing with your hair as she speaks to the girl while looking at you. “Don’t ruin him too much. Leave some fun for me.”

The vibrations sent down your shaft make you tingle from head to toe – a product of Yuna’s attempted reply. You can’t see her anymore, but you can continue to just flow with the movements of pulling and pushing against her hair as Nayeon dives between her legs to get back to work. The older woman lets a sigh escape from her lips, pushing her fingers a little deeper. You can feel the heat against your crotch. Her hands move a little faster.

“Do you have any idea,” she whispers, her voice kind of striking that middle frequency between the gurgling and the squelching. “How fucking pent up I was in that damn dorm?”

Through your teeth, you reply. “No,” and you kinda twitch a little in Yuna’s mouth. “Do tell.”

She leans in, moans into your ear for good measure. “I was dripping every other day,” she reports, a lilt in her voice as she continues her work between her thighs. “Didn’t help that Momo was bringing a guy over and I could hear them fucking through the walls… My vibrator almost died that week.”

“Well…” you shudder as you speak, a familiar tingle building up from the base of your shaft. "You’ll have to wait your fucking turn.”

She smiles, quite sadistically you might add.

“That’s alright,” she tells you. Her forehead pressed against yours. “Just leave a load for me.”

And you have to hit her with an honest reply. “I’ll always have a load for you.”

“That’s what I thought.” She straightens her back and looks down at you. “I own this dick,” she announces to her audience of two. “Now cum in her mouth. I’m gonna get her to fucking swallow your load.” The orders are barked, not said. “I wanna watch.”

And she turns her toned back to you, leaving you with the view of the delicious curve of her back as she arches it while slicking her fingers with her own juices. You’re trying to hold on, desperately, but there’s only so much you can do when the mouth around you and the two women before you are this hot.

You don’t get to see it when it happens, but you can hear it and kinda imagine it when you cum right into Yuna’s mouth. You bet it’s kinda messy, but you’ll never know. Nayeon’s ass blocks the view – a trade off: view for a view. You hear the older woman hiss her commands—“Swallow. Fucking swallow you filthy little whore”—envison the sight of the young woman struggling to down your load as it pumps ito her wet hot mouth. A groan spills from your lips; a long-drawn sigh filters from Nayeon’s chest; Yuna gulps as she takes it all.

Your dick pops out of her mouth, all messy and slick with juices. Nayeon grabs it, pumps it, and without warning – shoves it into her cunt.

And all at once it becomes too much: your over stimulated member twitches wildly in the grasps of her slick, hot walls as it begs for a break. The pleasure is horribly abundant, so much that it almost hurts. There’s no time to process the tight heat around you, voice your need for a break. Nayeon starts bouncing on her knees.

“Oh fuck yes.” Her hands shoot behind her, the left one failing to catch the handrest the first timebut gripping it tightly on the second attempt. Her knuckles go white. “I needed this. I needed to be filled by this fucking cock of yours.”

It’s too much; another load surges forth almost instantly. The hot semen paints her walls, shoots up from your already over-sensitive head and flows down her cunt. It leaks out; the squelching gets louder. Yuna’s tongue laps up the mix of juices that flow. Nayeon continues to ride.

Your fingers dig into the flesh of her waist, desperate to assist you in grounding yourself in this seemingly unreal reality. There’s a lack of words that can really describe your predicament, and if you’re to actually bring it across in a coherent sentence, it’ll probably something along the lines of “fuck” repeated at least a million times. You’re stuck in the chain of entry and exits of her pussy, a bundle of nerves beneath Im Nayeon while she mercilessly fucks herself on your cock. Right now: your dick is nothing but a mere toy for her to get off on, and she made that very clear from the moment she started throwing herself down onto your dick.

“Nayeon…” you heave. It’s an effort to even breathe.

“Shut it,” she hisses, not even casting a glance behind her. “I’m cumming on this cock one way or another and I don’t care how many fucking loads you give me.”

Yuna crawls around to the side of the chair. You hazard a glance at the young girl. She’s messy, sweaty and has residues of cum and drool at some areas around her mouth. She reaches out into the chair and takes you by the hand, squeezing it tightly in hers as if she knows that you’re fucking fading by the second. Every slam of Nayeon’s crotch against you is a mix of pleasure and pain, her moans almost like animalistic grunts.

“Fuck… You’re really filling her,” Yuna muses, watching the older girl take her liberties with your dick. “She must be so fucking tight right now.”

You swallow. “Yeah… It’s… Fuck…”

Yuna chuckles. Watching you struggle must kinda humour a little. She gives your hand a squeeze, encouraging you to hold on to what grasp of this world you have left. Her eyes sparkle, almost envious as she sees her senior bouncing on the dick she was taking into her mouth just a few moments ago. Her other hands snakes between her legs, flits circles of respite. Two girls getting off before you, similar but different.

Go ahead. Call this shit Tuesday.

***

“Be nice to her when I’m gone.”

You aren’t sure why Nayeon would need such a huge suitcase for a 10 day trip with her family. There’s no doubt in your mind that there’s probably tonnes of products in there that she wants to bring along for the fuck of it, but the damned thing looks like it was harbouring a small child. Not that Nayeon would ever do that, but it does help to paint a clearer picture of the sheer scale of her luggage. The airport X-ray is about to have a field day with this.

“Of course.” You’re kinda obvious about your ogling from the doorway as Nayeon does her hair with nothing but her leggings on. Yuna is still fast asleep in the room that you’d prepared for her, but you still kept your volume down just to play it safe.

Nayeon smirks at you through the mirror. “I’m sure she’ll feel right at home with you.”

“Is that sarcasm I’m hearing?”

“Take it however you like. My eyes are up here by the way.”

You chuckle and walk up behind her. “Guilty as charged mademoiselle,” you apologise, though you're not all that ashamed of th fact that she’s caught you in th act of fucking her with your eyes.

Nayeon hits you with a scoff, a rather aloof one that screams ‘got you. Thought you were slick huh?’ even though it was within your fullest intentions for her to catch you looking. She had to be fair to you in this situation — kinda hard to look at anything else. Or maybe you’re misjudging her, maybe she knows full well that you were (and still are) catching a good look at those firm, perky mounds that sit proudly atop her chest. They fit perfectly in your hands, quite like a glove—OJ Simpson would hate that it fits that well—and a nicely-fitted set of bed sheets. What the fuck does that even mean? Frankly, you can’t quite put an explanation to it yourself; you’re kinda listing things that sound and feel right to you — things that give something enjoyable that little kick it needs to become something more congenial.

(That sort of encapsulates her whole personality honestly. She’s already something to relish, cherish; the type of girl that makes other guys say ‘she’s a keeper’ even though they don’t have the slightest idea of what she really was like beyond cameras and public appearances. Kinda horny all the time, but also wants to cuddle you to sleep and call you all sorts of pet names after you’ve blindfolded and fucked her against three different flat surfaces – maybe breaking some expensive furniture in the process. Dominant, a little stubborn and a little pissy. Need you say more?)

“But for real: make her feel at home,” she says, setting down the curling iron and switching it off. She leaves it to cool down, puts on a sweater while she waits. “Poor girl’s been through enough. I promised her a safe haven, so try to make it one.”

The context behind her request is a little baffling. Just this morning Nayeon told you of Yuna’s falling out with an alleged highschool sweetheart, and she's taking shelter with you guys till legal matters are dealt with and she’s safe and sound. Guy started stalking her apparently, threatened her once or twice too. Fun times we live in.

Helping her hook the clasp of her necklace, you assure Nayeon that only your best effort would go into creating a safe space for her younger companion. Not to brag, but you’re pretty good at making friends—trust me. We’ll be tight before you even know it—with strangers. It’ll be like walking the dog; easy peasy. You get the idea right? Kinda running out of sayings. Nayeon seems pretty pleased with your promises.

“If you guys have fun, do send some videos,” she tells you, opening her drawer to pull out a pair of jeans. “I’ll be missing out on a lot if you don’t. That girl has a body even I wanna ravage.”

“So cock is not enough, huh?” you tease. She flicks her eyes to the mirror.

“Who said it wasn’t enough?” She cocks her head and makes eye contact through the mirror. “I literally ride you till you’re sore. Yuna’s just… an add-on. Like a side dish if you will.”

You chortle. “And I’m the main course?”

“Nope,” she giggles, unfolding her jeans. “That would be me.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“If you want an admission of my wrongs, you’ll have to fuck it out of me.”

And she meets your eyes in the mirror. You smile, knowing that she’ll probably let you get away with this one.

“It’s really a shame…” you sigh. “These leggings were, like, really nice.”

***

Couple minutes later you’re giving her a kiss on the cheek as she hurries for the taxi that arrived five minutes ago. In the midst of the commotion, Yuna emerges from her room dressed in one of your shirts – just in time to wave goodbye to her senior before Nayeon slips away. You're not too sure if she’s fully registered the fact that she’ll be stuck with you for a full week, but hopefully once the realisation sets in, you’d already have made her comfortable.

You turn. The way you meet her gaze is kinda awkward. She has a look of intrigue on her face as she rubs her arms and gazes back at you with those doleful eyes.

You clear your throat. “You uh… You like omelettes?”

***

On your phone screen, Nayeon just kinda stares back at you with a hundred-yard-stare type of look. Hotel wifi has her video freezing at a rate that would make Elsa proud, and she’s barely a human through all the pixelated fuck-what that clouds in front of her.

“I feel like we're focusing on vastly different things here, Nayeon.” You’re hoping that she can hear your voice over the roaring silence of shitty network bandwidth. “Not even a day too… I’m pretty sure the poor girl’s scared shitless of me.”

And while Nayeon’s video and audio buffer, it’s a good time to remind yourself of your mistake. Not that you forgot it or anything, but you just gotta make sure that everything that you tell Nayeon is accurate.

So it turned out that Yuna and breakables don’t really go well together. Nayeon seems to have forgotten to ask you to read some fine-prints, and you basically went in raw when you witnessed the young girl’s clumsiness. Quite the butter-fingers: she broke a mug and a plate in one slip of her tray from her hands. The sound of shattering porcelain jarred her, and as she attempted to move out of her mess, the Dad in you spurred you to cry out in panic. Don’t move! you practically roar. Poor thing flinched like she’s being held at gun-point, started shivering a little as you rushed over to clear up the shards. You don’t quite know how to comfort her, and so you just tell her to just eat in her room if she’s uncomfortable. She took you up on that, and that ended the first non-sexual interaction you had with her.

Way to go… You deserve a star.

By the time you’re done pacing the room and have thrown yourself onto the bed, Nayeon reconnects back to the call. She’s in a bathroom, wearing airpods and sitting in what looks like a bathtub. From the fact that she's wearing a robe, you’ll bet good money on the really (and you can’t stress this enough) high chance that she’s wearing nothing else beneath that.

“Five star hotel and I get two bars of wifi everywhere except the damn toilet,” she huffs. Guess you were right about what the two of you were focusing on. No prizes for being right though; life’s a bitch. “Anyway, don’t think too much about it. She’s clumsy but she’s not unaware. I’m sure she’ll understand where you’re coming from.”

“Honestly”—you slide under the covers and heave a huge sigh—“I think I might find my thirteenth reason if she hates me tomorrow.”

Nayeon rolls her eyes. Yes: she’s painfully aware that you certainly won’t kill yourself over the fact that you may or may not have made a girl re-live her trauma, but the knowledge of that doesn’t stop her from expressing her disdain towards your little joke.

“Sleep on it. You’ll be fine tomorrow,” she assures you, now in full resolution and crystal clear audio and image. She segways into something else, “By the way, check out the link I’m sending you.”

Toilet wifi is truly doing her wonders cause you get the link in question right after she says it. And you aren’t sporting a fedora when you confidently identify the source as a Reddit thread, but it feels like you should be heading online to buy one and get it delivered via next-day delivery. (Ugh… You can feel the word m’lady threatening to burst forth from your mouth already.) Yuck.

Clicking on the link brings you to a community you’re no stranger to. You’ve heard of it once or twice, but never really had the time or energy to delve into the posts. Nayeon seems to have done some homework though — you’re taken to a very specific post, a clip that kinda blew up when it debuted.

It takes no Oppenheimer to draw the conclusion that the post addresses Nayeon herself, and she’s clad in that all black bodysuit from that one Talk That Talk performance that hugs her figure and really makes all the curves on her body pop. You’d know: you fucked her in this outfit; railed her on the bed from the back with a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs on her wrists if you want specifics. And if you want even more details: she didn’t let you cum till she’d came 3 times. Fun.

It’s a stunning outfit, and the appeal of the wonders it does to Nayeon’s body is only emphasised by how she runs her hands up from her hips, tracing the hourglass shape of her figure before she flips her hair. A pretty good Gif. Seems to have all 1410 commenters on their knees.

Now mind you: you’re on speaker phone with her right now. With that in mind, it sure as hell feels like Nayeon’s in the room with you as low sighs and salacious squelching starts filtering through Nayeon’s microphone and into your ears. A quick glance at the call window (that’s so helpfully converted to a small rectangle at the top right-hand corner of your phone) confirms 2 things while surprising you with a third find:

1) She’s very much naked under that robe. A bit of a no-brainer

2) She’s playing with herself – legs wide open and one of them (you can’t be arsed to really say which one) propped up on the rim of the bathtub as juice-slicked fingers work themselves between flushed folds.

3) The whole reason you can see the stuff in 2) is attributed to the fact that she's somehow leaned her phone against something in that bathtub to give you an almost artistic view of her. Emphasis on ‘almost’ because the close-up of her pretty, pink pussy is foreground to an even more sordid display of her half-lidded eyes and parted lips — baseness personified really.

Yuna becomes a secondary thought. “So… Has anyone told you that you’re kind of freaky?”

“Hey. I’m just a girl,” she muses, the look on her face a strong contender for the symbol of pure depravity. “Read the comments would you?”

“Twitter’s a much better place for this if—”

“Just stop being a smartass and read the fucking horny comments.”

You’re not intimidated by the aggression behind her voice for once, and it’s probably because she isn’t here to edge you if you don’t shut up. You take a moment to admire just how good she looks in this seemingly sempiternal display of what looks like lust itself, the Gif looping at least 3 times while you’re at it (and it’s like, the best 14 seconds of your life). The sun hits her at just the right, illuminating the best parts of her while shadows further define the shape of her curves – bringing forth the swell of her hips while making her tits and ass look bigger by a rather generous amount. Frankly, she looks good in just about anything really. Clothes on or off; hair tied up or let down; lingerie or fancy dress; lace or solid, she is the embodiment of sex.

“Hurry the fuck up,” she hisses, and it’s dripping with lethal lust and desire like venom from serpent fangs. Okay… There’s some mutual interest here with you and Nayeon. You’ll oblige.

“How nasty are we getting?” you inquire, all while you work the waistband of your pants down past your crotch so that your cock can spring free. You enlarge the window of the call, silently hypnotising yourself with the sight of Im Nayeon’s hand busying itself between her legs. “Are we going from the tame ones and progressing or…”

The look on her face tells you that she doesn’t give a shit; and she’s about this close to ending this filthy call and getting off on her own. Better conscience guides you to pick a random comment from the middle and get going with it.

“This one’s a thought provoker,” you preempt, scanning through the rather raunchy statement left behind by some undoubtedly turned-on user. “It says, ‘I wonder what she tells her stylist when she has to wear such outfits. It's like she must be really asking: I want something that will reveal my whole curvy figure. Nayeon is really the best girl’.”

“Mnph…” — she tilts her head back and lets out a gasp – an implosive suction of air that’s sharp yet so pleasing to your ears. “Curvy and… What was that again?”

“Best girl,” you reiterate, watching with a half-parted mouth as your hand matches the pace of Nayeeon’s fingers pumping in and out of the wet mess on the screen, “looks like someone’s got an eye for details.”

“They’d better. I think I looked fucking hot in that thing.”

You could second that opinion, though it was probably in your best interest to keep reading. This is basically your equivalent of putting fries into bags. You’re kinda okay with it, but you’re struggling to read this next one because of its horrible grammar, “her pussy must feel like heaven. With a tight body like that, she must know how she’s draining balls around the world.”

In the bathtub, she twitches. Her ring and middle finger are drenched when they’re removed from her pussy, but they don’t rest and find solid ground on her clit. They rub circles into Nayeon’s swollen nub, no doubt applying just the right amount of pressure onto the area while Nayeon is breathing all shaky and sounds like she’s been winded. In your books: this is basically her doing a backflip over the fine line between freaky and kinky, and basically exposing you to some new kink that she’s probably picked up from Sana. If any of these commenters ever really had a sliver of an idea of what she’s really like behind the scenes, you doubt that the comments would be as merciful as this. Anyway, next.

“I bet she likes it raw. She probably loves being a good little fucktoy who takes unprotected dicks into that tight pussy and letting load after load fill her. I mean” —Nayeon starts to shudder a little, quaking and sighing as you get to the more explicit section of his comment—“she’d probably like it if I just ripped that dress off her body and spread her legs. She’ll moan like a slut when I put it in her and just start doing her raw. Imagine the way her tits will bounce. Fucking slut, she was made to be bred.”

She lets out this moan – inexplicable and undescribable. She urges you to keep going. You do just that.

“I want her mouth so bad. Bunny has those dick sucking lips that are made for cock, probably gives mad head and is so fucking sloppy with it. I bet she’ll let the drool drip from the corners of her mouth while she takes me in all the way, and she’ll probably thank me with her eyes when I grab her by the hair and start fucking her throat. I’m gonna destroy that pretty little face so bad, leave her so fucking messy and ruined that she’ll have to stop singing for at least a week. When I cum, I’m gonna make sure it goes down her throat and get some on that slutty face. She’s earned it.”

You’re watching her, pumping your fist around your cock while she lets her jaw slack and lets her moans sort of tumble from her mouth in batches. “More,” she pleads, fingers trembling as she lets her free hand slip beneath her robe and start giving attention to her tits. You’d kinda kill to see them now, but this view will have to do. “Read more. I want to hear it.”

“They're getting nastier,” you inform her. “This whole thread of comments is just 3 guys discussing how they want to share you in a gangbang.”

“Fuck yes. Please…”

She never finishes the sentence, but you get the gist. You persist.

The next one is kinda paraphrased, partially because you’re projecting your own fantasies while simultaneously deciphering what this guy is trying to say across 5 separate comments.

“I want nothing more”—and it’s getting really hard to breathe while Nayeon’s fucking herself senseless halfway across the world. Maybe if she hadn’t worn those damned airpods, you wouldn’t be hearing every single sordid little sound she makes (gasps, sighs, moans and a bunch of phonetic mish-mash that began with the letter ‘o’). You can’t tell if she’s already lost to the haze of pleasure, and even if she hasn’t she’s probably holding on by a thread thinner than hair; on the way there and probably reaching within the next five minutes—“than to pound her little pussy raw and give her a fat load.”

“Oh my fucking god…” she’s descending a little further into her own head, sinking beneath the sheer thrill of masturbating while her partner reads out all the perverse things that people would do to her. Her breaths are almost desperate – earthy and kind of like a product of raw emotion; akin to a groan or maybe even a grunt. At the same time, it’s like she’s struggling to take in the air she needs, fighting to find a reason to take a breath and distract her from this debauched world that she’s dived into. It isn’t just her mind that’s twisted here, but the minds of others too. “Keep going. I need to know how they’re gonna ruin me.”

You’re trying to memorise the next line so you can watch, watch the subtle twitch in her right leg and the grunt-moan hybrid that’s produced from that pleasure stricken throat; the way she becomes a bundle of nerves like you and just starts losing it; the way her fingers go from rubbing to fluttering small circles of heavenly release into her body; the way the round breast that’s slipped out of the robe ripples with each movement from her shoulder. You’re more than happy to watch really; be a witness to the act of her bringing herself to the point of no return as she practically brims with pleasure and bliss that she’s bringing herself. You’re reading is like an add-on, some sick twisted DLC if you really think about it (you’re not really thinking much, but it’s a fun thing to consider). It’s quite like making a drink, albeit a little bit butchered – she’s pouring herself a glass while you wipe the rim with a lemon. The alcohol can spill on your fingers for all you care, you just wanna watch her make it overflow.

TL;DR: you really wanna make her cum.

“I’ll fuck her mouth while you take her pussy”—this one is read word-for-word, verbatim, letter-for-letter. You like how it’s phrased, not quite poetry but beautiful in its own way—“make her gag on this cock till she’s ruining her mascara. We cum together. Give this little slut the spit roast creampie of her life.”

She half-sigh-half-moans – the type of noise she’d make when she’s on her back and being fucked into the mattress. She shifts, undoes the knot holding her robe together and lets the thing part from the middle and falls at her sides. Leaning back against the end of the bathtub, her pleading comes in the form of whines, soft ones that kinda float around the room while she endeavours to work her fingers a little harder. A free hand kneads her breast. Your breath hitches, cock pulsing in your fist as she arches her back and starts to gasp. You read the next lines, the boner-fueled words of some guy who probably had his cock in his hand while typing this out.

“I want her ass. I’ll make her ride it while she takes it up that bubble butt, then you guys an still fuck her pussy and mouth. She’ll be so messy, probably dripping from her pussy and her mouth while three dicks fuck the shit out of all three of her holes. You know what? I bet she’ll enjoy it. The slut flaunts her body like it’s a fucking prize. She’s asking for it.”

There are like 2 more comments, but you never quite make it to the next parts. With a cry, Nayeon leans forward in the bathtub. She digs her fingers back into her slit, restarts the squelching and lets your speakers flood with a sordid symphony; squelch after squelch after squelch feels like music to your ears. “Your cock.” It’s a demand, really raunchy, kinda racy and really (and you really mean really) fucking raw. Can’t quite figure out which part of her strips her of the filter that takes away the pure intoxicating venom that coats her words, but you couldn’t really give more of a shit right now. It’s hot, like, really fucking hot. “Show me your cock. Let me see you stroke it.”

And it’s almost at once that you switch back to the call and flip your camera around. You’ve been going at the same tempo for some time now, and you hope Nayeon can see the utter mess she’s made of you – precum leaking from your tip and your head all swollen and red. She moans, slips another digit inside of her and starts working all three of her fingers harder inside of her.

“Ngh… I really wish that I could be filled with your cock right now,” she drawls. You’re not too sure if she knows that she’s projecting a shared desire right now. It’d be great to feel those warm walls wrapped around your shaft, slicking it with her juices while she rides you at a steady pace. Fuck… She’s ruining you, isn’t she? “With me baby. Cum. Make a mess for me.”

Her words are a little jumbled, but coherence doesn't really matter when she’s spitting pure filth from her lips. It doesn’t take long for either of you to get there, but you like to think that you meet her where she already is and kinda just go from there. At least that’s what you tell yourself as she convulses and is marred by her orgasm, and your cum leaks down your shaft and flows over your knuckles while you watch Your respective cameras capture it all – witnesses the mess you make at the hands of each other (and yourselves). You have to take a second, sit in the warm puddle of your own mess. It’s pooled on your stomach; cleaning up’s gonna be a chore.

“God…” Nayeon breathes. “Always wanted to try this.”

“Guessed as much,” you reply, sitting up in your bed and looking around for tissues. You spot a box of them on your desk. Great.

“Gotta go. Be in touch soon.”

She leaves you in the darkness of your room. From the corner of your eye, you spot a set of eyes watching you from the ajar door. You make out Yuna’s features before she closes the door, no doubt fleeing the scene. You aren’t sure how much she saw, but you hope that whatever she did see hadn’t scared her shitless.

Anyway, there are larger issues at hand.

***

It’s somewhere on the third or fourth night where it happens. For the record: you don’t go to her. She comes to you.

Weather forecast predicted hail, and for once they’re actually correct. It’s pissing it down – the glass on your room not left unscathed from the assault of hail falling from the sky. It’s awfully noisy, helluva hullabaloo. Hard to sleep in this weather really. You warned Yuna—who seems to have gotten a little more comfortable around you—about the horrid weather that you guys were about to be blessed with, and you can’t help but wonder if she’s fairing alright.

The knock on your door comes around a quarter after one. Yuna steps into your room, her silky nightdress kinda glowing in the low light as she sort of just stands there awkwardly. It’s quite like a child entering their parents room in the middle of the night to inform them that they’ve shat the bed. You look at her from under the covers for a bit, and when she continues to be a deer in headlights, you sit up in your bed. “You okay?”

“I’m um…” she begins, fiddling with her fingers as she speaks. “I-It’s noisy… And…”

You understand what she’s attempting to convey. You move to your right in bed, open the covers and pat on the space you’ve left for her. She smiles, grateful. When she settles into the space where Nayeon usually sleeps, you tell her to holler if she needs anything else. You leave her with that, and your back faces her when you—by the grace of some divine powers—drift off.

You wake up again in the early morning. The sleep wasn’t bad – kinda peaceful and dreamless and you want to close your eyes and drift back off. Unfortunately (actually kinda fortunately in this case), Yuna’s legs entangled with yours snaps you awake. You’re worried that you might have rolled into her while you were asleep (you really didn’t want to fuck up again), but her arm around your torso tells you otherwise. She’s cuddled up to you, head against your back and hugging you like you’re her personal soft toy – the usual kind of cuddling. Frankly, you’re at a loss for words. What happens in between is kind of a blur. You remember her stirring, and you remember turning around as slowly and gently as possible. What you don’t quite remember however, is how she ends up with a hand on your cheek. You vaguely remember her asking for some sort of permission, but your heart is beating so loudly in your ears that you can’t really hear or process much. She’s in the most vulnerable of positions right now, and the worst thing you could possibly do is fuck up. Your mishaps from the first day have you on edge.

And now you’re running through the events again in your head, doing your best to pick up on critical exposition that probably would explain the situation you're in. Words fail you as Yuna’s thumb traces a path across your cheek, sweeping back and forth languidly with the smallest of smiles on her face. Her eyes—those hypnotic doleful eyes—stare into yours, and you’re sniffing out some longing behind that gaze.

“Nayeon put in a really good word for you,” she whispers, letting her gaze wander across your face. “She said that you were a trustworthy man… Someone who’ll take care of anyone because you can.”

You’re happy to hear of Nayeon’s positive appraisal of you, but it doesn’t stop your bad habit of cracking a joke in tense situations. “And what’s the customer’s review?”

You’re glad that she laughs. If she didn’t, you’d have to expand your list to include a 14th reason.

“She told me to trust you and that I can feel safe around you,” she reports. She takes a moment to bring her eyes back to yours. Her smile grows wider. “I’m happy to say that I do… Largely.”

And all at once: a two tonne weight around your chest feels like it just dropped a twenty-story height. You aren’t sure if Yuna’s giggling because of the fact that you’re visibly relieved or because you heaved the loudest sigh of relief of your career.

“Man… I thought I’d completely fucked up after the first day,” you admit to her, relishing the feeling of your body relaxing in bed. “Never quite got to apologise for that.”

“And you don’t have to”—her smile is quite soothing to be honest, puts you right at ease after looking at it for a second or two— “I was just kinda shocked… And I kinda have a bad experience of being yelled at. Working on it though.”

Huh. Guess Nayeon was right about her.

“Still though,” you raise, rubbing your eyebrow. “I’m sorry.”

Yuna chortles. Her lips slant at an angle. “Forgiven and forgotten. Happy?”

You smile in response to the progress. “Hey. You go girl.”

She graces you with a wink. A moment of silence follows.

“Did Nayeon ask you to be touchy with me?” you can’t help but inquire. It’s out of the blue, but hey: a burning question is a burning question. “I mean… It’s not everyday that a cute girl just pulls up in my bed and caresses my cheek.”

“She said that you’ll be fine”—she retracts the hand on your cheek. The two tonne weight starts rising to the 5th floor—“and are you flirting with me?”

(Two tonne weight falls. Phew… What a workout.)

“Maybe.” You don’t really like being blunt cause there’s always some merit in a bit of playing around. Now that you think back on it, you may or may not have picked this up from Nayeon. Damn girl is ruining you. “Take it how you want, just don’t think I’m being sarcastic.”

Yuna smirks a little. “Nayeon did say you like to play around with your words,” she lifts a finger and points away from the bed, “not sure if she influenced you,” she points towards you, “or if you influenced her”.

“What if we’re both a little guilty?”

“Then I’ll be the outlier. Can I kiss you?”

And it feels like time stops. For the seconds that you stare at her in silence, one brain cell exerts maximum fucking effort to process the weight of her words. You wouldn’t have been as hesitant if she’d just kissed you directly, but now that she’s asking for consent first, you’re high-key at a loss for words. The sun’s starting to rise and the room’s being filled with this sorta radiant glow… Or maybe it’s just her.

“Woah,” you can’t help but muse. Of course, you’re exaggerating by quite a bit. “You are… Super blunt.”

“Figured you could use a change of pace.”

Then Yuna closes the distance between the two of you. She hesitates for a little, hovering over your lips for a bit before she finally decides to press her lips onto yours. It’s kinda sweet; her lips feel amazing and she’s really going down on you. You comb your hands through her hair, let the smell of sweet shampoo kinda intoxicate you a little while she tugs at your lower lip with her teeth. Unlike Nayeon, it feels like she’s kissing you because she wants to. The older girl sometimes makes it feel like she’s doing it for the sake of it, and then proceeds to tear through your clothes to get to your dick. Yuna takes her time, lets her hand on your face get familiar with the structure of your jaw as fingers graze them gently; introduces her index finger and thumb to your chin as she tips it to deepen the kiss a little.

“Hey,” she calls once the kiss is broken. She’s glowing in the light of the room, the smile on her face pretty fucking adorable. “Did Nayeon ever tell you that I look the best when I take it from the back?”

Again: super fucking blunt.

Clothes are never a hassle when you’re kinda in a rush, and Yuna’s night dress slips right off her body like the plate she dropped from the tray. You have her on her back, kinda half-mewing-half-keening as you catch a nipple in your mouth and suck on on it. The toned muscles on her stomach tense and relax, the rapid ebb and flow of pleasure in her system making her body move in all sorts of sensual ways as you palm her other breast.

And here’s the thing you like about Yuna: she lets you take her time with her, really revels in the sweetness of the moment while your trailing kisses down to her crotch. She moans for you – sweet music that tells you yeah that’s the spot while you acquaint and familiarise yourself with her body; she shifts herself accordingly – rolls to her side when you were kissing her plunging collarbones and opens her legs for you when you get to that pretty, pink pussy. It’s like she’s wired to please you, responding to your every move with a move of her own like you’re locked in a dance with her. It’s a welcome change of pace from having to fight and dirty talk your way to even get the chance to fuck Nayeon.

(In case you’re wondering: you do eat her out, but you kinda get lazy to really put into words. All you need to know are these few key points:

Firstly, she’s delicious, sweet and salty and kinda tangy. A bit of a subjective taste but you like it.

Secondly, her moans are really fucking adorable. They’re not even, like, purposefully made that way. She just kinda lets them flow from her mouth – choked-up cries of pleasure while warm thighs wrap around your ears.

Lastly, when she cums, it’s fucking amazing. It’s like she brings heaven down to earth with her cries and makes sure you get to touch it as much as she can. Her body is fucking riveting – arches deliciously when she arrives and makes you twitch in your pants.

Bottom line: she’s really fucking hot, quite like Nayeon in the way she tries you on sometimes but patient and actually giving you the chance to talk dirty with her. Damn… She really is a change of pace.)

And so: reaching between your bodies with her on all fours, you grasp your cock in your right hand, slipping it between Yuna’s legs. The young woman spreads her thighs as best she can – readies herself for entry. Your head pushes between her lips, waiting for only a moment, before you thrust hard inside her, filling her to the hilt with your cock. She’s awfully tight, really fucking wet and God is it hot in there. You almost think molten iron seems to be brewing in her core.

“Tell me,” she huffs, a sly smile on her face as she props herself up on her elbows. “Am I better? Or is Nayeon still the best?”

You caress the swell of her ass. “Baby… I think you’ll be the best fuck I’ll have in a while.”

It’s almost cruel: the way you kinda just start thrusting without any warning. She likes it though, and you only know because she possesses the bluntness to do so.

“God you’re fucking big.” And her ass ripples with each thrust you deliver into that slick little pussy of her’s. “Fuck… How does Nayeon even manage you?”

(The thing you like about her is how she asks a question like it was some sort of objective statement – not a rhetorical question, just something for you to respond to.)

You fuck her harder in response to that, kinda push yourself all the way into her. The tip of your cock slams against her cervix and her cries ring throughout your room. Your room fills with the sort of visceral sound one would associate with skin slapping against skin. There are definitely some more words to be shared during sex – the girl has a little more things she wants to get off her chest, but what the whole exchange boils down to is a back and forth of her gasping and crying out and saying you’re the best dick she'll ever get and you telling her you love the feel of her little cunt.

(It's really not like you're trying to prove something by being super rough. Yuna just happens to really, really like the feel of a thick cock pounding into her. Maybe Nayeon was right – her taking it from the back was a good idea.

Or maybe she's just a slut.

Who knows?)

"Yeah," you growl. You reach forward and grab a handful of her hair, pull her body against yours. "Take my cock baby."

"I can take it," she gasps, the breath knocked out of her. Her fingers curl against the bedsheets and she's just taking your cock. She's a lot easier to please than Nayeon – less stubborn about being in control, but also much, much more willing to please. "Oh God, fuck me, please..."

You slam deep inside her. Her body jerks forward and the sound that comes from her mouth is a mix between a cry and a gasp. "Please what?"

"Fuck me harder," she says. She's practically begging for it. "Make me cum. Please, please make me cum!"

Taking up her request is all you really wanna do. She didn’t need to add the multiple pleads, but you took some pleasure in hearing it.

You grab ahold of her shoulders, pull her close till she's almost upright. "You're gonna cum around my dick," you growl. You start a series of rapid, hard thrusts and her body goes limp in your arms. "And you're gonna make a mess of yourself."

She nods frantically. She's a mess already, all sweaty and red. The sounds that leave her mouth are incoherent. With two fingers pressing hard and directly against her clit, you start circling on it, making her a complete fucking wreck in the middle of your room as you really try to get her off. There's a sweet spot you find after a moment – the pad of your digits slipping around the nub and her knees give, almost making her buckle until she's flat on her stomach on the bed, crying and shaking as you use her like a toy.

"Please... Fuck... Don't stop, oh God don't stop!" Her cries are like a prayer to you. You've never heard anything like it. You fuck her right through it, watching as her back arches and her legs twitch, until she's almost completely gone. There's only a little bit more left. She just needs a little extra push.

So you decide to go a little hard. You hold her by her hips, keep her legs shut, and thrust directly down onto her pussy with a force you'd only reserve for someone like Nayeon. Her eyes roll back in her head as you really take her like you've wanted to ever since you started; it's almost animalistic how you really try to get her to cum as hard as she can. You can almost feel her orgasm build up in her body. Her breathing grows shorter and more erratic and she's mewling in her throat – so close. You can taste it.

"You like my cock don't you?" You reach around, give her tits a squeeze. She almost cums from that.

"Yes," she whimpers. You know she's not playing the part – she genuinely wants your dick. "Please... Let me cum on your cock..."

(You don’t admit it verbally, but you like it when girls beg. Nayeon never does, and it’s a novelty now that she’s doing it.)

You hold her down with an arm on her lower back. Her head's to the side, hair plastered to her skin with sweat as you fuck her from behind. She's panting and whining, begging you for more; “please please more”. You like that. It's cute. You wanna hear it. So you go harder. She screams into the sheets, but the sounds are muffled, but she's pretty loud nonetheless. It's good to see her let go like this, really let loose and not hold anything back. There's a fire that she ignites inside you. "Fuck..."

It's like a little fire that ignites and grows bigger, burns brighter with each thrust. She's so tight and so fucking wet; the wet sounds that accompany each thrust really turns you on. Your body feels so hot. There's this warmth that spreads across your entire body with every passing second. She moans and cries, whimpering as you nail her into the sheets.

Then there's this moment of clarity that hits her, and she looks back at you – she smiles, eyes half-lidded and she whispers something to you.

"Cum inside me," she says. She's shaking. "Please..."

Your rhythm grows sloppy as you edge closer and closer to the climax. Your cock feels like it's growing harder, bigger – there's this throb in it and your body's all tensed up. It feels like something inside you is going to snap, break loose and make you cum. It's not the best feeling in the world, but the way it grows stronger and stronger really makes your toes curl and your skin tingle.

And she's so beautiful like this: spread out for you, skin sweaty, cheeks red, and ass in the air as you fuck her. It's the best way you can ever imagine her – she looks like she belongs to you like this, her body a playground for your lust, and she wants it just as much as you do. There's a mutual feeling between the two of you.

The pleasure comes and it hits you like a train. It feels like something inside your balls tighten and then snap and then there's this euphoria that envelopes you. You feel your cock pulse with every burst of semen that spurts from the head. Yuna cries as her pussy gets filled and filled, until it's running out and dripping from her cunt, but you can't stop fucking her. You want to feel that sweet, sweet release, to see how long it will go, to really enjoy this moment. She feels amazing, and your heart pounds and you want her so badly. You need her.

She cums — It's a hard, shuddering orgasm that wracks her body. She cums and she screams for you, and she makes a mess of herself as promised. It's really fucking hot – the way she completely loses her composure and her legs shudder violently as you pound her pussy through it all, soaking in the perverted pleasure she brings you while you fuck her freshly-creamed pussy till your hips kinda give. You collapse on her, panting and grunting on top of her while she struggles to breathe.

In this moment. She isn’t like Nayeon in the slightest.

She’s a welcome change of pace.

***

“Thinking back… There were signs in highschool that I probably ignored.”

And the water sloshes around as Yuna shifts a little in the bathtub. She’s found it to her liking to prop herself up against you, let her head rest against your shoulder while you hold her close to your chest. You’ll admit that it’s a bit of an awkward arrangement, but there was no way you could just not indulge her after she asks to take a bath with you.

“The worst part is that they weren’t even, like, subtle,” she tells you, just sort of staring out into the distance while she talked. “He’d punch things when he got angry, even slapped a referee after he lost a game… Love is blind huh?”

You held her a little closer to your chest. “It’s okay. We all make mistakes.”

“Yeah, well, my mistakes left me with no physical scars but the emotional ones are plenty.”

You hope she can’t see you grimace. It’s hard to recover from these types of things, especially if you realise the stupidity behind your decisions.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” you tell her, and you really mean it. “It must be difficult… You know: recovering.”

The front of her lips curve up. “Thanks. I try not to let it weigh me down too much but… Just kinda happens to come out every now and then.”

You get it, you really do. Not that you’ve been in an abusive relationship like hers before, but you understand what it’s like. It’s sad really: being unable to break out of a cycle that hurts you the more you try to stay and change it. You admire the young girl’s strength, envy her courage for finally breaking the cycle and freeing herself for good.

“You’re safe now,” you whisper, moving some wet hair out of her face. “I will never hurt you. I promise.”

She smiles at that. “Thank you,” she says while pinching your cheek, “that means a lot to me.”

Then you bask in the silence for a little, taking in the smell of the bath salts and the feel of Yuna’s soft skin against yours. It’s a pretty romantic moment till Yuna’s bluntness breaks it.

“I’m, like, really wet,” she announces, gazing up at you from her position on your shoulder. You laugh.

“Didn’t you just cum?”

“Good things come in threes.”

She fixes you with a look, like she knows that you’re gonna give in.

(And you know what? She’s absolutely right. Can’t say no to a pretty girl.)

***

“Well hello to you too.”

Nayeon sounds almost angry on the other side of the video call. On your end, you have your phone’s back camera pointed to the current situation: Yuna atop of you, thighs locked around your cock as her hips rock up and down steadily. Her thighs are warm, pillowy; makes you grit your teeth while she moves languidly.

“Nayeon!” Yuna exclaims, almost too saccharine as she keeps her eyes locked on yours. “We were just thinking of you.”

She isn’t lying. Just moments before her call came, you two were making a joke about how she’d never let you get away with as much as Yuna did. It was a pretty humorous conversation, almost comedic if it wasn’t for the fact that Yuna was tugging your sweats down your thighs.

But, there she was, still moving in your lap. Yuna leans forward, hands planted on your chest as she continues to rock her hips, ass bouncing a little against your thighs.

You can hear a scoff from Nayeon.

Yuna turns her head to the screen, eyes looking at the phone but her hands still pushing on your chest, fingers flexing. "We really were," she whines, lips jutted into a pout. You watch her as her lips curl into a small smirk just a second later, her teeth peeking out, and you can feel your face grow warm when she looks back at you.

"Tell her what we were talking about," she orders, her voice soft but firm.

"Um...we were just, um—" you stutter out, and your throat goes dry as her hips keep going, her thigh muscles clenching around you.

"Go on."

"We were...just, uh, talking about how you're not here," you finally manage to get out.

"Aww, baby...” Nayeon is smiling. It’s sarcasm by the way; she's enjoying this as much as Yuna is.

Yuna's pout returns. "See, Nayeon?" She continues to roll her hips against you. "We were thinking of you,” she reiterates, making sure she has your eye contact while she fucks you with her heavenly thighs, “I know it's not fair that you aren't here, but he’s just so fucking hard… Someone had to do something about it.”

Nayeon gives a snort. “You two are lucky I’m not alone in my room right now.”

“And what would happen if you were?” Yuna challenges. You don’t recall her being this daring.

“Playing with myself, obviously,” the older girl replies. “You think I’d just watch you get him off with your thighs? I barely let that boy dominate me.”

Yuna chuckles and smiles your way.

“What a horrible situation,” she whispers, moving a little faster. “Luckily I’m here to pamper him.”

“And he’d better enjoy it while it lasts,” Nayeon smirks. “When I’m home he’s–”

Yuna cuts her off by hanging up. You stare wide-eyed in shock as she tosses the phone aside. “Too noisy. I can’t multitask,” she explains. “Call her back later. Let’s get back to it.”

With that, Yuna leans over you, her chest pressed to yours as she gives a slow grind in your lap, her hips moving in a figure eight. Your head rolls back, and you release a loud, drawn-out groan. Her thighs are so smooth against your cock, so warm, so soft. You wish you could bury your face in between them. The way her hips move is incredible; she knows what she wants, knows how to work you.

You try to sit up, but Yuna pushes you back down by your chest. Her lips curve into a smile, and she shakes her head.

"Stay down," she whispers, "you don't wanna ruin this, do you?"

"No."

"Then stay still. I'll make it quick."

Quick is an understatement. She's barely rocking her hips in your lap, but with how soft her thighs are, and the way they grip you like a vice, you know it'll probably be over sooner or later. You make a note to try and make this last for as long as you can. Yuna leans over you again, hands on your chest as she gives a rough buck of her hips. Your head snaps back and you let out a loud groan. She continues to grind against you, slowly, making sure to hit every sensitive part of your cock. You reach up to grab her hips, but she slaps your hands away.

"No touching," she tuts. "Let me do the work. You relax."

Your lips open to protest. She shushes you with a finger.

"Own me later," she whispers, sliding the finger down to the point where your collar bones meet. "Let me take care of you now."

You gulp, nodding.

Yuna's hands settle back on your chest, nails dragging across your skin, making you shiver. She's looking at you with those doe eyes, those pretty pink lips curled into a smirk as her hips pick up pace. The friction is incredible; Yuna's thighs feel like silk wrapped around your cock, warm and soft; the way they're clamped around you has you seeing stars. Your breath hitches in your throat when Yuna moves faster.

(And another thing about her: she’s so fucking good at pleasuring you that she always makes you lose your ability to think.)

"Fuck..." You moan, throwing your head back. "Feels so good..."

She smiles at that, giving a small hum of approval. "Does it?" She asks. "Good."

You look up at her, watching her roll her hips. She's really putting in work, moving in all sorts of ways to make sure you're feeling the most pleasure. It's not lost on you; she's an angel, and you thank every god there is for having her. Your cock throbs between her thighs, aching. The head is flushed red and leaking precum, which smears all over Yuna's thighs as she keeps moving. Your toes curl in the sheets, fingers gripping the fabric as she rides you.

Yuna continues to roll her hips, giving a few rough bucks when she feels like it. You're groaning and moaning under her, letting out all kinds of sounds that make her chuckle. She's having fun teasing you, getting you close to orgasm only to slow down and watch your face contort with pleasure.

"Don't cum yet," she says softly, running her hands over your chest. "We just started."

"I-I know," you reply, breathless. "But I...fuck..."

Yuna giggles. "That good?"

"Yeah. Fuck… don't stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it, baby."

You throw your head back, your hips twitching under hers. Yuna chuckles, keeping her thighs locked around you. Your cock aches, throbbing between them as she moves; precum drips onto her legs, which only makes the slide easier for her. You're starting to sweat; your body's temperature rises with each passing moment, the feeling of her thighs overwhelming you. Yuna's so warm against you, so soft and pliable; you can't help but imagine her underneath you, moaning and writhing as you fuck her. The thought has you bucking your hips up into her, causing her to gasp.

"Someone's eager," Yuna teases, running a hand through her hair. "What's going through your head?"

You groan in response, your hands sliding down her sides to grip her hips. "Nothing," you lie.

She snorts, knowing full well what's on your mind.

"Liar." She rocks her hips forward. "What are you thinking about?"

You gaze at her for a moment. "If I said you... Would you believe me?"

She rolls her eyes. "Wouldn't put it past you," she stops moving for a bit to give you the attention. "What are you doing to me in your head?"

"I never said–"

"Please," she interjects "We both know you want to bend me over the nearest fucking surface and fuck my brains out right now."

Her thighs start moving again. Your head falls back and a moan escapes you.

"Can you blame me?" You say. She smiles.

"No, not really. I am pretty hot anyway."

(There’s that little bit of Nayeon in her.)

You nod. "You're so fucking good to me." You manage to get out.

Yuna chuckles. "Wanna know something?"

"What?"

"I love the way you feel between my thighs," she tells you. "And I love how you sound when I'm making you feel good. I want to hear more of it."

With that, she leans forward, pressing her lips to yours. Her hips keep moving, rolling against you at an agonizing pace, causing you to moan against her mouth. She's quite literally giving you everything you want, injecting some mischief here and there that makes it feel like Nayeon possesses her sporadically. She's more gentle though, more kind and more caring too. Okay, not that Nayeon doesn't care, but she's kinda ruthless when she's horny. Yuna's much more caring, and a lot more willing to be a pillow princess. She likes being pampered. She likes being loved on and adored. She wants to be fucked and she wants to be taken care of. It's a mutual feeling between the two of you. You'll worship her, and she'll love you for it.

Yuna pulls away from the kiss, moving to your neck. She gives it a few open-mouthed kisses, nipping at your skin. You sigh, letting your head fall back. She continues to rock her hips against yours, grinding down onto your cock. Her hands slide up your chest, nails digging into your skin, eliciting a gasp from you.

Yuna chuckles, kissing up your neck to your ear. "You're so big," she whispers. "So fucking thick... Feels so good."

You groan, fingers gripping her hips.

"You like that?" She asks. "Like me talking about your cock?"

You nod.

"I love it," and she talks with a purr. "Love how it feels inside me... How deep it goes... How hard it throbs..." She whispers—no. Moans all this right into your ear. "Fuck... I really want this thing inside me right now."

"Later," you quickly propose. "Please?"

She laughs — sweet and melodic. "Never said that I would put it inside of me," she reminds you. "Now, you zip up and make a mess for me, okay?"

You moan in response, nodding your head. You can't deny her, not when she's making you feel this good.

Yuna keeps moving against you, her thighs clenching around your cock. She moves slowly, her hips rolling at an agonizing pace. Your cock is aching; you can feel yourself getting closer to your climax with each passing second. Your eyes are glued to her thighs, watching them move. She looks so good on top of you. Her hips are hypnotic; your mind spins as she fucks you.

Your eyes move up to her face. Her eyes are closed, lips parted slightly as she focuses on her movements. Her hands are still on your chest, fingers flexing. Her breathing is heavy, warm breath fanning over your skin. You take in her beauty, letting it consume you. She's so fucking perfect, so angelic. Hard to believe how much of a slut she can be.

"I'm close," you manage to get out. "Yuna..."

She smiles. "Go ahead, baby."

"Don't wanna make a mess." You say.

Yuna giggles, her hips picking up pace. "Too late for that."

That's what sends you over the edge.

You cum; it’s fucking messy.

Cum fills the space between your dick and her thighs, slathering and flowing and spurting onto everything it can possibly get on. It slicks the insides of her legs; gets on her ass a little and pools beneath her crotch. Yuna hums in satisfaction, a smile on her face as she turns behind her to survey the damage.

“Clean up on aisle four,” she mutters, reaching back to wipe some cum off her ass. She sends her fingers into her mouth – makes a big show of sucking them clean. You can’t help but chuckle a little at the sight.

“Hey,” you call her, your hands reaching down to grope her ass. “I’m planning to change the sheets tomorrow.”

She gives you a look. “Are you saying that cause you’re actually going to? Or because you just want to fuck me right now.”

Oh and she’s perceiving you almost too accurately. You won’t admit your answer, even to yourself.

“I dunno,” you shrug. “Either way: we’ll have to change the sheets.”

Yuna matches your game.

“Call Nayeon back,” she instructs. “Let’s show her what she’s missing.”

***

Again: Nayeon just kinda chooses when and where to be a bit of a minx, and you just have to roll with it really.

The decision—for today—was made somewhere halfway through the drive to fetch Yuna. You were just talking about how Nayeon had picked that girl up, and her voice trails off as she passes the exit sign. She just keeps on driving while pretending to look like she’s in the right. The GPS doesn’t lie though: it keeps on promoting her to U-turn at every opportunity that’s available to her. She ignores it of course, kinda tunes it out even though the instructions are really getting annoying now (and not to mention it sounds like it’s demanding her to go back this instant, like a mum who just can’t get her kid to listen). It’s like how she ignores you lately.

“She’s probably gonna think we crashed or something,” you muse, lurching in your seat a little as she takes a left. “We’re like, what, fifteen minutes late or something?”

“Nah,” Nayeon quickly refutes. She stops to let a BMW swerve around the corner before she gently taps on the gas. “She’s probably still packing her things,” the turning signal clicks at a steady tempo, stops after she takes the 3rd exit on the roundabout, “maybe even settling a bit of her make up or whatever.”

This is the most she’s spoken since her return.

You hazard a glance at the GPS. The blue line leading you back to your intended destination only grows longer, sometimes glitching a little as the turn of Nayeon’s car gives it the illusion that you’re heading back when she’s really just turning into a one way street. You can’t tell if she knows where she’s going or if she’s just throwing out random bullshit.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she grumbles, casting a rather nasty glance your way. “I’m just taking a shortcut. That’s all.”

(Is it not painfully obvious where this is going?)

And a few minutes later, she’s got you gritting your teeth in the backseat of her car. No smug remarks from her — she has your balls in her mouth and she’s getting real sloppy in some alley she’s parked in. You don’t know where to begin, where to find solid reasoning for what you’re witnessing and feeling right now. It’s pretty fucking asinine (and she probably knows that it is) and damn straight goes against all branches of logic. In no world does she have a valid reason for being this horny at 11am on a Saturday.

(Actually, there’s one reason: she just feels like it.)

“You do know that we’re both astronomically fucked if anyone so much as glances our way.” You’re ashamed to admit that this actually has you hissing, partly out of annoyance and partly out of pleasure. “You’re fucking ridiculous. I hope you know that.”

Nayeon spits on your cock. Her hands close into a fist around your shaft, her eyes almost empty as she spreads her saliva in a close to even layer over you. “Are you quite done?” She asks. The emptiness in her voice is kinda scary. It makes her sound exasperated, like she’s sick of your reasonings. “You know, you talk an awful lot for someone who literally writhes when I quite fucking literally touch your cock. Don’t act tough on me. We both know who you are. We both know you’re my toy.”

Figuring out if this is part of the bit is the hardest part of your predicament. She plays too much as of late: with her eyes, her tone, her facial expressions… Sometimes it makes you wonder if she really keeps you around just to satisfy her cock cravings or if she really wants you around. Ever since she’s gotten back, it feels like she’s been fucking you and Yuna with nothing but pure hate. You feel it in her eyes, in the violent buck of her hips when she rides you or even in the way she spanks Yuna with a little too much glee. It confounds you; admittedly: you’re petrified of the possibility that she’s straight up jealous of how your relationship with Yuna’s been going since she roped her into this mess.

You can’t help it. You need to know.

You grab her by the wrist, a little harder than you’d like but it’ll have to do. “Stop,” and you don’t mean to be assertive, but it’s all you can summon now. “I need you to answer me honestly.”

In the passenger-side seat, Nayeon fixes her gaze on yours. She tries to struggle from your grasp; you keep a firm grip.

“What are we?” you ask, straightforward; direct. You’ve been with Yuna enough times to know that this’ll elicit an honest response from her. “Cause it just feels like I’m just your piece of meat to fuck and own. We don’t talk, you don’t even look at me when we go to sleep… What are we Nayeon?”

And it makes her freeze. Your sincerity is scary to her — ropes her into your thoughts more than you usually do. She’s silent, face blanker than paper. Her fingers on the hand that you’ve got in your grasp curl a little. “We’re just fuck buddies… That’s all.”

You just stare at her for a second, soak in the weight of that statement. “Then why does it feel like you’re jealous of Yuna?”

“I’m not. What are you even…” You can tell she’s surprised — her eyes do that thing where they widen, and then she blinks. Your question is loaded to her: it catches her in a place where she’s made privy to the fact that her emotions are more out there and perceptible than she’d like.

You raise an eyebrow. “Come on… We both know that’s not true.”

Her plump lips purse. She looks away for a moment.

“And what would you do if I said I was jealous?” she raises. “Kick her out? Stop fucking her?”

She raises a valid argument. Frankly, you didn’t bring this up with the end goal of sorting this out. You just wanted the older girl to accept her emotions, maybe acknowledge that it’s a little petty and then kinda just move on. Of course, nothing with Nayeon is ever really that simple.

“You’re the one that brought her into this,” you remind her, partly because you feel like she isn’t acknowledging her fault in this situation and partly because you have nothing else to say.

She rips her hand away. “So it’s my fault then?”

“What?” you sit up a little in your seat. “No. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Her eyes sear your soul with her frustration. This hurts her more than you think. “I’m saying we’re both a little guilty here,” you clarify. “We both have a part to play in how you feel, so maybe we should just talk this out.”

She goes quiet. Too quiet considering the circumstance.

“Later.” She decides. “I think better with a load inside of me.”

***

So to reiterate: they're similar but kinda different.

“Jesus… Did you really have to get it on my dress?” Nayeon’s clearly pissed. The wet wipe in her hand rubs at the stain of her dress furiously, as if the aggressive motion will kinda just get it out magically. Yuna retires into your arms, her sweat-matted hair sticking to your chest a little. The syntax behind how you got to this point is more complicated that you’d care to elaborate on, but let’s just say: Nayeon was happier a second ago…

(Okay but to be fair: her dress was in the way when you pulled out. So it’s like, half your fault, but you like to play the victim.)

“Relax,” Yuna assures her senior. “It’ll wash right off.”

Nayeon clicks her tongue in annoyance. “You stop defending him. He knows what he’s done.”

Yuna giggles. She smiles up at you. “Yeah… He does.”

They don’t know it, but they’ve got a pretty good dynamic going: Mother-daughter; Spicy and Sweet; Sour Cream and Onion. They contrast, diverge; but they compliment each other almost perfectly.

(It’s no family reunion; but it’s dinner and diatribes from here on out.)

—

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Hope you will be full of joy and fulfill your dreams next year!

Anyway! This is lokwey the start of a series where I just kinda explore more filthy and complicated things, stuff that’s just not quite right but somehow works. I won’t be following the same idols and people, so this isn’t exactly an interlinked series. Hard to explain but you guys can just come to your own conclusions really.

~Nichu

#kpop #smut #im nayeon #nayeon #twice nayeon #twice smut #nayeon smut #shin yuna #itzy yuna #itzy smut #itzy yuna smut

875 notes · View notes

hs-is-loml · 2 days ago

Text

He's My Favorite. (ln4)

Pairing: Lando Norris x Sainz!Actress!Reader

Summary: fans are speculating who y/n might be dating but it turns out it was in front of their faces the whole time. or y/n and lando are mistakenly considered to only be best friends and people are in for a surprise.

Type: Social Media AU! face claim is Bruna Marquezine!

Warnings: probably a few grammar errors. lots of fluff. drivers standing their ground against neymar jr. because he deserves his own warning. inaccurate timelines but then again this is a fictional smau! UNEDITED

a/n: i'm on a kick rn. nothing can stop me.

all translations come from google! english translations are in parentheses!!

masterlist

twitter

instagram

carlossainz55 just made a post

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 1,560,937 others

carlossainz55 so proud of this one! but papa did say your head is growing too big after you saw yourself on the billboard...and i agree with him. anyways, go support y/n by watching her new movie Blue Beetle now in theaters!

tagged yourusername

view all 117,342 comments

sainzforlife this family is too talented for their own good-

yourusername papa did not say that.

→ carlossainz55 just ask him then @/carlossainzoficial

→ carlossainzoficial mija, es de lo único que has estado hablando desde que lo viste. (daughter, that's all you've been talking about since you saw it.)

→ yourusername papa, that's not very nice. don't try to pretend like i didn't catch you sending the trailer to all your friends last week...

iamrebeccad beautiful girl and amazing movie!

→ yourusername i love you more than my brother.

→ liked by iamrebeccad and 217 others

xolo_mariduena at least you didn't see her crying when she first saw the billboard

→ yourusername XOLO, NO ONE WAS SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT

→ landonorris send the video.

→ yourusername now, look what you've done. all the drivers are going to see me crying now-

→ xolo_mariduena you'll still take me to the next gp right...?

landonorris just to let you guys know she cried after this photo was taken too

→ carlando4life does this mean lando was with the family for the private screening??

→ 4papaya lando is a part of their family so probably😭

instagram

landonorris just made a post

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, mclaren, and 1,860,657 others

landonorris can't believe this girl is going to be blown up on the big screen coming to theaters near you. jokes aside proud of you and everything you do.

tagged yourusername

view all 99,342 comments

thatonebakucorner this post is so sweet!

yourusername thank you, lan🫶🏻

→ carlossainz55 why did you send him a heart?

→ charles_leclerc yeah, what's that about?🤨

→ yourusername carlos, you're just jealous you didn't get a post from lando

georgerussell63 i never get appreciation posts like this

→ landonorris what do you want me to post about your slideshows?

→ alex_albon it's because you're not y/n

welovey/n LOL not the drivers grilling lando about this post

ln4csforever "proud of you and everything you do" LANDO JUST TELL HER YOU LOVE HER ALREADY

→ paddockfashion please- like lando could pull someone like y/n

twitter

instagram

yourusername just made a post

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, neymarjr, and 1,341,972 others

yourusername such a crazy week but glad i got to spend it with some of my favorite people. thank you for all the love and support you guys have given to Blue Beetle!

tagged carlossainz55 and landonorris

view all 117,593 comments

worldchampionsisaid what is neymar doing here?!?

→ neymarandy/n they need to get back together asap!

→ mywifeisy/n yes because that would be such a good idea even though he cheated on his baby mama while she was pregnant??

oscarpiastri lando is asking if you're serious with the guy in the third photo

→ oscarpiastri apparently, i wasn't supposed to ask you on here so now lando is yelling at me.

carmenmmundt proud of you, love! ❤️

→ yourusername love you, carmen! 🤎

ferraricountyourdays the third pic?? Y/N, WHO IS THAT MAN??

→ y/nismilf she needs to hard launch him already!

neymarjr linda como sempre, amor. (beautiful as always, love.)

→ carlossainz55 no, go away.

→ charles_leclerc wrong post, buddy.

→ georgerussell63 abosolutely not-

→ danielricciardo don't forget what happened last time you tried to contact her.

→ maxverstappen1 move along.

→ fifaandf1crossover do you know you have 30 minutes?

→ y/npleasemarryme love that they always protect her!

shesmyfavactress weird she posted picture with her bf along with one of lando and carlos

→ f1girlies maybe because she's an adult and allowed to be friends with her brother's ex teammate?

fernandoalo_oficial i remember when i used to be your favorite driver

→ carlossainzoficial those were the days

→ yourusername you two are still my favorite of all time.

→ carlossainz55 i'm hurt, y/n.

→ landonorris so was your caption meaningless?

→ yourusername i can't win.

whatacrossover oh, lando and y/n are definitely dating.

yourusername just added to their story

shared post by yourusername and landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55, anasainzvdec, and 2,493,968 others

yourusername and landonorris just kidding, he's my favorite.

view all 136,975 comments

carlossainz55 that hand is getting a bit low, don't you think?

→ yourusername get over it. you've had years to get used to this already.

→ inmyf1era YEARS you say?

landonorris i get to be with you every day. what a life.

→ yourusername i love you.

→ oscarpiastri you're ridiculous

→ charles_leclerc mate, look what she has turned you into

→ yourusername charles, i will tell alex about this.

→ charles_leclerc I WAS JUST KIDDING. PLEASE NO

lilymhe was waiting for this hard launch!

→ alex_albon i thought lando was going to spill before they could even do one

carlossainzoficial what can i say i love my son so i approve

→ yourusername could've said that you love and care for your daughter's happiness

sebastianvettel actually, y/n forgot who her real favorite is

→ yourusername love you, seb!

→ landonorris back off, old man.

840 notes · View notes

dreamsteddie · 3 days ago

Text

Nancy knows what people think when they see her and Steve together these days. People mostly include Robin Buckley who, despite what they both say, Nancy doesn't completely believe isn't carrying some kind of torch for the man.

They aren't dating, but it's obvious to anyone who knows them that's what Nancy is angling for. She's not subtle, and she's not trying to be. Doesn't see any reason why she should be. But she knows what it looks like. Nancy Wheeler, fresh off an amicable but heartbreaking end to her relationship with Johnathan Byers has turned tail for a rebound with former boyfriend Steve Harrington. She's using him. She's leading him on. She's going to break his heart, again.

The truth is that Nancy has always liked Steve, was in love with Steve for a fleeting moment when they were both young and stupid and full of mistakes waiting to be made and in the end they had hurt each other, misunderstood each other, too many times to last through their tumultuous teenage years.

The Nancy and Steve of 1984 couldn't have loved each other right, but Nancy knows in her heart that the Nancy and Steve of 1987 could make something beautiful.

Steve is so different from who he used to be. There's a steadiness in him that he always tried to emulate but never fully embodied until the summer of 1985. He always knew how to make her laugh, how to get her to tap into that adventurous spirit within her and live life, but now he also makes her feel safe.

She wants to hold him the way he used to hold her. Wants to whisk him away to New York and build a life perfectly balanced between her ambition and his steadfastness. So she's putting everything she has into rekindling those embers that have always smoldered between them into a steady fire.

She just has to convince Robin that she's in it for the long haul this time.

------

Robin thinks that before she met Steve Harrington her life was never so much like a soap opera.

Her best friend seems to attract danger, betrayal, and romance to him like the world is full of moths and he's the only flame for miles. It would be funnier if it wasn't so god damn annoying sometimes.

Steve doesn't know it, despite how much he insists on being some kind of love expert, but he's got two very eligible bachelors vying for his hand at the moment. She's pretty sure they both see themselves as tragic heroes in this tale of romance, but from her vantage point, it's more like two ornery cats fighting for the prized spot of their owner's lap.

Nancy and Eddie have made themselves both near-permanent fixtures at the Family Video. Ostensibly, they come in because Hawkins is still in the process of rebuilding and there isn't much to do at the moment outside of wandering the woods, loitering at the convenience store, and watching movies at home. In actuality they're both trying to monopolize as much of Steve's time as possible, each trying to lock down his weekend plans before the other.

The first couple of weeks it was funny just to watch, now the only enjoyment she gets out of the whole circus is ruining their plans. She relishes the pissed-off-priss look she gets from Nancy when she asks Steve to go to the drive-in the next town over and Robin turns it into a group outing instead. It's equally funny to watch Eddie's puffed-up shoulders droop when he can't figure out a way to say no to Robin enthusiastically asking if she can join them at the trailer to smoke up on a Saturday night.

In truth, as much as she enjoys messing with them, Robin knows who she wants to win this war. She knows too much about Steve and Nancy's past and all the ways they weren't good for each other to trust her deceptively fragile best friend in Nancy's capable hands.

Eddie, on the other hand...well she's still going to make him work for it before she throws him a bone.

------

Eddie's never been one to fall in love.

He's had crushes, shared a few kisses with girls and boys alike, and lost his virginity in the same fumbling but meaningful way most teens do.

But love? He's never had that before, wasn't sure what it would even feel like.

It turns out that for Eddie, being in love feels a lot like being an overgrown house plant that's finally been moved into suitably a larger pot.

You see, Eddie knows a lot about growing up on his own. Raising himself and finding ways to survive, if not thrive, with a distinct lack of nurturing. He knows how to grow under someone, to grow under the clumsy guidance of his uncle Wayne who never intended to become a parent. And most of all he knows a hell of a lot about growing despite. Growing under the harsh boot forever trying to push him back into the hard dirt he came from.

It's something else entirely to grow with someone in the way he's been growing with Steve.

Steve who was there when he woke up, almost equally as injured as Eddie himself after a second, world saving round with Vecna. Steve who let Eddie lean on him in the difficult month of physical and emotional recovery that came next. Who helped Eddie come to terms with the new reality he was living under the way Steve wished someone had been there for him after his first encounter with the Upsidedown. Steve, who on paper should have been one of the people pushing him down, always gave Eddie the space to be himself and never tried to force either of them into a box they didn't fit.

Eddie knows he's not The Girl. He's not the one who got away, he's not the stalwart princess in one of his campaigns who saves the day herself but still gets the guy. He's not Nancy Wheeler.

But he's also not a quitter, and even if everything about the world and the narrative arc of their lives says that Steve will never end up with him, Eddie knows he would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn't put his hat in the ring for the hand of the fair Sir Steve.

------

Steve's not stupid.

He knows that there's something happening between Nancy, Eddie, and himself. Knows that if he chooses to look a little closer, to examine why exactly all his weekends are suddenly booked up and Robin has taken to stealing the Recese's Pieces off the shelf whenever either one of them comes into the store like she's settling in for a show, he would come to the conclusion that two of his best friends are essentially courting him in competition with each other.

But Steve isn't looking closer.

His mom always said that he was just like his father, too stubborn for his own good.

Robin says he's a control freak, pushing non-life-threatening problems off until he knows how to deal with them on his own terms.

The truth is Steve already knows how this will end, and he knows how this should end.

Because in the eyes of society, in the arc of the narrative, Steve and Nancy should already be making plans to move out to New York and start a life together. Steve should be looking at apartments while Nancy finalizes her class schedule. He should be looking into getting a job at his dad's New York office to support his future wife through her college education where they both know she'll breeze through her classes and move onto the world-changing career she was always meant to have, while Steve stays home with their children like a perfect little modern family.

And the thing is, if the story had gone like it was supposed to, if the world had been saved the fourth time around and Eddie Munson had died on the cold, hard ground of the Upsidown, that's probably exactly the future that would have happened and Steve would have never known to not be content with it. But Eddie did make it, and while Steve mourns the future he could have had, he knows it's not the one he's going to choose in the end.

Even though Steve knows exactly what will happen when he allows himself to face the ever-mounting tension between the three of them, it's scary to take that plunge.

Everything about Steve's world up until Robin has told him that what he's going to choose will damn him forever, and even if he's never put much stock into God and the church, he knows that the future in front of them will never be easy. There's a part of him that wants to take the easy way out. He's never been attracted to a man before Eddie, never had to imagine himself loving someone discreetly, and the thought of it makes his heart hurt prematurely. It would be simpler, he knows, to choose the path most taken.

But Steve has always thought more with his heart than his brain, and he knows that after everything they've been through, after all the time they've spent healing together and growing as one that he could never choose anyone but Eddie.

The time is coming for him to make his final decision, he can feel it, but for now he'll let them sit in this liminal space a little longer.

#steddie #stranger things #dreamer speaks #fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #robin buckly #this one is a little different #but it's been floating around my head for a while #lmk what you think!#Edit: 12/22 for spelling and gramatical errors

606 notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 1 day ago

Text

Danny: What's one of your characters flaws?

Tim: I get attached too easily. I fall into obsessions quickly. I hero worship to the point of worry. Oh, and I get Hangry.

Danny: I meant the character flaws you put for the assignment.....

Tim: Patricide.

Danny: Alright thanks. I'll ugh, see you around?

Tim: You won't see me but I'll see you. Through my camera lens.

Danny: What?!

Tim: Don't act surprised. I just told you my flaws.

Danny: I thought you were just being edgy!?

Tim: *frog blinks* Why would I waste this chance to speak to *whispers* Phantom.

Danny: How do you know that!?

Tim: I used to follow Batman and Robin around before Robin died, and you popped up. Good thing you did, too, because Batman was going crazy. You really saved him from the void. I love you. Also, I think someone put something in my water bottle because I'm shaking and saying things I usually wouldn't be saying and-

Danny: *Grabs bottle to sniff* someone dumped a truth serum in here. Let's go ahead and get you to the cave.

Tim: You can smell that? Of course, you can; you're half ghost, which could be considered its own species since all senses are enhanced. Plus, some ghosts are born in the Infinite Realm, which means reproduction is possible between-

Danny: Let's play the quiet game

Tim: Oh! I'm really good at that game. I never made any sounds when following the Gotham Heros around! Five years and counting!

Danny: You were nine when you started following Bruce around!?

Tim: I'm a smart stalker. But shhhhhhh, it's quiet time.

Danny: I'm both impressed and afraid.

Tim: *finger guns and winks*

Danny: And oddly attracted to you.

Tim: *Beams*

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #from a fic i never wrote #Au where Tim remains a citizen #But Danny pops in as the third side kick #He was turned into Phantom early at age 12 #Ran to Gotham away from his parents and saved Bruce #Jason is out there plotting #Dead Tired #Someone is after Tim's company #From a fic I never wrote

929 notes · View notes

chuluoyi · 3 days ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄

xavier x reader

while the entire kingdom of philos rejoices over the soon-to-be-born heir to the throne, the king’s unwavering priority remains clear: his queen

genre/warnings: mildly suggestive, fluff, fluff, fluff, comfort, king!xavier and queen!reader, pregnancy, spoilers! from xavier's myth shooting stars and taking elements of xavier's card silvery polyphony

note: i'm not actually a xavier girlie... but ever since his myth and anecdote when shooting stars fall, he's been marinating in my head :')

“Your Majesty, here are the gifts meant for the Queen by the townsfolk.”

Xavier’s gaze swept over the various trinkets that filled the throne room—from fine fabrics and glistening pearls, to handwritten messages with heartfelt wishes for the future royal baby and your wellbeing. He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face.

"All this? You’ve inspected every single one of them?" he questioned, gaze flicked to Jeremiah, his aide. His cerulean eyes narrowed slightly. "Nothing with malicious intent?"

Jeremiah shook his head with a smile. "No. They are purely tokens of love and respect for Her Majesty."

"I see..."

Xavier hummed softly, the stiffness in his posture easing as the assurance settled over him—no harm would come to you. In the fifth year of your reign as King and Queen of Philos, it had become clear that the people had come to adore their queen to such an extent.

As they should. The king found himself smiling despite his usual composure then. You were due their respect for all of your service and compassion. And now, with you carrying the future heir to the throne, it was even more deserved.

"Has the Queen been well? She hasn't been around much," Jeremiah asked, a knowing look crossed his face. "After all, you're counting down the days now..."

With the royal physician declaring you were at full-term, you could give birth any day now. Xavier would be lying if he said he wasn't antsy, but the least he could do in front of his subjects was showing an air of indifference.

But of course, Jeremiah knew him best after you.

"Why don't you pay her a visit? And oh, yeah, I think I've heard the maids saying Her Majesty is missing having the King serenading her!"

Your husband had been busy these past few days that he had little time to spend with you each day.

Of course, you missed him. There wasn’t much you could do while in confinement. And so when he entered your chambers on this windy winter day, you were more enthusiastic than you should have—

“Xavier!” You turned to him and smiled so brightly, your excitement making you rise to your feet and scamper towards him.

But he was faster, closing the distance in an instant and catching you before you could take more than a few steps. His hands steadied you, as the heavy weight in your womb proved to be a challenge.

“You’re supposed to be on bedrest,” he scolded, a frown tugging at his features. His hands rested firmly on your shoulders, holding you in place. “Don’t move around too much.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” You giggled as he led you to your bed, but before you could settle in, a sharp wave of pain rippled through your abdomen and spine. The smile faltered on your lips as you sucked in a quick breath, instinctively leaning into him for support.

“What's wrong?” Xavier’s voice tensed with concern, his arm tightening around you as his eyes widened in alarm. His free hand hovered protectively over yours, which was clutching your swollen belly. "Is it hurting? I’ll call for—"

“No, no!” You declined amidst your labored breaths, mustering up a smile despite the discomfort. “I’ve consulted the royal physician. It’s perfectly normal for me to experience this... I just have to bear it.”

“How is this normal?” Xavier's brow furrowed with worry and sternness. “If this keeps up, how will you preserve your strength for the real labor?”

He had always detested seeing you in distress. It was evident in all his actions, from the earliest moments of your relationship to this very day, and it made your heart warm.

When the pain subsided, you made him sit on your bed and brought both your hands to cup his face, trying to coax a smile from him.

"Don't worry too much, love." You grinned, eyes crinkling. "On the bright side, it just means that our little star is thiiis close to meeting us."

Xavier found your gaze and for a moment, he stayed silent. His clear blue eyes softened as they held yours. You had always been like this—diminishing your own discomfort in favor of reassuring him, and if you thought it would make him feel better, then you were sorely wrong because his instincts to protect you were deeply engraved in him, and it only fueled his concern further.

His hands settled over yours, pressing them to his face.

“From what I’ve seen, this baby really enjoys bullying you,” he muttered sullenly.

You pursed your lips. “A friendly reminder, you’re the one who got me with child.”

“I’ve always thought that sexual act is the pinnacle of showing the depths of my undying loyalty towards you.” His tone was mock-serious, the edge of a grin tugging at his lips. “The baby is a pleasant gift, what I enjoy more though—”

Before you could protest, his fingers skimmed over your figure, landing with unmistakable familiarity on your ample breasts—

“I like these the most.”

“Xavier!” You swatted his hand away with wide eyes, crossing both arms over your chest in an attempt to block him from further groping.

He chuckled openly at how defensive you were, a playful glint in his eyes. With a soft pat on your head, he stood up and extended his right hand towards you.

“What?” You stared at his hand, almost squeaking, wary that his hands might wander to your sensitive skin again. Xavier let out another chuckle, clearly amused by your reaction.

“I’ve heard through the grapevine that Her Majesty the Queen wants me to serenade her,” he said with a teasing smile. “And as your humble servant, who am I to refuse?”

. . .

You has always adored how Xavier plays the piano.

He claimed he didn't like the instrument that much, but the way his fingers moved over the keys so effortlessly, each note flowing with such precision—it was one of the many ways he captured your heart.

You sat next to him by the grand piano, your head gently bobbing along with the beautiful rhythm he drew from the keys.

“You used to play this a lot back then,” you commented as Xavier started playing the piece he composed himself, one you often referred as ‘his very own soundtrack.’

Celestial Serenade. Xavier even had a name for it. Solemn and playful, it was the beginning that always got your heart racing. But when he reached the bridge, a gnawing sadness would creep in, tugging at your heart.

And suddenly, in that moment, you had an epiphany.

From the days you had loved him as a student in the Academy, and then as a knight and your crown prince, those lonely years of waiting for him to come back the first time, until that decisive heartbreaking day when you let him go into the unknown once and for all—

—and those gruelling, painful years of waiting that followed afterwards… up until the day he finally came back to restore Philos, to retake his throne, and to make you his queen in the truest sense—

Tears pricked at your eyes at the flashback of everything the two of you had gone through, right after he finished the outro.

Xavier paused, his fingers still on the keys. He turned to you, but his eyes widened as he noticed the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Why are you crying?”

“Nothing, I’m just—” Startled, you quickly wiped the tears from your face, but Xavier gently lifted your chin, his touch soft but insistent.

He was worried, his gaze searching yours as if he was struggling to find the right words, his eyes full of concern. “Tell me,” he urged quietly, the hint of a tremor in his voice. “What is it? What made you cry?”

How could you explain what you had just realized— the weight of all that had brought you to this moment? The journey, the sacrifices, the love that had never faltered even in the darkest of times?

And it all culminated into one single sentence, as you stared right into those beautiful eyes of his:

“I love you, Xavier.”

In that very second, Xavier could’ve sworn his heart was entirely in your grasp. His breath caught, and the world around him seemed to fade, leaving only you—your teary-eyed confession and the raw honesty in your gaze.

Through countless dawns and twilights, through many starry sea expeditions and a daring voyage to the past— everything he had done to protect you. All these long years of yearning to see you again had led to this precise moment, where happiness was finally within your reach.

To know his beloved returns his feelings in full… He was overwhelmed by love you gave him, it made his heart so, so full.

Xavier cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears that streaked your cheeks. “Don't cry, you big crybaby. Save it for when we welcome our child later.”

You sniffled, frowning at him. “So, you don’t love me?”

A soft smile played on his lips as he pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in his warmth. He buried his face in the crook of your shoulder.

“Silly... I love you more than anything in this world.”

Three days later, you went into labor.

The palace descended into chaos, with attendants scurrying through the halls. But amidst all the commotion, Xavier was the one who struggled the most to maintain his composure.

Your cries from behind the doors felt like a blade slicing through his chest. He wanted nothing more than to rush in, to hold your hand, to do something—anything—but the midwives had firmly insisted that he stay out of the way.

Xavier’s mind raced with worry, his eyes fixed on the door as though sheer willpower could ease your pain. The only thing that mattered right in this moment was you and the child you were bringing into the world—and it was taking everything in him not to lose his wits.

Then, amidst his fervent prayers, hours later, a piercing cry broke through.

Xavier froze, his heart lurching. Relief and disbelief flooded him all at once as he realized—it was his baby's first cry.

But what about you?

He so desperately wanted to see you that Jeremiah had to physically restrain him. The women assured him you and the baby were being tended to.

When they finally allowed him inside, he rushed in so quickly he nearly stumbled.

There you were, seated on the bed, hair disheveled, exhaustion etched into every line of your face, yet to him, you were radiant—utterly so. His heart swelled as he watched you cradle the newborn, cooing with a tenderness that stole his breath.

“Now, say hi to Papa...”

Your voice was almost feather-like, yet it was in that moment the truth hit him with full force—his baby was really here. He stared at the tiny bundle in your arms, awestruck, before his gaze shifted to your pale face again.

And you smiled at him so brilliantly. So warmly.

“Xavier... say hello to our son.”

He felt like he was in a daze as he slowly kneeled and took the baby into his arms. The small, fragile weight felt both unfamiliar and extraordinary. This child— was a part of him, but most importantly, he was a part of you too.

The baby stirred, and when his eyes blinked open, Xavier’s breath hitched. Those tiny blue eyes, a mirror of his own, locked onto him.

“Ah, he—” Xavier faltered, his chest tightening as emotions overwhelmed him. Holding his son, seeing him so clearly now, felt like an arrow straight to his heart. Before this moment, he hadn’t thought much about how the baby might look. But now, he couldn’t help marveling at the sight. The little one had his hair and eyes, yet your delicate nose and soft, heart-shaped lips.

In that instant, all his doubts and fears melted away like snow under the sun, replaced by a feeling so intense, so overflowing, it brought a lump to his throat and tears in his eyes.

This was love—raw and undeniable. A love he never knew he could feel so deeply, now cradled in his arms.

And also in you.

As his gaze found yours again, Xavier made a vow—to every god and deity that might be listening, that no matter where his life led him, no matter how cruel fate might twist his path, if it meant getting even a glimpse of this unparalleled happiness with you, then—

He would endure it all. Every storm, every trial. For you, for the love you shared, and now for the tiny life in his arms. And if you were ever separated again—

No matter how, no matter how many times, through all means, he will definitely find you, always.

#xavier x reader #lads xavier x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace x you #xavier x you #xavier x mc #lads x you #lads smut #love and deepspace xavier #lads xavier #xavier love and deepspace #lads x reader fluff #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace scenarios #love and deepspace fluff

1K notes · View notes

quarterlifekitty · 2 days ago

Text

Promethean

fuckboy!Soap x Shy!Reader x Ghost (college!au) p.2 here’s part 1

Uhh warning soap isn’t in this chapter and reader isn’t acting very shy rn lol

Simon managed to drag you, shocked and still on shaky legs, into his surprisingly clean car and across town to a little cafe. The guy with eye bags behind the counter starts making his order as soon as he comes in the door— must be a regular.

At the counter he points to a couple of items in the display case, before prompting you— you stutter out your go-to, and Simon whips out a beat-up debit card before you can think to pull out your wallet.

The largest size of earl grey almost looks normal in his large hand, a plate of pastries in his other mitt. You grab your own drink and follow where he tilts his head in gesture.

When you sit, he pushes the plate towards you. Like he’s dropping a fresh kill at your doorstep—a courting gift. Eat. Be provided for, sensitive doe. You pick up a danish, if only to ease the clench of his fist on the table. He pulls the black surgical mask down to sip his tea in a way that’s almost hilariously delicate given his permanent scowl.

You couldn’t have sat in silence for more than 10 minutes. But it feels like a lot longer.

“Simon. What are we doing here?” You probe quietly. Saying his name when you’ve never actually been introduced to each other feels wrong. Like you’ve stolen a piece of him that he hasn’t given freely.

“He never takes you out,” he grunts. As if that explains anything.

“It’s not… what we have isn’t like that.”

——

Simon chews on your overly diplomatic response for a minute. That’s what it must be, chewing— why else would he grind his teeth together when his tongue is still wet with his favorite soothing beverage?

You’re kind. Kinder than the mutt deserves.

“But you want it to be.” He says it with an almost biblical level of finality. Your pastry making the plate clink against the table as you drop it back down.

“What would you know about what I want?”

“You’re an easy read. S’how y’got yourself in this situation. Soap’s not exactly a rocket scientist when it comes to chattin’ up birds, you’re jus’ an open book.”

Simon shamelessly stares at your lips as they quirk in anger— so unused to vitriol. It’s gorgeous.

“So he’s using me. I know. Is that what this was about? Taking me on a pity date to let me down gently? Or did you just wanna see if you could have a go as well?”

Seeing you like this. It’s something else. He’s seen you mope around so many times, silently begging for crumbs that will never be tossed your way. It’s even harder to pull his gaze from you, now that you’re hissing. He wants to dig his teeth into your heart shoulder and rip out the bruise Johnny left you with.

Soap is his best friend.

“He’s a dickhead. You don’t need him. You’ll find something better.”

Simon has never been what he would call “something better”. Not in any sense. But this might be the first time he’s wanted to be.

“I won’t,” you say with the lower half of your face hidden by the sipping of your drink. As if it’s quenched your fire, and all that leaves you is vapor. “I’m not… the type.”

He gets it. Really, he does. He’s not the type either— or so he’s thought. You’re making him wonder if he’s imagined that about himself— the same way you’ve clearly imagined it about yourself.

“What’s the rest of your day look like?”

“…Nothing set in stone.” The not that it’s any of your fucking business goes unspoken, but is plain to see in the air between you.

“Lemme take you around. On a date. Be mine for today. If y’hate it, I’ll drop you back at yours and the next time you come round, I’ll mind my business and keep the door closed.” Well, that’s the most you’ve ever heard him say in one go. And it begs a question.

“What happens if I like it? You’ll fuck me in a different room of the same frat house?” Your unimpressed look makes him feel ravenous. She-wolf is threatening to turn her eyes from the display. Rejection. Not an option. “Or maybe you’ll ask me to go steady,” you huff under your breath like it’s a bad joke.

“If y’like it, then you’ll stay mine, and y’won’t fuckin’ want for anything. You’re supposed to be worshipped, not begging for scraps at a mutt’s door.”

He really didn’t mean to say it like that. He meant to bite his tongue. He’s trying not to think of how hot it would be if his intensity scared you into pissing yourself. He’s trying not to let himself show through the lines. It’s not working. Any of it.

The venomous bile that spills from behind his teeth reminds him that his eloquence is just one of many reasons why he’s single. Why he should be muzzled instead of kept. He doesn’t know why he’s taking it upon himself to do this. Selfishness, maybe. There’s plenty of better men he could’ve put up to the task, easy. The man who wants to feel blood on the back of his throat makes a terrible savior.

He feels like he can see your pupils dilate. You pick up your danish again and take a bite. You hold it out for him to try. It’s a test. You don’t think someone with eyes like his can handle doing cutesy, saccharine things. Like what couples do. That must be it.

He tries not to think of his teeth going past the flakey flesh of the pastry and sinking into your fingers. When his tongue meets the butter between the layers, he tries not to think of the salt sweet flavor of your sweat and tears. A seed from the blackberry jam gets thoughtlessly crushed between his molars— he hopes the bitterness will suddenly wake him up and he won’t be a beast crying for love at the heart of the world anymore.

It doesn’t.

#uhhhhhhhhh something happened to me at the end there sorry #I went a little crazy style #writing #cod fanfic #cod #college au #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #Promethean

620 notes · View notes

koalayoo · 3 days ago

Text

Men who talk a certain way.

They carry themselves with elegance, talk with a poised cadence unique to them. They hold themselves upright and have an air of superiority. A cunning look, signature smirk, firm hand; these are staples of their character, they know how to strike a deal. Whether for their people or their own gain, they intimidate those to gain an advantage no matter how many exploits gone through or people exploited.

People either love or fear them.

They’re important.

It’s no surprise that they sit at the centre of the table at a meeting, commanding attention. All eyes are on them, gripping their every word. Prompt nods and murmurs of agreements follow. They’re smart too. Incredible wit and perceptiveness as they continuously glance at everyone, especially you.

Fuck, and they’re hot too.

It makes your blood run hot. Jolts shoot throughout your body and you avert your gaze. It was stupid to you to be losing your cool for a man who felt indifferent about your existence. Maybe that isn’t the right word.

Sometimes, you would question whether he hated you. Whenever you needed a pen, your hands brushed against one another for a second and he would quickly pull back as if being stung by a bee with a slight scowl forming on his face. If the piles of paper you needed to finish took too long, he would be adamant you finish for the night, which is all fine and dandy if he wasn’t looking for help from others to complete your work. He even reprimanded you, talked to you in that familiar stern tone once for not having your priorities in place when a stranger came up to you in a flirtatious manner as if you could control that.

He pissed you off.

Why couldn’t he care about you like a normal person?

However, you were wrong about all of it. He cared too much.

When your fingers grazed him he was ridden with guilt, these were the same hands he would think about at night. Imagine tracing the sharp edges of his skin. He would shut his eyes and throw his head back, replacing his hands with your own. Try to commit the soft feel of yours to his. Would you go slow or fast? He wondered. How would you hold him? Would you let him make a mess? His thoughts would trail on and on questioning your grip, your face, what you would say.

So, it was no surprise when he saw you working yourself to exhaustion that he wanted you to rest. That was his duty after all. Only he could do that. The eyes that he desperately wanted to see glazed over with a lust filled haze needed to be well rested first. That way, he could slowly see them become drunk for him, turning red, bloodshot from just how well he would treat you.

And it was especially no surprise that when another person had the audacity to want you too, he had to stop them. Sure, you didn’t deserve the scolding but he would make you feel so much better later on. He just had to be patient.

Had to keep his tone steady and tame. Pretend to treat you just like everyone else. Even if you thought he hated you. He could fuck you like that too if you wanted. He would give you anything you wanted. However, you didn’t deserve to know how depraved he truly was.

There was a thought that lingered at the forefront of his mind. If you found out just how he imagined you, would you leave? He figured you might feel disgusted, a man of his caliber, his power, wanting to succumb to you. And so he continued to talk. Continued to keep his tone steady. Keep his tone tame.

He would keep himself in line; refined. Because if you found out how he was imagining you, perhaps then this man would truly feel fear.

fantasising about...

Sylus, NEUVILLETTE, Jing Yuan, Welt, Sunday, DAN HENG, Artem, Zhongli!, Gepard, Alhaitham?, Cyno ...and anyone else you're thinking of

Hope you liked this! Inspired by the song 'Talk' by Hozier. Specifically the line, "So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you." Please give it a listen! It was in my Spotify Top 5 it's so good and captures the vibe I was trying to go for with this. Sorry for the yap. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!

494 notes · View notes

endursent · 2 days ago

Text

My Partner Turned Into A Cat And I Don't Know How To Fix It (4)

【 content; established relationship , fluff , humour , slight shenanigans , gn!reader 】

【 characters; alhaitham , arataki itto , baizhu , cyno , dainsleif , diluc , kaedehara kazuha , kaeya , kamisato ayato , kaveh , neuvillette , tartaglia , thoma , venti , wanderer , wriothesley , xiao , zhongli 】

【 premise; " You have been struck with a curse of some sort which has turned you into a cat, your partner has no idea how to fix it nor how long it might take. Yet he also cannot help but be rather amused by the situation despite the uncertainty…" 】

【 note; im sorry. this is so long... lol. 】

【 word count; 11.150 | read on ao3 | hsr reader ver | gi his ver | hsr his ver 】

Alhaitham;

He usually wouldn’t allow pets in the house… not because he dislikes them—Alhaitham simply wouldn’t want to have to clean up the hairs that fall off you after moving between every spot you lie down in.

Nevertheless… here he is, with a brush in hand as he tries to get it out of the sheets. You sit next to him apologetically (getting more hairs into the same sheet where you’re currently sitting, of course) and watch as he scoops it into a small bag. Alhaitham sets the bag aside and picks you up easily with one hand, his large palm lifting under your tummy and plopping you back down on his lap as he turns back to brushing your hairs away.

Feeling eyes on himself, Alhaitham looks down to see your large, round cat-eyes looking up at him, tail swaying.

He put you in his lap—doesn’t that mean it’s petting time?

Where’s your damn attention?

Slightly exasperated, Alhaitham tries to multitask and pet you while he's scooping your hair—but more keeps tossing around with every upstroke of your thick fur… why did you have to turn into a hairball? Couldn’t you have been a hairless cat? He’s almost tempted to just put you in the bag.

He’s a respectable “pet owner”, but does lack in one aspect that’s quite important to you, at least… perhaps not all cats

No kisses??

You’d at least like some on your head—he doesn’t have to kiss your nose or anything. Though you shouldn’t be surprised, Alhaitham isn’t very forthcoming with his affections and most of your casual kisses are by your initiation and his response to it.

So now you have to effectively smush your furry little head into his face to communicate that you want kisses.

It takes him a few tries to understand what you need, but thankfully he got it rather easily, smart lad.

Kaveh sometimes catnaps (kidnaps) you for… cat naps. He says it’s nicer than hugging his own pillow—and you don’t particularly mind, but Alhaitham does. Once he can’t find you after a general sweep of the house he figures Kaveh took you again and like a seasoned thief, swaps you out with a pillow while the architect is asleep.

“Hmph… he should get his own cat,” Alhaitham says to himself after shutting the door quietly, holding you like a baby in his arms, your paws in the air. He looks down, grey hair tilting over his eyes as he smiles only slightly. “What? You are my cat. Perhaps I should call you kitty from now on, even after you’ve changed back.”

You tried to climb onto the back of the chain in the study when Alhaitham was doing some studies once, but quicker than you could react—even with these new cat reflexes—he grabs you by the scruff of your neck and hoists you off. “You’re scratching the furniture,” he moves you from the back of the chair and plops you down on his lap. “Do refrain from doing that.”

Hmph. You wanted to bite his hair a bit… it smells nice. But fine. Lap it is, you can settle for that.

It takes you about two and a half minutes not to be satisfied with that, and lounge over his book instead, hoping he’ll stop and pay attention to you instead. You have a feeling he would do the same if he were in your position.

Alhaitham seems annoyed for a few seconds, but he only needs to stare into your big, cute cat-eyes for a few seconds to fold. What can he do? It doesn’t take much for you already to rope him into whatever shenanigans the day brings, and especially not like this.

Arataki Itto;

You just wanted a nice, cool nap.

It’s hot as balls in Inazuma, and you found an excellent spot under a slanted roof. You got comfortable and were half asleep already when you’re suddenly dragged off the crate and raised in the air like a divine heir.

Flailing in protest, your screaming of; “PUT ME DOWN YOU OAF” isn’t translated very well into frantic meows and hisses.

And of course, Itto has no idea what you’re trying to communicate—in fact, he thinks you’re just a bit surprised yet happy to see him. He sets you on his shoulder and you hold on for dear life. He’s broad, but broad muscles are also rather round and his outfit isn’t easy to grab onto—you just thank feline evolution that you have good balance and can hold yourself somewhat steady.

He sometimes just parades you around on his head like a strange hat, he doesn’t even seem to mind the death grip you have on his scalp.

Best naps, laying out in the grass on a warm summer’s day as the bright rays of the sun shine down on you. It’s comfortably warm, your fur keeps you cool enough that you don’t get lightheaded—despite popular belief, Itto is not a snorer, but he is a hugger.

You’re caged against his broad chest and there’s little escape or ways to wake him without scratching, biting or wailing like you’re trapped under a boulder.

Itto is a seasoned pet owner, he has multiple beetles that he takes good care of and thus he’s surprisingly adept at handling you. He doesn’t toss you around (except to put you on his shoulders or head) and doesn’t lock you out of the house or forget to feed you. In fact, you’d say he’s a top-notch owner, though you might be slightly biased.

The summer days are warm in Inazuma, and sometimes one just needs to do something to keep their mind off of the heat. Even with your coat protecting you from most of it, even you are starting to get dazed by the sharp, overbearing heat of the sun. And Itto is also very good at filling empty time.

He takes you out to the beach, though it wasn’t the best idea—he thought it was genius, the ocean is cool enough, there are not many around on the eastern beaches because of the awkward positioning and further distance from the city… but he didn’t take it into account that you absolutely refuse to get in the water, and there’s no shade. So that idea gets abandoned quickly.

For some reason he loves to touch your nose; poke it, kiss it, rub it… anything. And every time he does, you have to wet it again—it almost becomes a funny game to him to touch your nose and watch as your tongue darts out to wet it again.

Being unable to communicate with you isn’t a problem, he’s a yapper and can talk enough for the two of you. You try to meow along in response to show that you’re listening, but even if there was no brain behind your eyes, he’d still talk your ears off.

He creates a makeshift cat-bed for you out of some blankets and cushions, Itto was rather proud of himself for the craft that went into making it as soft as it is…

It still always ends up with you on his chest or legs at the end of the night. Without exception.

Baizhu;

He really scratches his head over this situation, how did this happen to you? You had gone out to deliver some medicine to those who aren’t well enough or mobile to come fetch it themselves, and had stayed out far longer than usual—Baizhu had started to worry and nearly had gone to look for you… when a cat with your eyes and mannerisms stumbles into the pharmacy meowing up a storm trying to explain itself.

Distressed, confused and much smaller than you’re used to being, Baizhu quickly scoops you up into his arms to calm you down. “Do not worry, I recognise you,” he assures—he feels a little silly saying this to a cat, and has a twinge in the back of his mind that he might be wrong. But the way you’re waving your paw is strangely… human, though muddled by the restrictions of your cat-joints.

Changsheng however, finds this HILARIOUS. She unwinds a bit from Baizhu’s shoulders and nearly bumps snouts with you as she wonders whether you were even fully aware of yourself, and after some arguing—in the form of loud yowling and meowing—they concluded that yes, your mind is well.

Baizhu tries everything he can think of, but he’s never really encountered a situation like this before and he has to use a lot of his attention to theory-crafting and tests.

The only thing that made a difference, was that one concoction he crafted made your ears twice larger… but it didn’t change you back. So now you just have unnaturally large ears for a cat.

He smiles sheepishly as he examines you to make sure nothing else is affected. “Ah… apologies, my dear. I don’t mean to laugh… but the ears,” he tries his best not to smile too widely, or give a soft laugh. But it’s difficult, you look so disproportionate it’s just adorable.

Despite your grievance over your proportions, Baizhu can’t help but rub your ears and scratch behind them. He gives you some good treats as an apology. You reluctantly accept.

Unfortunately, Baizhu has a job to do and can’t just close the pharmacy off from his assistance to tend to you. He multitasks as much as he can, but there are scheduled appointments to be present for.

But he has a good idea of how to utilise you, after all, you’re the usual deliverer—customers likely won’t mind if you’re cat-sized.

Thus, he gets some help from contacts and a day later you have a fancy harness with a delivery box on your back. Baizhu sets some medicine in it and fastens it properly so it won’t slip off and you don’t feel too constrained… and sets you on your way.

You were getting bored lounging around in the pharmacy anyway, so you revel in getting to stretch your legs a bit. You make the deliveries in record time, able to get through tiny crevices you weren’t able to before and hope through shortcuts you didn’t even know about.

As you return to the pharmacy after the final run, Baizhu smiles and kneels down in front of you, removing the harness and scratching where the lines of it had pressed against your fur. The nice feeling of being pet brings a rumbling purr from your chest and your tail sways happily as he gives you some water to drink and attention.

“Good work today,” he strokes between your large ears and rubs his thumb on your cheek. “It’s almost time to close up, let’s go upstairs and continue trying to figure out how to turn you back.”

The soft ambient light of the room and the sound of Baizhu’s brush stroking against the paper of a scroll makes you much more tired than you expected. You lay curled up on the desk against the wall where he sits and writes formulas and theories, Changsheng slithers up next to you and bundles herself on your back—it’s not particularly comfortable, but you’re too lazy to move, and it’s kind of cute.

Baizhu hums to himself and looks at you, his gaze lingers for only a short time before returning to the scroll in front of him.

Cyno;

He stares at the cat in Tighnari’s hands, his eyes look up to the man holding you and then back down. “What.”

The ranger deadpans and plops you into his arms. “I’ve been scouring the library for days while you were in the desert, I don’t know what happened, but it’s just how they are right now.”

Cyno lifts you up by holding your torso under your front legs, he peers at your face as you dangle like an idiot but have no way to really wriggle away. “Blink twice if it’s really you.”

You blink twice.

“Huh,” he just makes a sound of affirmation, then tucks you under his arm. “Thank you, I’ll take it from here.”

Tighnari stares at him, unimpressed by his lack of reaction to the fact that his partner is currently a small, furry cat. “You're not going to ask where I found them, how I know it’s them or how my progress is going when it comes to turning them back?”

Cyno is silent for a beat before he speaks again. “I know it’s them, I know their eyes.”

Somehow, the duty of getting you back to normal remained on Tighnari’s back, and Cyno sets you down on the dining table in your shared home. He folds his arms over his chest and analyses you, it’s a little awkward—you’re not sure why he’s staring so intensely at you.

“This is… quite the cat-astrophe—”

Oh no.

You have no way to stop him, and though you usually let him get it out of his system once he feels the need… you could also stop him once it gets out of hand. In this form, you’re effectively defenceless and unable to protest in any meaningful ways.

Thankfully, he does stop after you dive under your bed and hide for ten minutes in hopes he won’t drag you back and perform stand-up for you for the rest of the night.

Once Cyno is assured this strange transformation isn’t dangerous nor necessarily permanent, he’s rather laid back about it. He finds it quite funny (evidently) and there’s no way around it, you’re cute like this. Not that he didn’t consider you cute before, but it’s especially unavoidable now.

There’s no real way to stop him from making jokes or puns about this situation, it’s in his soul—and though you wouldn’t trade his soul for the world, you get moments of temptation when his brain hyperfocuses on one thing to centre his jokes around.

They get a bit tired.

You follow him around everywhere, it’s not like you’ve got better places to be. He thinks it’s rather adorable to see you trotting around at his heels as he walks through the city, though he tells you to remain home when he has work to do—it can turn dangerous sometimes, depending on the day, and he recognises that your body is smaller and more fragile than it used to be.

He does always come back right away, he wraps up any follow-ups and paperwork as quickly as he can—if only for the moments of arrival. Of opening the front door and being greeted by you sitting at the entrance of your home, staring up at him with a swaying tail. Waiting excitedly.

Dainsleif;

You’ve never seen this expression on his face, in the moments after you touched a strange-looking artefact, there’s a poof—and your body shifts to that of a small cat. It wasn’t painful, nor do you feel as if you were cursed in any way.

“... meow?”

Dainsleif stares at you, lips parted slightly, he’s positioned with one foot forward as he had been in the process of rushing towards you to hopefully stop you from touching what you shouldn’t… but he was a tad late.

He straightens and takes a breath. Okay… from one mystery to another.

He approaches you and picks you up—a bit awkwardly, as if he doesn’t know how to hold a cat—and you’re too confused and disoriented as to what just happened to process you being turned back towards the round artefact. Dainsleif takes your front right paw and makes you touch the artefact again.

Nothing. No glow, no poofing.

There goes his only idea.

The following days were confusing and mildly frustrating. It’s been a while since Dainsleif traveled alone, and though he isn’t technically alone—you’re still there, it doesn’t feel the same. He’s quite struck with the confrontation that he’s become very accustomed to your presence and how much he’s come to rely on it.

He’s a bit quiet and distant from you for a few days, while it makes you sad—if anything, you should be the one who needs comforting—you do try to slowly approach, you know that he can run the danger of isolation.

After starting a flame one evening in the alcove of a cave beneath a bright starry sky, Dainsleif sits down to rest for the night. You walk over with slow steps, careful and quiet, before sitting down next to him.

Far enough that you’re not touching, not even your tail… but close enough to be present.

His eyes slide towards you, and his head follows. “... what is it?”

“Meow.”

His eyelids squint, unsure what to make of your reply. Your answers always make sense to him… but what can he decipher from your feline face? The only familiar part of you is your eyes, shining under the light from the flames. “I see.”

You doubt he deciphered any meaning from your meows, but he’s engaging with you now. Progress.

Trying your luck, you move closer. He stays as he is, watching you closely.

You move closer yet, your tail touches his coat.

Dainsleif sighs.

You stop.

He can’t particularly feel your presence, not yours—but there is a presence next to him. It is yours, despite the fact he can’t sense it… and perhaps one day, were he to outlive you as if likely, he will have to find your presence in something you’re not.

And though you are this weird-looking cat, somewhere between a sentient human being and a feline animal, you’re still you.

The same, those same eyes, the very same gaze and mind.

He reaches out and sets his palm onto your furry head. Dainsleif pets your head slowly, and you nuzzle into his hand. You sit in silence before the swaying flames.

Diluc;

He can’t help but think that you might’ve done this on purpose.

Diluc has been very busy the last weeks he’s been coming back home to the winery late, leaving early—getting up in the middle of the night and waking you up when he goes out for his Darknight hero duties—and though you rescheduled it for next week, missed a dinner in the city that had been booked in advance.

He does feel bad, Diluc wants to spend all the time he can with you, all his free time and more—but with the winter months drifting by, business in the winery booms as people stock up on wine for the holidays. Businesses buy in bulk for holiday menu changes, and such.

And now, after hurrying back home when he was contacted that “something had happened” to you… he’s standing in front of a cat.

He thought you might’ve been hurt, or sick—he had run so fast his hair was loosening from his usual tail.

And while you’re not hurt or sick, you are… different. Something definitely happened.

He sits down and you climb onto his lap, sitting down and pawing at his chest, small meows leaving your small mouth. Diluc strokes your back and ruffles your fur with both hands. “How did this happen?” he knows you can’t answer him, but he can’t help but ask anyway.

You rise up on your hind legs, front paws on his chest as you lick and wet his cheeks. Diluc’s eyes close and his face scrunches up. “H-hey, stop that,” he puts his hands around your torso and holds you away from his face, your little tongue bleping down out of your mouth.

A smile tugs on his lips at the cute expression.

He still has to attend to his job, but while he usually handles most things himself, Diluc does accept help from his staff now that you’re… like this. So now he has more time for you, which isn’t exactly how he intended to spend that free time—searching for ways to turn you back, and having you loafing on his lap and being unable to stand up and fetch his coffee.

He’s not going to move while you’re so comfortable… he wouldn’t do that even if you weren’t a cat.

Not the biggest fan of the hair you leave around you, he needs to wipe his clothes thoroughly after you’ve so much as looked in his direction.

You get so much attention around the winery it’s not even funny, every employee pets you, gives you treats and treat you like you’re more of a royal cat than just a normal person turned into one.

Diluc came home one evening to see you loafing on the sofa, a shiny bow tied around your neck and a bowl of treats next to you… in reach for whenever you wanted it.

He had a conversation with the staff about making sure you don’t eat so much that your stomach will hurt… and that maybe not make you get too comfortable like this, he wants to turn you back to normal after all.

Kaedehara Kazhua;

He thinks it’s adorable, Kazuha is a rather laid-back person overall, and he’s certain you’ll be okay—so why not have fun while you’re like this?

It started all fun and games when on land, Inazuma is filled to the brim with foods that cats would love, every shop has some form of fish or vegetables that Kazuha can share with you…

But as soon as you go out on the open ocean, it’s over.

Kazuha has never seen you so violently unhappy on the ship, every rock of it makes you yowl and dig your claws into whatever you’re standing on, be it a crate, table, bed or Kazuha’s clothes (you ruined two pants, but he doesn’t particularly mind).

You have an irrational (or very rational) fear that you might be tossed off the ship and into the ocean at the slightest dip of the deck. Kazuha does his best to calm you and comfort you, he even offers to make a harness and leash for you so that he can yoink you back if you happen to fall overboard.

You don’t find his idea as funny as Beidou does.

Thankfully, you don’t get tossed overboard you don’t spontaneously die or have any other terrible event happen to you—and you’re so thankful to touch land that you hop off the side of the ship and to the harbour the ship docked by before it can even properly be tied down by the dockworkers.

Kazuha leans over the railing of the ship and calls your name, a bit worried—he hopes you don’t get lost before he can catch up to you.

It takes a while for the ship to dock and open up for people to leave, Kazuha convinces another person on the ship to take his duties for a while as he rushes out to find you. He’s not worried you might get yourself in trouble—you’re rather good at keeping out of it, but he doesn’t want you to get lost or have to spend all day looking for you.

Even though that’s kind of what he’s starting to do right now…

Kazuha shoulders past the crowd in the busy markets of Port Ormos, it’s early noon and it’s starting to fill up. The Crux has stocked up here often before and thus the both of you are quite familiar with it, but the winding streets and large crowds filling the markets can make it disorienting for even seasoned visitors.

After looking around for longer than he cared for, Kazuha finally spots your tail disappearing behind a corner.

Kazuha picks up his pace and somehow manages to catch up to you, perhaps the soft breeze is on his side, as he swoops up next to you and scoops you up into his arms.

He smiles, ducking out of the crowds and into a small alley where some crates are stored for the market stalls. “No need to run away, you’re safe on land now,” he holds you like a baby, your paws in the air as his arm holds your back steadily. “Though you are also very safe on the ship, I won’t let you fall overboard.”

You meow gently, Kazuha isn’t sure if you’re thanking him or expressing concerns… but the way you look up at him in this position is pretty cute. “Let’s find some good food, hm?”

Kaeya;

Funniest shit he’s seen all year.

Kaeya tries not to look like he’s very happy this happened—so long as he knows it’s not dangerous or permanent—or that watching you lick yourself to clean your fur isn’t very amusing.

He brings you everywhere, lets you follow him around and even holds you and lets passersby pet you…

Kaeya is just straight-up treating you like a real cat.

At this realisation, that he was acting like you were a pet, and not his very real (though cat-like for now) partner and previous human… you got angry! you wriggled in his grasp, surprising him and causing Kaeya to almost drop you—he righted his hold and blinked at you with a confused expression. “What is it? Did I hold you wrong?”

A series of angry meows and swats of your paw later, Kaeya was none the wiser.

He tried to bait you to “forgive” him with some nicely cut fish… and it kind of worked, that was some good fish.

Kaeya sits by the table you’re on as you gobble down the fish he bought you, he leans on his fist with a smile and watches as you lick your muzzle after getting fishy-oil on it and shake yourself when you accidentally dip your whiskers into the water next to the plate.

The sun almost makes it seem like your fur shines and sparkles under it and as you sit down, belly full and satisfied, Kaeya reaches out and scratches behind your ears. “Did you take behavioural classes before this? To behave like a real cat? You’re really nailing it.”

You make a huffed sound, but reach your head further into his hand.

He tries to get you to play with toys, he buys a stick with a bundle of feathers on the end in hopes that you’ll chase it when he dangles it in front of you… but when he sat down with you on the floor of your shared home and dangled it in front of you…

You stared at him as if he had just grown three additional heads.

Kaeya pouts, he wriggles it a bit—and though you follow it around with your head, you still sit where you are and don’t move.

Not until he lowered the toy and the feathered end touched the floor.

You pounced onto it.

Kaeya pauses, blinking at you in surprise. You look up like you got caught with your hand in a cookie jar.

And then he just laughs, he wriggles the toy again and you swat at it in frustration for making you leap at it like that, you’re not a real cat!!

Kamisato Ayato;

He doesn’t leave you alone.

You’re trotting along the engawa of the estate on your way to find a nice spot to nap—and suddenly, you’re swooped up into his arms. Ayato smiles and strokes your head. “There you are, my dear. I was searching for you,” he hums and turns around to walk into the estate.

Ayato spends about half the day—and sometimes more—in his study tending to paperwork of many kinds. Unusually, you would lend a hand and help with the neverending piles on his desk, but you’re little help like this… still, he demands that you “lend your paw” and sit on his lap the entire time.

It was nice at first, he’s got a nice lap to lay or loaf on, and he would scratch you in spots you couldn’t reach yourself, or just stroke your back… but after five hours, you really want to stretch your legs. So, you squeeze out from under his arm and stretch next to him, letting out a big yawn—only to find a finger poking your tongue?!

The bastard actually stuck his finger in your mouth when you yawned. Ayato smiled, all smug and somehow innocent at the same time. You meowed in disapproval, but it went straight over his head, as if he had any idea as to what you had just said to him, insult or not.

He also keeps pinching your toe beans, sometimes making your claws stretch out and then back in—even in the middle of the night, he rubbed your paws and stuck his finger between the beans. What is wrong with this guy.

Other than messing with you and pulling your leg, he does provide the best food and treats—as usual, you have the privilege of accessing the clan kitchens and being made food by them on a daily basis and it never fails to make you nearly cry with how good it is. And even now, as you sit next to his desk and his dinner is brought to him (even though you’ve tried to ask the staff to not bring it to him, and that he has to eat outside of his study or else his ass will get stuck to the floor) you are given your own tray of dishes as well.

Gobbling down the freshly made meals tailored to you even in this form, Ayato is happy that you seem to have a good appetite. He had been concerned that this… situation might stress you out and you wouldn’t be able to eat or sleep.

Despite his endless workload, Ayato somehow finds the time to pamper and take care of you between his busy schedule. He sits down with you in the gardens and brushes your fur, rubs your cheeks and kisses your nose (and you need to wet it again every time). As if you were a little fur baby for him to take care of.

He still talks to you as if you were as you always are, though Ayaka uses a baby-voice like one would use with a cat (she tries not to, but fails), Ayato speaks to you normally. He plucks the seeds out of a small cube of watermelon before feeding it to you as he recounts his day, humming in affirmation as you meow back about your own… he doesn’t understand it, but you need to get it out as well.

Your snout is practically pink by the end of the watermelon bowl, and Ayato gives you that smile… oh no.

“It’s been a few days now, and you ran around the garden yesterday… and now you’re covered in melon juice. Why don’t I ask Thoma to warm a bath to wash your fur?” he asks innocently, and watches in amusement as you shoot out of his lap and flee into the estate. Not a chance.

Kaveh;

Kaveh gapes at you. You stare up at him. He blinks. You blink.

“H-hah???!” he scoops you up—accidentally upside down, but you just flop in his arms, still blinking at him from your angle, you know he won’t drop you. Kaveh rights you and brings you nearly nose-to-nose as he stares into your eyes. “How did this happen? You were just—I was… this…”

He holds you a few centimetres away so neither of you go cross-eyed. “... Do you understand me?”

You nod and raise your paw, pressing it onto his cheek.

Kaveh doesn’t move his face away and lets your paw just press against his skin. “Okay, you’re… uh, aware… how do I fix this?”

“Meow.”

“...” right. Maybe this was a stupid question.

Kaveh goes a bit overboard, he researches the best ways to take care of a cat, the best foods, beds, toys—everything. And suddenly, he comes home after a short day at work (he has more important things to tend to!) with… so much stuff.

You stare, dumbfounded, as Kaveh carves out a cat-space in his and Alhaitham’s house… did he get Alhaitham’s permission to do this? You somehow doubt it.

After everything is set up, he stands and sets his hands on his hips with a wide smile. “What do you think?” Kaveh asks, looking down at you sitting by his feet with a swaying tail. “I think it fits very well, the colours compliment our living room—and I tried to arrange it in a way that mostly hugs the wall and doesn’t intercept with the flow of the room—”

He’s rambling again. You don’t mind when he gets going and his interior design skills ARE good, despite it not being his expertise, it goes hand in hand with architecture.

But… did he consult the other half of this house before doing this?

You found out quickly, you had just settled in the high cat-bed that hung on the wall, giving you a good view over the living room as well as a height advantage to him (now you get why cats enjoy the high ground)... when the front door opens and a very familiar Scribe enters.

Alhaitham wasn’t even aware that you had turned into a cat, to him… he just came home to see a random cat in the living room—and that it was arranged completely differently to give you space.

Thankfully Alhaitham has a good few brain cells to rub together between his fingers, and isn’t quick to rise, so he looked to Kaveh and tilted his head towards the kitchen… where they had a lengthy discussion, where Kaveh explained everything to him and asked him if it was okay…

Which is a tad late when he’s already rearranged the entire living room and gotten you comfortable there… but fine. So long as he takes it all down and makes everything as it should be once you’re back to normal. When asked, Alhaitham said he was too busy to help turn you back and told him to consult the library.

Kaveh is a hugger in his sleep, and you’re a victim (you love his hugs). He practically wraps himself around you and holds you to himself the entire night—and don’t you dare try to leave, he’ll wake up and whine about it. He does sometimes squeeze a bit too much—you’re not as durable as you usually are, you’re just a little kitty…

He gets cuteness aggression when you do anything mildly affectionate. Rub against his legs while he’s at his desk, loaf on his lap and slow blink up at him, lick his hand when he strokes your head… Kaveh tries his best not to squeeze you or shake you like a keychain, he bit into his own hand once to refrain from biting your full cheek of food once.

He drew a full sketchbook of you over the span of two weeks, he can’t help it—you’re too adorable and he wants to keep the image of you forever.

Neuvillette;

Not chill about this, Neuvillette was immediately concerned with how to turn you back and if this curse-spell could have any permanent effects on you. He doesn’t really have many tomes to consult, nor are there many people he could ask for advice as to… how to fix this.

After some time, and you rubbing your furry cheek on his arm and leg to try and calm down his nerves, Neuvillette does slow down. He’s usually very calm in the face of the unknown or danger—but he’s never had to deal with direct danger (or not, he hasn’t figured out if it’s dangerous or not yet) when it comes to you.

Thankfully, you’re still there with him, just… a bit smaller, and furrier… and you smell a bit weird—still like you, but also with a tinge of something else. Perhaps that part of your scent has always been your humanity.

And now you’re a cat.

He’s never owned a pet before—and you’re hardly a typical pet, and thus consults the only person he can think of. Furina (though he’s unsure she’s ever owned a pet either?).

And she loves you, she already likes you well enough—but like this? You’re getting picked up, petted, smooched, pampered and loved. Neuvillette just stands a bit awkwardly as Furina gets it out of her system and you get dangerously close to being fed up with her hugging and smooching… you’re not an actual cat! You just look like one!!

After being freed from her clutches, Neuvillette holds you with more dignity for a while until you feel safe enough to walk around the ex-Archon’s home (and won’t get swooped up again). When the initial chaos is over, he sits down with Furina and they put their heads together to try and find a solution to this. They write down how it happened, what exactly changed—your mind is the same, your scent as well as your eyes. Though your fur has turned a shimmering white regardless of your head and body hair colour before.

You look like a big snowball.

There’s no real conclusion to the first session of brainstorming, but they manage to narrow down that though neither was there to see what exactly happened, it was likely a spell, or perhaps an artefact you touched (where would that even happen inside Fontaine?) or something along those lines.

Thus, Neuvillette takes you back home for the night. He’s a bit stiff around you, he doesn’t interact much with animals and though he won’t avoid them if a cat approaches him on the street (he’d mostly greet and nod at them) he hasn’t exactly had to care for one before.

He has to rely on asking you yes or no questions that you can nod or shake your head to, and makes it through the first few days like that. And while you’re… cute? (He’s not entirely sure how to describe you) Nauvillette does much more prefer you in your normal state, where he can communicate with you, hold your hand and touch your cheek without getting sniffed at by a wet nose.

Not that Neuvillette doesn’t enjoy petting your fur and scratching under your chin, it’s just not the same.

It is very amusing to watch your head move left and right as you sit on the kitchen counter and watch Neuvillette prepare dinner—mostly for himself as you don’t eat typical foods now. He offers a small piece of a carrot and watches as you crunch on it for a good thirty seconds until it’s mushed enough to swallow.

Tartaglia;

Another situation of; the funniest shit he’s ever seen.

He brings you everywhere—Childe has no concept of ‘pet-free zone’ because you’re not his pet? You’re his partner? His beloved? Why is he being shooed out, you’re on a leash and everything (half chewed apart because you refuse to wear it with dignity and do all in your power to get free, how dare he put you on a LEASH).

Of course, initially, he was confused and rather concerned. He thought you might have been attacked, or targeted and thus had been made into this… cat, maliciously.

But you honestly seem pretty undisturbed, so he is as well. Calm cat, calm Childe.

He dresses you up before taking you outside—not necessarily for fun, but rather because it’s insanely cold in Snezhnaya in these months, and he doesn’t want you to be a block of ice after a few minutes. So he goes and buys some puffy coats, socks and a warm blanket for your return. You feel like you look like an idiot (you already look like a cat…) in all these clothes, but his cooing and smooching make it less annoying—mostly because now your annoyances are focused on him.

His siblings don’t really understand that it’s you, not at the younger range—and Childe just tells them that you’re a cat he and you decided to take care of for a while and that you’re busy elsewhere. Tonia doesn’t seem as convinced when Childe keeps smooching your nose and rubbing his cheek against yours.

Embarrassing enough as it is, Childe starts to call you nicknames now—it isn’t entirely unusual, but they’ve always been normal… now he’s calling you “Combat kitten” and “Fuzzy comrade”... worst of all was “General toebeans”

You wish you could tell him to stop, but all you have are meows and hisses.

Snezhnayan homes are made to withstand cold and harsh winds, and thus have excellent central heating systems… also known as a fireplace—and a furnace elsewhere. And curling up on some soft blankets or a plush chair by the furnace as snow gathers on the windowsill and winds brush against the exterior of the house… there are few places more comfortable to take a nap.

Unfortunately, Childe’s humming and singing from the kitchen disturbs your perfect peace, but you’re just glad he’s having fun. You’ll live.

And he brings you some treats, places a small kiss on top of your furry head and sits down in the other chair, dragging the one you’re on to be next to his so that he can stroke your back and belly when you eventually flop on your back for more attention.

He’s pulled every string and contact in the Fatui to try and figure how to turn you back (except a select few who will either be last measures or just straight avoidances despite advice they might give) but hasn’t had much luck so far. Thankfully you've only been stuck like this for a week or so, and thus it hasn’t been so long to be concerning.

Perhaps it’s just a matter of waiting it out, and Childe is surprisingly patient.

Thoma;

The Housekeeper stands in surprise as a cat is suddenly plopped into his arms. “Ah… is this… a new house pet…?” the Kamisato estate doesn’t exactly have pets, there are some cats that come around and nap in the gardens every now and then and leave after a while, but this cat is staring at him as if they’ve known him their entire life.

Ayato only hums as he’s already turned to another task, rushing from one thing to another as the busy days of summer come along. He doesn’t have much time to explain—nor is there much to explain. He had borrowed you for a few minutes to help him with something, he turns around for a moment, and the next you’re a cat.

Thoma stares at him, silent for a time. He’s not entirely sure if Ayato is messing with him or not—it’s entirely possible, and par for the course for his lord—but as Ayato shakes his head and waves his hand in dismissal, he speaks again. “I already have someone looking into it, take care of them in the meantime. I’ll have someone fetch you if there is news.”

You’re actually a cat.

After leaving Ayato’s study and sitting down outside where the afternoon sun has begun sinking towards the oceans beyond the cliff the estate sits on, Thoma stares at you as if he’s not entirely sure what to do with you.

Despite the initial confusion (and the followed concern, but it’s quickly dampened somewhat, Ayato has someone on the case and he trusts him to find a solution) Thoma is a very responsible person. He makes sure you’re not uncomfortable at all despite some estate staff vehemently refusing to let you in specific places… such as the kitchen. Fair enough. But there are also certain rooms and areas that have to be kept very clean and they don’t want cat hairs to get all over the place.

Thoma brings you around, he’s got many places to be, and he’s sure you’d like to stretch your legs anyway—it’s always nice to leave the estate for a few hours and run some errands. He had to head down to a nearby village and see whether trade agreements were coming along smoothly, they produce a lot of high quality rice and are often stuck in trade deals with large towns and clans for their rice—and for a well enough reason. Recently, Ayato had struck a deal with them and everything was signed and well along its way, Thoma just had to go and make sure they had everything they needed for transport.

It was a good walk, but you kept up easily… somehow having four legs rather than two makes you less tired after walking for some hours…? Or perhaps it’s because your body is so light now, you don’t know much about cat anatomy.

The meeting went well and you didn’t linger for long.

Unfortunately, a heavy downpour began to fall on the two of you as you headed back. Thoma quickly scooped you up and tucked you into his jacket—it’s not much of a jacket, it barely reaches below his ribs, but it was just big enough for him to cover you (and lean a bit to cover you better) and pick up his pace to run back to the Kamisato estate.

After making it back inside, the rain was as if a waterfall had opened in the heavens to drop down on the roof. Thoma’s hair is wet and sticks to his cheeks as he sets you down. “Ah, that was close,” he laughs softly. “Are you dry?”

You shake yourself after being pressed against his chest for so long and sniff around your fur, then give him a nod.

“Hah, that’s good, I’ve heard cats don’t like water much,” he smiles. “I need a change of clothes, come with me?”

You let out a happy meow and follow him along further inside.

Venti;

Cooes at you and talks to you with a baby-voice, he puts both thumbs on either side of your cheeks and rubs your face like it’s dough… even though it makes his nose red and his eyes puffy—despite the cursed allergy that torments his everyday life (there’s so many cats in Mondstadt) he doesn’t let it stop him from being around you. Pestering some healers for a medicine that could help, he feels… less bad, but it doesn’t really dampen the itch in his eyes and throat well enough.

He doesn’t take this situation seriously at all, at least not nearly as much as you do—you should probably trust his reactions and instincts, as he’s far more knowledgeable than you (even though he doesn’t act like it at all) and if you were in any danger, he wouldn’t be smooching your cheeks and nuzzling you like HE’S the cat.

Thus, you try to calm down, to focus on just getting through the days and not feel embarrassed when you have to clean yourself or relieve yourself as a cat.

But Venti also doesn’t make it easy for you, he builds a “throne” for you out of books and pillows for you to have the high ground (he doesn’t want to put holes in the wall for a hanging bed) and gives you “Mondstadt’s finest tuna” that tasted very much like a normal piece of tuna, but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

Sometimes you really wonder if he was the one who cursed you just so he could mess with you and cuddle you without you being able to fend him off. Not that you would be particularly opposed to cuddles in the first place? He could just ask?? Besides, why would he choose the form of a cat out of every other pet considering his consistent sneezing up a storm around them.

It doesn’t add up, you discard your theory.

You can’t sleep in the same bed anymore, both because Venti moves a lot in his sleep and being a cat does not make it safe, he could crush you! (as if he’s heavy enough to do that) and because he might well and truly pass away if he had to be so close to your furry-ass for such a pronged amount of time… and thus, Venti makes a nice bed for you out of blankets and pillows next to your usual one where you can rest.

There was a time where these new cat instincts took a bit too much over, and when you were chasing a crystalfly on a walk along the roads outside the city, you had hopped onto a big rock—and after missing your chance to catch the crystalfly, you hopped onto Venti and tried to eat his braids.

He yelped in surprise, but laughed once he realised what you were doing. “My hair isn’t for eating, it’s no good for your digestion either!”

You felt embarrassed about this little incident, and he kept making fun of you for it—though not necessarily maliciously, Venti just thought it was funny that you didn’t go for his hat, but his hair instead.

Climbing to the top of the Mondstadt cathedral or the statue of himself isn’t your favourite pastime, but it’s surprisingly much easier in this form—and thus when Venti suggests you go to the top to play some songs, you had been hesitant at first.

Making it to the top, Venti sits down comfortably as if he’s done it a thousand times (you sometimes suspect he climbs it to make you feel better, because you know he can just float up with a gust of wind) and pats his lap for you to sit down.

You plop yourself onto his thighs and settle comfortably as the sun sinks below the horizon, Venti takes out his usual lyre and tests a few tunes to ensure it’s properly set. “Let me play you something nice, it’ll help you sleep.”

And it is nice, your ears flick as his fingers dance along the harp’s strings, he hums along with it but doesn’t sing full words—the vibration of the song calms you and you rest your head on your paws.

Wanderer;

“You are the ugliest cat I’ve ever seen in my life.”

He’s being dramatic, you’re not that ugly… but…

Why did you have to turn into a hairless cat?

You feel strange, and perhaps you would also feel the same way if you had a lot of hair, but every single breeze makes you feel you are especially naked—because you are!

Wanderer isn’t exactly happy to have to take care of you—he will do it, of course, but he will also complain about it. You were perfectly independent and functional as a person before you just had to go and sniff some plant in the wild that poofed you into a cat before his very eyes.

He refuses to seek help to find out how to turn you back, not because he doesn’t want anyone to know that you’re a cat, but rather because he’s certain he can handle it himself.

You whack at his arm with your paw, meowing up a storm after a few hours of not being fed the day after—he had completely forgotten that he needs to prepare something digestible for you… he’s never had to take care of a creature like you before—what can you even eat?? He clicks his tongue. “Don’t swat at me like that. You’re human, act like it…”

You’re not human right now!! Give me food!!

Eventually, he does begin to take proper care of you, even though he keeps telling you that you look like a peeled potato… you don’t have many ways of retaliation except whacking him with your paw or hissing when he lightly pinches a big patch of your skin.

Surprisingly, during one strangely cold night when you were curled on the bed and trying to stay warm—even the slightest drop in temperature was very cold to your hairless body… you feel something soft drape over you. Half-asleep and cold, you squint up and scrunch your nose as your whiskers squish against the blanket, you see Wanderer turn back around after setting it over you. Hah… he’s soft under that hard shell as always, even if he tries to act aloof.

After several days of no luck in trying to turn you back, Wanderer does begin to cave to asking for some… advice. Not help. Advice.

With you in his arms, head reaching towards the market stalls of Sumeru city (literally everything smells good and extremely edible) as he passes by, Wanderer takes you to meet with Nahida who is rather enthusiastic about this mystery. She pets you and smiles, humming as he recounts what happened and describes the particular flower you smelled.

“Hm, I have an idea, but it’ll take a while to execute… do you think it’ll be okay for them to remain like this for a few more days?” the archon taps her chin in thought, mind swirling with ideas and possible solutions.

Wanderer huffs, not exactly a scoff, and clapped his hand onto your head. “It’s fine.”

But as soon as you returned back home and he set you down on the living room table, Wanderer points at you. “You better turn back to normal soon…” he folds his arms over his chest, his expression isn’t as tight as it was before. “I don’t want to deal with this forever. Just get back soon.”

You inch closer to him on the table, reaching your paw out to tug his sleeve closer—only to rub your head into his palm. He clicks his tongue. “Whatever… don’t think this counts as an apology. You’ll have to make up for it properly when you’re you again.”

Wriothesley;

You are, quite possibly, the smallest cat he has ever seen.

He holds you in the palm of his hand, it’s adorable. Wriothesley cracks a grin and lifts you to eye-level. “Hm, you’re not nearly as scary like this, no one in this prison will listen to you like this.”

You want to whack him on his nose, but politely refrain—if only because you don’t want to get dropped. You meow at him, ferocious and upset at this situation, you have a job to tend to! Things to do!

But Wriothesley has other ideas, he sets you down on his desk and sits down. “Now, how did this happen? I assume this wasn’t intentional?” is he teasing you? Most likely. He knows you can’t just answer his questions, and you assumed he would be slightly more concerned when a guard brought you to his office…

But no, he instantly recognised you and dismissed the guard. Had it been the eyes? The fur? Is he somehow responsible for this??

All unanswered questions, and though he sends out word to some people he thinks might be able to help decipher this mystery, he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to get you back to normal. He sets you in the pocket of his vest (it’s embarrassing that you actually fit) and goes on with his days as normal.

Siegwinne was initially very concerned, she seemed much more sensible in her worries that leaving you in this form for too long might be dangerous and that the Fortress isn’t exactly a good place for pets. There are a lot of crevices to get stuck in and things to get hurt on.

Though you still retain your mind, so you should be alright in that sense… so long as you don’t get overly curious.

He is undeniably very warm, and cuddling up to him at night is very comfortable—especially now that you can just lay on his chest and snooze there and not worry about being dragged back into his embrace if you move too much in your sleep. You barely move at all in this form.

Come morning, Wriothesley was already awake by the time you open your eyes, he strokes your fur and scratches behind your ears. Having a day pass by does make the initially amusing situation a bit more… real. He doesn’t want you to be struck with a permanent curse, or some kind of spell that might harm you in the long run.

“Don’t you worry,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “I’ll make sure you’re back to normal soon, just stick close by.”

And you do, mostly because you couldn’t have been blessed (cursed?) with a normal-sized cat body, but possibly the smallest there could be. You can’t even jump up onto his desk by yourself and have to yowl at him to let you up.

He does so happily, surprisingly eager to carry you around and help you with the smallest things.

Wriothesley doesn’t even change in mood from amusement when you chase the pen in his hands as it glides across paperwork he signs, you leap onto his arm and try to whack at the pet in either some strange instinctual haze, or an attempt to play—and though you whacking the pen makes it seem like he has the handwriting of a toddler, it’s just rather funny.

The Fortress doesn’t exactly have a large variety of foods, not in the sense that it can be adjusted for the diet of a cat that isn’t accounted for during inventory fills, and thus Wriothesley sends for specific ingredients that won’t be heavy on your tiny little stomach.

And he also… got some cat-related things delivered, like a bed, some string toys and treats. You never used the bed, either preferring his lap to nap on, or just slept in the strangest places he never even imagined you could reach with those stubby legs.

But he’s a very responsible caretaker, at least, that’s what he claims as he holds you down to brush your teeth and you wriggle and flail like an eel.

Xiao;

Very worried, he didn’t even realise the cat sitting in the clearing of the forest was you at first and searched for you for several minutes before seeming to realise that you had just… shrunk. Into a cat.

He stares at you for a good minute, lips parted and eyes large… before your name tentatively leaves his mouth.

You meow in affirmation, standing and shaking yourself as you try to understand the situation yourself—still a bit disoriented.

Xiao approaches you quickly and kneels down in front of you, he lifts you up to your hind legs, puts you down and inspects your ears, your tail and under your paws. You meow in curiosity as to what he is doing, and surprisingly he seems to understand your question.

“There might be traces of whatever did this on your body, it will make it easier to track or reverse,” he says and even checks inside your mouth, which you weren’t really happy with.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t find any answers, and kneels there rather awkwardly with you in front of him… what now? This situation has stumped him a bit—he’s supposed to be able to keep you safe from all manners of danger and curses like this (perhaps not exactly like this, he never prepared for this exact scenario) and now that he’s not got many leads to fix it, his mind is a bit aimless in where to search for information.

He has no idea how to care for you, and while he has vague ideas of the behaviours of animals…they mostly stem from wild animals and their reactions to foreign presences in their territories, or similar scenarios.

What does a meow mean? Is there something wrong? What does it mean when you paw at the door? Do you want to go outside? But it’s two in the morning?

He severely overestimates the portions of food you eat, giving you a full plate of something the Wangshu Inn kitchens prepared on his request (they figured out what happened and have been trying to help him, but Xiao is still trying to be subtle and secretive about the situation) and being confused when you only ate a fourth of it.

Are you sick? Was it the wrong kind of food?

He brings you along with him on his hunts, while he could leave you at the inn… how can he be sure that you won’t get into trouble? The window is high above the ground, what if you tumble out of it? What if you try to climb up on the dresser in the room and get stuck? Or fall down and hurt yourself?

No, you’re safest with him, even if he has to wield his spear with one hand and hold you with the other.

He’s surprisingly good at it too.

Desperate after a week of unsuccessful herbs and potions he tried to make, Xiao caves and contacts Liyue Harbour and the adepti that reside there for help.

It seems his message had gotten into Cloud Retainer’s hands, and instead of any actually helpful advice on how to turn you back… she had sent an entire booklet of cat behaviours, diets and how to take care of them.

Helpful, sure… but not exactly what he was asking for.

One evening as he was out on the usual hunts, he noticed that you were walking slowly by his side, yawning and rather cold so high in the mountains. He didn’t even have to think about what might be wrong or what to do, as he had already scooped you up into his arms and teleported back to the inn, where he sat down with you on the bed.

“You should tell me when you’re tired…” he grumbles and tugs one of the covers on the bed to his lap where he wraps it around you as if bundling a baby up. Xiao reaches up and scratches behind your ears as your eyes blink closed in the comfort of being back in the warm room.

He had only been petting you for s few seconds when he felt you… tremble? There was a strange rumbling sound coming from you, are you uncomfortable? He doesn’t quite understand it… but you continue to rumble as he scratches your head and ears.

Ah, was this the ‘purring’ he read about in one of the booklets Ganyu sent him? How… cute.

Zhongli;

“Ah…” Zhongli stares at you, this isn’t quite what he had imagined would happen… he had been crafting a potion in hopes it would help Ganyu sleep better, she had been overworking herself (again) more than usual and was so tired that she couldn’t sleep. It can happen.

The combination of herbs and materials required for the potion he had put together wasn’t very suitable for humans, and of course he made sure to let you know so that you wouldn’t drink it… but he hadn’t expected that only being touched by a single drop onto the back of your hand would lead to a poof, and your size being reduced and body turned to that of a cat.

You had only wanted to help by handing him ingredients so that he didn’t have to turn around so often… you didn’t anticipate this either!

He makes sure the potion won’t burn and sets a lid on the pot before turning towards you. “I… had not foreseen that this could have been a danger to you, my apologies,” he kneels down on one knee and holds his hand out for you to sniff. You do so, snout twitching towards his finger before you bump your head into his palm.

“Have you retained some sense of consciousness?” he wonders, gloved hand moving to stroke over your small head, your ears flattening under his palm. “I’m sure I can find a way to reverse this.”

He was sure, at least. But after some research and testing… he wasn’t making any progress—at least, he wasn’t making progress in finding ways to turn you to your normal self without some potential risks or aftereffects.

What he did find, was that the herb that you had been touching, and the potion he had halfway crafted was similar to another concoction that he had made before—and the effects of that had only been temporary.

It seems you will simply have to wait until the effect wears off.

Zhongli had instinctively prepared a delightful meal in the way he knows you would enjoy while you sit in the kitchen counter and watch with interest, your tail swaying happily as you watch him chop some vegetables and set them into the pot… but halfway through the process as he’s setting spices and herbs into the pot, Zhongli realises that more than half of the ingredients in the pot are unsuitable for cats to eat.

He finishes the meal and sets it aside, before fetching some fish you had purchased just yesterday that he was going to use for lunch tomorrow and cut it into nicely bite-sized pieces. You tilt your head slightly as you watch—the meal he had just been putting together doesn’t have any fish in it?? What’s it for?

And honestly, when he plated your food (in a very professional and presentable way) and set it down on the dining table, then set his own on the other side for himself… you felt a bit offended. Raw fish, some rice and a hard boiled egg… next to his delicious smelling beef stew…

If you could’ve cried, you would have. And Zhongli felt pretty bad for the rest of the day, he tried to offer you some “safe” treats or make it up to you with some pets and scritches, but you still sulked.

You had looked forward to this dinner all day…

Thankfully you got over it rather quickly and Zhongli is glad that he didn’t offend you too badly… it seems having been turned into a cat had made you quite dramatic as well, he doesn’t recall you ever having sulked like this over a meal before.

Knowing that it was simply a waiting game, Zhongli isn’t very concerned about your state, but he does ensure that you’re comfortable and not afraid—he understands that perceiving the world differently like this can be strange and even scary, but he’s glad when it seems that you’re relatively calm.

Your nightly routines are slightly out of whack now—something that Zhongli isn’t very fond of, he quite likes it that after cleaning up after dinner, the two of you settle in the living room for a while. He tends to read and it varies what you get up to, but it’s always a shared time where you sit in silence or chat about your days.

He does talk about his day to you, sitting on the comfortable seat in the living room with you on his lap, Zhongli recounts his day to you and expresses that he hopes you weren’t too bored alone in the home today, and that perhaps he can convince the director to allow him to bring you for a day. He strokes your back and smiles as a rumbling purr leaves you, he scratches under your chin and touches his forehead to yours as you seem to have fallen asleep on his lap. He reaches for his book and decides to read for a while before taking you to bed.

Despite the mishap, he’s glad you’re safe—he will endeavour to be more careful in the future and ensure you won’t be hurt or disturbed by his work.

597 notes · View notes

captain-huggy-bear · 3 days ago

Text

The Teacher's Always Right

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Your students badger you about your relationship status and you let slip you're dating a hockey player who plays for the Vancouver Canucks. They don't believe you, you're petty enough to arrange a school trip to Rogers Arena just to prove your point.

Notes: Very self-indulgent of me as someone who teaches teenagers for a living and regularly gets questioned on my relationship status. They really do bully you (affectionately).

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

You're in the middle of teaching your high schoolers about the fur trade in colonial Canada, mid-speech, arms spread wide as you gesture to your powerpoint when a teenage voice interrupts you.

"Miss, are you married?" It's David, sat at the back, legs stretched out as far as he can reach them. He's ironically enough wearing a Canucks jersey, specifically Number 43...a very, very familiar number to you. As is the question. In your years of teaching this isn't the first time you've been interrupted to be questioned on your relationship status, in fact it happens multiple times a year. Each set of students eager to know why you're a miss and if you'll be a mrs soon and are going to be leaving them to have a baby. When you were single, the questions were usually why?

"No." You've gotten rather good at deflecting or at least not letting slip the reality of your relationship, usually finding out you're not single is enough for them, but there's something about David's attitude that screams persistant curiosity. It makes you wonder why you bother teaching your subject at all when he's more curious about your love life than History itself

"Do you have boyfriend?"

"Yes, does this have anything to do with British colonisation or the fur trade or....?" You lean back on your desk, board pen landing gently on the surface, knowing that you're not going to be free of this conversation for at least another 2 minutes.

"What's your boyfriend do?" You breathe a deep sigh and look around the room, you don't want to get into who your boyfriend is. It's not like its a well known fact that you're dating the captain of the Vancouver Canucks and you try to keep it that way. Not because you're ashamed but because its your private life, school and home, those are as separate as you can make them. It would be impossible to do that if everyone was talking about your relationship, although you know eventually it'll become more public.

Stacy from one of the desk by the windows chimes in this time, curiosity peaked, dragging her away from her current hobby of staring out the window in boredom, "C'mon, miss, it can't be that bad? What? Is he like unemployed or something?" She says while chewing loudly on a wad of gum.

"Gum in the bin, Stacy." Her chewing stops and she slumps as she stomps her way to your classroom bin, spitting the gum in with a roll of her eyes.

"So? Is he unemployed?" You decide to answer the question, only because Stacy actually did what you said this time. You hated gum in the classroom, mostly because it always ended up on the bottom of your shoes and made them stick to the floor as you walked. You wouldn't mind it so much if they could all just throw it away normally.

"No. He's got a job, a good job." A really good job, a ridiculously good job actually. You didn't talk money with Quinn much, but the reality was that he made an amount in a year that you would never make in a life time as a teacher.

"Sooo???" David interjects, leaning forward now in his seat, clearly not happy enough to just know your boyfriend isn't some unemployed bum.

"He's a hockey player."

"Like beer league?"

"No. Like NHL." You watch your classes faces in what feels like slow motion, the series of disbelieving looks, wide eyes and raised eyebrows that are quickly followed by a chorus of objections and claims that you can't be telling the truth.

"Nah, no way! You're not here, teaching us, and dating a guy who makes millions, nah." It's actually frustrating, it shouldn't be. You've literally had students throw tables at you and yet, the idea that they think you are a liar is what makes you frustrated. Is it really that hard to believe that you enjoy your job and don't want to scrounge off of your pro-athlete boyfriend? Or that hard to believe that you managed to snag a pro-athlete in the first place?

"You don't believe me?"

"Nah, like if you are, he's gotta be in some really bad team in the US." You're already formulating a plan to prove to your students that you're not lying and not dating a shit NHL player. Sure, the plan involves a lot more work for you, but the idea is in your head and you can't help but think that it'll be worth it.

"He's a Canuck." You smirk a little, knowing the mention of the local team would get a response. Most of the kids you teach go to at least one game a year or watch it on TV. Some have even seen you at the games, but you always sit in the stands like a regular fan. Mostly because Quinn can't really talk to you anyway when he's locked into a game. You'd serve as more of a distraction if you sat front and centre every game.

"No, no way!" David stands, slamming his hands on his desk, "You're lying!" Half the class echo his claims that you must be lying and it makes you even more determined to prove them wrong. Do you really need to prove to a bunch of teenagers that you're dating an NHL player? No, do you want to? Absolutely.

"Fine, don't believe me, but i'm not lying. I'm dating a Vancouver Canuck."

It takes a little to get them all back on track with the lesson but you manage it. Although you're just as distracted. The moment the bell goes to signal lunch break and your classroom empties, you're on your phone calling your boyfriend, even though you know he's probably in the middle of practice.

He answers on the second ring, the sound of the rink in the background loud and clear as pucks hit the sideboards and skates scratch up the ice.

"Hey, baby, everything okay?" It's unusual for you to call him in the work day and you can hear the worry in his voice, even if he'll pretend he's not worried at seeing your name pop up when you should be working.

"Hey, I'm fine, don't worry...but...you know how you love me?" You fiddle with a little wooden bear that sits on your desk. Quinn bought you it after finding out your favourite animals were any type of bear, it's left ear is broken off and it's got a little bit of red paint where it fell on a floor one time, but you love it anyway.

"Uh huh?" The worry in his voice gives out to amusement at realising you're after something. On his end Quinn is stood at the bench watching the guys run drills, Tocc giving him a look as if to say 'hurry up'.

"And you know how you want to always make me happy?" He smiles at the faux innocent voice you put on, as if he'd deny you anything.

"What do you need me to do, baby?" There's zero hesitation, typical Quinn really, if you want something you've got it, if you need him to do something he's agreeing before all the terms are laid out. He's lucky you don't abuse that sort of power really, he'd spoil you completely if you let him.

"I need you to help me organise a school trip to see you guys practice and meet you all, so that I can prove to my students that I am actually dating an NHL player because they're calling me a liar and I will not be called a liar by teenagers who gaslight me all the time!" The faux innocent voice gives way to your rapid ramble, annoyance riding your tone as you pace across the front of your classroom.

You're greeted firstly by his loud and genuine laugh, so loud that it makes you pull the phone away from your ear. It takes a solid minute for Quinn to stop laughing, and he can see the looks he's getting from the ice, Brock throws him a questioning eyebrow raise, Petey perks his head up at the sound of his captain actually laughing that hard.

It's the dead silence on your end that makes him stop, "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yes! They're telling me i'm lying and I will not be called a liar!"

"Okay, so let me get this straight." He runs a hand through his hair, before leaning against the side of the bench, "Your students don't believe you're dating a canuck, so you need me to help you organise a school trip-"

"For free!" You interrupt, knowing you won't get permission for a trip that costs the school anything more than a few buses and fuel costs, school funding being what it is.

"For free, to prove that you're dating me?" There are easier ways, Quinn thinks, to prove this. Like, him posting a picture of you together on the internet or him kissing you in front of the arena at a game, but it's kind of cute how much you're affronted by your students calling you a liar. It also sounds way more fun.

"Yup, is that...is that too much to ask? I'm being silly aren't I?" He hears it in your tone, the way you seem to start second guessing yourself, can hear you tapping a fingernail against your desk, probably messing with the little bear figurine he got you all those years ago.

"A little silly, but for you? I think I can pull some strings, honey."

You know Quinn will say yes to most things you ask, but you hadn't actually expected him to agree this time. It had felt too big, too much. Your normal requests were small, something like asking if he could get you a doughnut on his way home or could he put the dishes in the dishwasher.

"You serious?"

"Yeah, i'm serious." It takes a beat before your almost squealing in delight down the phone at him, the realisation that he's actually saying yes hitting and he can't help but laugh even as he pulls the phone away from his ear.

"I love you! Have I told you that today?" Your voice is sweet and happy, brighter than it was before. It makes him want to always say yes to you, the way you light up like a christmas tree.

"Mmm, not since 6am this morning."

"Well, I love you and you are the absolute best boyfriend I've ever had and I will never take you for granted."

He can see Tocc motioning him over, telling him without words that its time for the call to end and get back to being captain. Part of him just wants to keep talking with you, rare as it is to get to do during a working day, but he has responsibilities just like you do.

"I have to go, baby, I have practice...but we'll talk about this later, okay?"

He knows his evening is going to be spent planning out what you want this trip to look like before he goes away and tries to make it happen, but he doesn't mind. Anything to make his baby happy. Even if that is trying to prove a bunch of teenagers wrong.

Between the two of you it takes about 2 months to organise the trip. A lot of that time simply spent getting risk assessments done, approval from your administration sorted and organising parental consent. It also takes you getting the sports teacher on side because it was becoming difficult to find a justification as a History teacher for why you wanted to take kids to meet some hockey players. By the time you've organised it, most of your students have forgotten your claims. You have not forgotten their belief that you are a liar, however.

"I can't believe you managed to get us a trip to Rogers Arena! To meet the Canucks! Best teacher ever!" The hockey boys in your class are especially stoked, many of them playing in junior teams and following the Canucks closely as their team of choice. David is no exception to that rule, arriving to the school bus in so many bits of Vancouver merchandise that you're unsure how he's managing to walk weighed down as he is.

"I told you, my boyfriend plays for them." You remind him, ticking him off the register of kids and ushering him up into the bus.

"Miss, we all know that's not true." He turns to you just as he's about to dispear to find his seat. The scepticism written all over his face.

It makes you shake your head, waiting for the moment the puck drops.

The entire ride to the stadium features your students making fun of you for saying your boyfriend was a canuck, you let it slide simply because you're looking forward to seeing them eat their words. They think its funny right now, but you know you're getting the last and final laugh.

You're met at the entrance by, surprisingly, Tocc, who greets you with a warm hug, "Hey, how you doing?"

"I'm good, thank you for having us, Tocc." You like Tocc, he's a good coach and you like that he cares about how the guys are as people not just how they perform. You also can see how much Quinn appreciates him as coach, so you have a soft spot for the scary looking guy.

"No problem," You can feel the weight of 50 eyes on you, all varying shades of disbelief as they realise you seem a little too familiar when interacting with the Head Coach and its only the beginning. You can't help but smile simply because they're starting to realise that maybe they fucked up. Maybe their doubt was misplaced, maybe you actually were telling the truth all along.

"Are Quinn and the guys on the rink or in the locker room?"

"Rink, easier to fit all the kids, but we've got to get them booted up first." The famililarity with which you refer to Quinn and the guys, does not go past David and Stacy both of whom share a look that screams 'don't tell me that she actually knows them...'.

It takes a bit of time to get all 50 kids in skates, although at least 20 of them bring their own, as do you. You're not much of a skater, but dating Quinn meant you couldn't avoid him buying you a decent pair for family skate and the few times he manages to drag you on the ice each year.

You're about to put your own on when Quinn makes his way over to you clearly having just come off the ice, guards on his skates and hair messy from his helmet. He waves briefly at some of the kids before reaching you, taking your skates in hand without hesitation.

"Y'know I can do it myself, right?"

"When have I ever let you do your own skates? Besides, I thought you wanted the last laugh?" He nods his head in the direction of your students who stand gaping at the Captain of the Vancouver Canucks putting your foot in a skate and putting said skate between his thighs to help him tighten the laces with care. Not something one does for a strange teacher they don't know.

"I'm really enjoying myself already. The whole ride they were giving me all sorts of hell about it, and now I can see their little brains working hard to figure out if I was actually telling the truth or not."

You watch Quinn work, finishing tying off your first skate before reaching for the other, his hands are sure on your calf as he slips your foot into it. "The guys are looking forward to it, think this might be their favourite practice of the year. You might be their favourite WAG now."

"All I had to do was bring a bunch of teenagers to the rink to get them to love me?" Quinn stops mid lace pull, smirk firmly in place as he looks at you from underneath his eyelashes.

"Y'know they loved you already, right? Pretty sure Petey is your number one fan."

"That's because I bribe him with sweets." Specifically his favourite sour candy which makes his eyes water. The more sour the better.

Quinn huffs out a laugh, tying off your laces before patting your foot and setting it back on the ground. His hands reach out to help you to your feet and linger on yours a little longer than is strictly necessary.

"You ready for this?"

"Can't back out now, so I guess I have to be." There's a slight bubbling of nerves under your skin, the sense that your students might not think this is cool and instead think that you're undeserving of your relationship, but you shrug it off. After all, they're kids, their opinion on your relationship is genuinely not important.

"See you on the rink?"

"See you there." You watch him walk away and try to ignore the buzz of chatter you can hear from students, commenting on the fact that Quinn did your skates for you.

You get them registered, orderly and help them file onto the rink, the less sure of the bunch buddied up with someone who had more experience skating to avoid 50 kids bowling each other over on the ice. You did not want to deal with a pile of kids flat on the ice after knocking each other over, the paper work would be ridiculous.

You stand back and just watch. The clear awe on their faces as they step out onto the ice, the large rink impressive any day let alone for kids who had never stepped foot on a rink that size. It makes you smile, knowing you're contributing to their memories, providing something great even if it all started out of petty spite. Even if they don't believe you, you feel good knowing they're getting to enjoy this experience.

You skate nearer to the front, Brock and Petey giving you a bright smile and wave, a variety of nods of recognition from the others. Little things that once again tell your students you know these men better than they expected you to.

"Hey, guys. Welcome to Rogers Arena, it's great to have you here," Quinn starts the introduction, smoothly sliding forward on his skates and gesturing to the line of players as he proceeds to introduce each them by name and position, before finally getting to himself, "And i'm Quinn Hughes, Captain of the team,"

"And Norris trophy winner" You chime in, arms crossed as you watch your boyfriend do what he's best at. He's good with fans especially kids, even if he's terrible with the after game reporters.

He turns to you with a bright grin, "Hi, baby," You can see the twinkle in his eye as he drops the petname, you know he does it on purpose to get the reaction that he does from your students as a wave of muttering and murmuring goes through the little crowd.

"Hi, honey, thanks for having us." You throw it right back, more sickly sweet than you'd usually be, playing up to your little audience who practically gasp.

"Anything for my girl."

"No fucking way!" "What the hell?!" You watch each face drop, mouths open, eyes wide. Watch David as he swears loudly face aghast, almost horrified at the realisation that he might have been making fun of Quinn Hughes' girlfriend the entire time he'd been calling his teacher a liar.

"Language, David!" You tell him off even as you smirk, watching the murmurs die off as Quinn and Boeser talk the kids through skating techniques and how best to shoot the puck, the different techniques and ways to hit the puck with the stick. Half of it makes little sense to you but its nice to watch how the kids get engaged, how Quinn takes over a leadership and teaching role.

You mostly take a step back throughout, watching your students learn from Quinn and the guys, but every now and then Quinn finds you under the pretense of fixing your stance or giving you a tip or piece of advice.

Like now, as his hands reach out, fixing how you hold the hockey stick, foot kicking yours just slightly further apart to adjust your stance.

"So, think they believe you now?" You look over at your students, the joy they're having learning hockey from some of the best, but also at the looks they keep sending your way. You're certain they've learnt their lesson, the teacher is always right, at least when it comes to her own love life.

"I think I am offically the coolest teacher in school, so thanks for that." You reach up and kiss Quinn on the cheek, quick and chaste, nothing inappropriate considering you're both at work and surrounded by kids, but it's enough to make his cheeks flush red.

He rubs the back of his neck with that boyish smile of his and it makes you want to kiss him all over again, "Well, I couldn't have a bunch of teenagers calling my girlfriend a liar."

You're so stuck in the moment with him that you don't notice David and his friends until they're upon you and calling out to Quinn. The picture of respect when talking to who might just be their new favourite NHL star.

"Hey, Mr Hughes?" Conveniently half the kids surrounding you are the ones who claimed you must have been dating some beer league level player or some guy from the Chicago Blackhawks.

"You can call me Quinn, Mr Hughes is my dad. What's up, dude?"

"So when are we going to be calling teach Mrs Hughes?" It's your turn to flush, face warming harshly as Quinn's practically asked when he's proposing to you by a spotty 15 year old.

"David!" You might never be able to call your future child David at this rate, far too familiar with calling the name in admonishment. Definitely no David's in your future. Add that name to the list of names you can't use.

David looks at you with a wide grin, braces on full display. "What? I'm tryin' a help you get that bank!" It's actually mortifying, you thank your lucky stars that Quinn knows you're not actually after his money because if a 15 year old were to ruin your relationship you might actually become a super villain.

"I do not need a 15 year old wingman!"

"Baby, it's alright." Quinn wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side as if that will sooth the embarrassment of having a 15 year old try to help you get a rich husband, "Uh, to answer your question, it won't be too long now, bud."

"So, like 6 months? A year? Next week?"

"Oh my god..." You turn your face into Quinn's shoulder, your groan muffled by his jersey. You're certain you might actually pass away from embarrassment, even if deep down there's a little thrill in your stomach that Quinn basically just said he's going to propose to you sooner rather than later.

"I gotta keep it a secret, sorry, man! Gotta keep Mrs Hughes on her toes." Your toes curl at the way he calls you Mrs Hughes, a small smile on your face hidden by his jersey.

A little back and forth is exchanged before David and his friends decide their bored and skate off towards Boeser who's going over the finer points of 'get to the net' and 'just shoot the puck'.

You mumble into Quinn's shoulder as his hands run up and down your back in soothing strokes, "Are you really ganging up on me with a bunch of teenagers?"

"Hey, I just told you that I want to marry you and you're mad at me?" He's not serious though, grinning as pushes you back to look at him. It's adorable, the pout on your face as you glare up at him for making fun of you. Although, you're always adorable to him, so maybe he's biased,

"Correction, you told a 15 year old that you wanted to marry me."

"Okay, okay, I see the problem." He shakes his head solemnly, hands on your shoulders as he lowers his voice just a touch, "Baby, just so you know I want to marry you."

"Okay."

"Okay?" You watch as he stands, mouth agape at your casual response. You're sure he was expecting you to giggle or squeal, but you're determined to mess with him a little.

"That's...nice to know?" You grin at him even as internally you're screaming because your boyfriend wants to marry you and you definitely want to marry him.

"You're such a fucking nerd."

"You're dating a teacher, that's like my whole thing. I'm a professional nerd."

"Yeah... it's cute. It's why I want to marry you."

"Quinn!" You shove him away with a laugh. Maybe your students won't be embarrassing you anymore, but you think you might have a lifetime of Quinn doing it instead. Somehow that doesn't seem like the worst idea.

#huggy bear writes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes #quinn hughes/reader #nhl imagine

663 notes · View notes